“If you can’t chew it; just swallow it.”
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There’s a maple tree shaped like a giant hand twisting upwards out of the ground. A sapling of a different species, about 4 feet tall, has taken root in the collection of soil and tree debris gathered in the Maple tree’s ‘palm.’ That’s not how it’s supposed to work. What will happen to the trees when the little one gets bigger? Will the hand tree give way, taking the younger one down with it? Or will the younger one grow weak and flimsy, and falter, having been hoisted out of harm’s way all it’s life?
So few ours in the day.
Roll around in the hey.
I can’t draw; this crayon’s cray.
Fall asleep before you prey.
“Do you find me attractive?”
“Who are you asking?”
If someone ever asks me if their butt looks too big, or wants to know how I rate that person over there on a scale of 1 to 10, I always refuse to answer on the grounds that I don’t want to harm the asker’s self image. If you ask someone to ‘rate’ you, or someone else, what you’re really asking is ‘am I seeing the world clearly? or is my perspective way off?’ If someone’s a 7, and someone else thinks they’re a 3, then the 7’er thinks they have low expectations all of a sudden; it never works the other way around somehow. The person who never hands our a rating higher than 5 never thinks they have high expectations. So if everyone is to be confident with themselves, the best answer is really, “I don’t know. Do you think it makes your butt look big?” The more I’ve lived, the more I’ve found my opinion on someone’s butt size doesn’t matter.
A strange young man from far away
With clothing ragged, torn, and frayed,
Approached a maiden by the bay
Whereon the grassy shore she lay.
He kissed her hand and asked if they
Could dance beside the ocean’s spray.
Before she spoke, a soothing wave
Of pleasure and contentment paved
A trail they followed to the shade
Wherein he held her, and they swayed,
And formed their love from hallowed clay.
With him, she would not fall astray,
Or end up lost and in a daze.
Amazed, she questioned, “If I may;
Why dost thou act in such display?”
“My precious flow’r, you needn’t gray
And troubled skies for one to aid
Thee and surmise that no bouquet
Would serve a prize or could convey
Behind your eyes of radiant jade
What passion lies that we have made.
The ways of old, I have betrayed,
And thus thy wishes I obey.”
And then for every smile she made,
A rose he set across her gaze.
Each star above that they surveyed,
He kissed her cheek in doting play.
And if her lips did give him praise,
He furnished her a tender phrase.
They huddled ‘neath the moonlit haze
‘Til dew-drops claimed the break of day,
But morning wrought a somber shay.
His eyes were clouded, glazed, and gray.
Now old and weakened, down he lay.
She quivered as he withered away,
And watched wearily, his soul fade
With nothing more than this to say,
“Remember passion—love; I pray.
My dearest one, I long to stay,
But Fate binds me to my dismay.
I grieve no act, but parting ways,
As my wish was love for just one day.”
There has been a huge gaming problem in the library, but the library just banned the use of computers for gaming purposes. Everyone was happy because the gamers were so loud, but some said they should ban the use of computers for casual purposes including facebook, youtube, and other social sites. One guy in particular said it’s not that they were being loud, but wasting resources. One replied that visiting social sites is spontaneous, and gaming is not. The guy reiterated it doesn’t matter how the resource is being wasted, but that it is. The other guy replied “In a perfect world no resource would be wasted, not even the mind.”
Idealism is screaming at me, but all I hear is blahblahblah.
If you had to make a list of the traits of a super soldier you’d want to make sure “large bladder” makes the list. You don’t want to get popped on the trail while you’re dropping trau. You need a guy that can slosh around a gallon of piss before he has to unleash, or unbelt, rather.
Hocus pocus artichoke us
Green and jaundice beauty taunt us.
Round abound, how run aground now
We, to be, can clearly focus.
allmostrelevant 