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This evening.Shall I describe to you my favorite colors?
There are two of them, quite ordinary if you ask.
The first is the shade of the underside of a hawk's wings, as an autumn sunset hits the feathers.
It's liquid copper sunlight, woven by God into a glorious shape.
The second shares the same season.
It's the clear autumn sky, at twilight.
So cliche, I know, but that's what makes it ordinary.
The pale yellow on the horizon, going down the gradient into chilled orange, blue-gold.
And then that first sight of navy, that first instance of stars in the velvet.
That is the second color.
A blue so deep I could stare for hours, did it not last only a few short minutes.
They are my favorite colors.
Mine and my own.
Ordinary, and commonplace.
But fantastic and lovely.
Essay, unnabridgedThe year is 2013 and my high school, the hypothetical last refuge in the area against the undead, has been breached. After the first of the zombie scum entered the building, through a door left open by a scavenging patrol, panic spread quickly. I abandoned my friends in the crowd, grabbed my schoolbag, and sprinted with the flow of terrified people. I broke off into a nearly-empty hallway, populated by similar minded people desperately attempting to find a hiding place. The had nothing with them but their adrenalin-heightened fear; unlike me, they had not planned for a situation like this, a situation where the safety of the last haven in Frederick would be destroyed.
Unlike the sorry souls I turned my back on, I had thought through this scenario countless times. In the corner of the cafeteria, where my friends and I set up base, I found myself with ample time to think. I'd hoarded small supplies, filling my school bag not with the now arbitrary textbooks, but with survival gear.
the Companion taxGive me breath, give me life, but don't give me your validation, I know I'm right.
I know that what I feel is how I should feel, and I don't need you to tell me I should feel guilty or proud of it.
It's my essence and I'm not ashamed and I don't need your opinion of me for support; I stand on my own.
So let me breath and let me live and then I can give you my devotion and myself.
That is all I ask for me from you, from me to you.
Wild RideTry not to lose your place in your life
We'll be returning to this page
But outside the book is a world unwritten
I'm here to free you from your paper cage
Buckle up and strap in
Just fake it for a while
Remove the silicone from your fun-dip
Give me a great big smile
You've always been one to turn
Your stubborn face towards the sun
And question "why" when people said you couldn't
You'll have your answers when we're done
Outside your pages is a world
That they don't want you to see
A world of "why's" and "what if's"
A world where you want to be
By the time our time together is complete
You'll have your answers my dear
This world unwritten has no rules against it
But your answers may not be completely Clear
Find them yourself, I'm only your tour guide
I'll hand you nothing but the means
When I return you to your routine written pages
Pick your book apart at the seams.
New Age SocietyI remember distinctly
Yes, I remember quite well
It was neither the last time nor the first time
That you told me to go to Hell.
It was that middle time,
Somewhere on Memory Lane,
When I said "see you there, bitch,"
and suddenly I saw the insane.
In our New-Age society,
Where even the label-less have labels,
Children are taught from birth
Skewed, hate-twisted fables,
Of greed and strife and hidden morals
That the Only way through life
Is also through battle and quarrel.
You're twice as likely going to find
Someone pointing legislature, rather than a gun.
It's equally as dangerous,
Two-times the reason to run,
Such a major cause of so much anxiety
So much discontent
In this New-Age Society.
In this New-Age Society,
I have no memory of better times gone by
Instead I have a childhood of discrimination
Sweet Nothings'if i could, i would devour you. i would eat you whole, consume you mind, body, and soul. because i am a selfish person. i want you all to myself. no one else may have you.' he said to her, as they lay tangled in each other.
her reply came with a sleepy smile.
'there is a part of my mind which understands the intended romance in your statement. that part is wooed by it. there is also a part which insists upon my realizing the reality, the literal. you, my dear, are a cannibal.'
he placed a kiss on her head.
'well, we'll have to work hard then, to make sure that you are only wooed. we will make you want to be eaten. we will make it so that part of your mind which is literal, is quiet, so when i whisper sweet nothings into your ears, you are completely swept away. lifted off your feet by my obvious romantic intention.'
The Useless PlentyThey pass us every day. On the streets, or in school buildings, they'll nudge by us on their way to some place else. Some place, not here. But we're already there. Our minds have taken us father than their legs ever will.
And they don't understand. They try, certainly, but their have their mundane drama and appearance while we concern ourselves with whatever fills the spaces. The little cracks, filled with stray passions like windows stuffed with cloth in the winter. To keep the empty out.
This is for the girl with cuts up her arms, raised from the skin, and the boy who drinks bottles of cough syrup for the alcohol content. This is for the girl who dyes her hair to hide, but in doing so, says, "Hello, World. Here I am. Suck on it." This is for the boy who lives for his image, cultivates it carefully for the public eye, then will go home and watch anime or a sci-fy show, and doesn't care who knows.
They pass us. There is a distinction, the "us" and the "them." Within the us, there are s
Jerky“Dad, is that guy jerky?” I ask as we pull up alongside a car, towards which my father is throwing dirty looks. He ceases, and exchanges a look with my mother at the comment.
Minutes pass. It may have been days, but it does not matter, because I am again in the rear passenger seat of our first Honda. Strapped into the back, but not into a booster seat anymore; I am a big girl, and the laws are different in Canada. My father is again driving, my mother occupies the seat in front of me.
“That guy is jerky,” I say with conviction, sure that this time, I am right. I even point so they know who I’m talking about, the man in the car that caused father to growl for some reason. Again though, mother and father say nothing. The giants in the front seats simply exchange another look. The kind of look that makes me think I shouldn’t have said what I said. But I don’t understand.
Father calls other drivers jerky all the time, especially when they act like
And best of luck to the boysAnd best of luck to the boys in the band
on the rest of their lives
I wish you all well while we sit here
trying to get by
without the music that kept us alive
And let's give them all a great big hand
a rowdy applause for the boys in the band
we'll manage and make it somehow, I'm sure
sick and dying hospital patients
without the music that was our cure
Do We Need a New Language about Homosexuality?One of the more popular, misunderstood, and challenging problems Catholics face today is the topic of homosexuality. I think of the many great strides we as a Church and as a culture have taken in speaking about it. In the same way, neither side whether secular or religious, has spoken more clearly on the subject. Catholics, at the very least, have always been very good at making distinctions. The process of making distinctions is not just good philosophy and theology, but it also aids in our practical and charitable responses to what we experience.
When we respond to homosexuality we should know what it is. Moreover, when someone is homosexual it does us little good to categorize that person according to preconceived notions about their sexual activity, sexual purity, or moral state. In fact I've usually seen these reactions as one's own personal, moral blindness than as a useful discussion geared towards understanding something so as to respond to it more effectively.
That being said
Hello, My Name Is Oscar
Hello, my name is Oscar. This is my story.
From when I can remember, I had lived in a cage with my brother. I didn’t mind it. We kept each other company. We had plenty of humans giving us food and water, playing with us, petting us, giving us attention. We had the life.
One day changed that, though. It started off like any other day, my brother and I sleeping in the cool indoors, when a little girl and her mother walked into the store. She was looking at the various other cats that were in other cages, before she turned to her mom and asked her something. The mother pointed to our cage and replied. Of course, I wasn’t too bothered by it. Humans came in and out all the time, looking at us animals in cages. I simply rolled over onto my stomach. Then the door to our cage opened. That’s funny, I thought, we were already fed today. One of the humans who fed us took my brother and me out of the cage, handing my brother to the girl’s mom and me to the little girl
What Is Love What Is Love
Love is an emotion, but it is also something more.
To deny ones self for the sake of another,
To put the self second instead of first,
That, is love.
Love is not idle, Love is not stationary.
Love moves, Love is action.
On Heroes and VillainsThere’s a saying, “When on the path to becoming a hero be wary that you don’t wind up the villain”. What that saying doesn’t warn you about is that ultimately the paths become one and the same and it’s almost impossible to see the dividing line.
The Problem with MemoryThe Problem with Memory
I don’t care what anyone remembers of me after I die. I mean, I’ll be dead, I won’t be around to care. And to a lesser extent I don’t even care what anyone evokes of me while I still draw breath. Memory is a broken concept. It can be warped and skewed by even the most impartial observer until it has no bearing on fact, on what truly occurred. How many great men does our society reminisce fondly of who were hated in their lifetimes, perhaps for good reason? And how many unassuming saints die in total obscurity by the very nature of their humility, their good deeds never to be thought of again?
I say it again, memory is a broken concept.
This is our curse, imaginably, for our own hubris. Or maybe it is the reason our race as a whole suffers such grand delusions in the first place, that we might have worshipped Caesar and Augustus as divine beings instead of the plain men they were. Plain men we all are, flesh and blood, and imperfect to the
LABOR DAY 2014 “LABOR DAY”
(What Made America Great)
Another labor day is nearly at hand
Those whom we honor, in this, OUR GREAT land
All who do toil week after long week
Hoping to gain the ‘dream’ they each seek.
For those who DO ‘risk’ everything they possess
To start a new business with financial stress
We THANK YOU for investing in places you reside
In hopes that your business will give you much ‘pride‘.
But we ASK that you also remember the people
Who helped build your dream, your church, their steeple
For both on ‘their own’’ stand tall and stand proud
Yet when COMBINED, both shout it out loud!
There’s a delicate balance between ‘worker’ and ‘boss’
To disregard EITHER is everyone’s LOSS
One without the other is like a man with NO ‘Heart’
Who walks on this earth but is always ‘Apart’.
I fear that this ’balance’ is no longer ‘true’
On Fate and Destiny and OtherHere you stand at a crossroads. The road of fate to the left and the road of destiny to your right. If you were to go left then you were fated to choose so but if you go to the right then you were destined to go that way. But what if you choose neither? What if instead of choosing one or the other you made a different choice? What would we call that?
One word for it may be “freedom”.
On Strength Beyond StrengthI know a lot of strong people, people who can’t climb a wall or win a fight or even lift a box over thirty pounds above their head, but they’re strong because they have something most “strong” people lack. Perseverance. They are strong because they are determined and maybe too stubborn to back down.
That in itself is a form of strength.
On FreedomWhen I think of freedom, true freedom without rues or laws, I see the way of the natural world. I also see, however, chaos. Chaos which only appears when you give humans the freedom of the natural world. Mankind can’t handle freedom therefore they create chaos. Humans are meant to be bound by social, cultural and political tethers, humans can not know or have true freedom.
The ProblemThe youth today does not know how to talk. We do not know how to talk to one another nor do we know how to talk to anyone outside our age group, capable of articulating but not transferring meaning with out spoken words. Yet we have profound conversations through text messages, using less than 160 words, and know exactly how to transfer our feelings and thoughts into abbreviated words and sentences so that others will understand them easily. However, they have no depth. Any actual conversation, two of us face-to-face, is awkward and harsh, unless there has been left enough time for the two to come to know each other. Upon first meeting, it is rare that eye contact will be made. Jokes and jests are made, in attempt to connect, and numbers are exchanged, maybe. That is when the communication begins. Not when two people have the opportunity to talk, unlimited words, pay nothing, but when they have limited words counts and little chance for actual connection.
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More