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Somewhere I BelongSomewhere I belong.
My entire life. I was a loner. Nobody took the time to understand me or get to know me. They didn’t want to. I knew they thought I was strange. All I can remember from most of my life was that everyone was so cold to me. Rejected. Not respected. Ignored. I couldn’t find a place where I belong. This is the sad truth. It’s nothing new. After all my life is a series of misfortunes and bad luck. Why am I not surprised I lived this long. I always kept telling myself, one day. One day all my bad luck will be turned upside down. One day… At first I believed it with the most profound depths of my soul, but… After a while, with time and age, I began to lose hope. I had come to the conclusion my life would end with me dyeing in prison, become homeless, murdered on the street for no reason, be involved in a car accident, be taken by internal illness, suffer a disaster, or even go through the misfortune of what crazy conspirators consider rapture o
Psy WorldPsy World
My name is Hitomi Kanagawa. I lived in Japan all my life. But, because of falling grades, my parents thought it was best for me to catch up in school by sending me to the United States. I go to Arlington Cypress high school. It’s very different from schools where I am from. The language and culture are extremely different. When I first came here I thought it would be impossible to fit in, however somehow I managed.
One day as I was catching up on my studies, I couldn’t help but to stare at my pencil. I had watched a video online about a person moving a pencil with their mind. For some reason I wanted to try it. I gave it a couple tries but found out I couldn’t do it. After giving up and studying some more, I gave it one last shot. To my complete shock and surprise, I somehow made the pencil shake. I jumped back thinking I had just played a trick on myself by accidently breathing on it or moving the bed. I tried it again and it began to shake again but slower
Plastic Fury (text version)Plastic Fury
The living room lit with an ambient and lively yellow tone as the sun peeked through the window. Tidy and clean, there wasn’t a speck of dust to be found. It appeared the owners were away for the moment; however, there was something else yet living inside the house.
Two green toy soldiers laid down on the staircase as foliage from a tree in front of the staircase hid their position. “Same shit, different day. I’ve been waiting for a promotion for like forever. It’s like no body retires around here, am I right.” He said slapping the other soldier on the shoulder. “Maybe that’s how much everyone loves their job, you know. I mean I have no plans to ever retire. One I go green, I’m in it for life!” One of the toy green soldiers said standing up holding a cup to the other soldier laying on the ground staring through his binoculars while ignoring him. Suddenly he spots two objects hovering in the distance. As he stares
Spread of Infection Life, Loss, Compassion FadeNo light, no life. I only see shadows as the words fall from the page.
My hands stain red from my own existence.
I embrace the cruel world. My only consolation.
I see the world through God’s eyes. Morbid, macabre, disturbing, grotesque.
Forgive me to ask,
but why is it always cloudy? Will it rain soon?
Lightning like white rose.
Days pass like the seasons. Life goes on.
My eyes dilate. Blood shot eyes from no sleep.
Is life better without me? Memories, the only thing I hold dear.
Where there’s light, the shadow follows.
A never ending night sky. The smiles of a thousand forgotten souls like mine.
Life goes on. Scorn by those who are perfect.
I rest this black rose on a coffin from the judged ones. It’s not mine. It’s from the ones left behind.
I witness the light and watch them fall to the world undeserving for a sin not caused by themselves.
Days pass like the seasons. Life goes on.
Screaming red. Veins run dry. Notice me! Life doesn’t have to be t
Exile ExistenceI am different. I am invisible although I exist. It’s my curse for living. When I was nine I was involved in a terrible freak car accident with my uncle. He died instantly. However. … I didn't. … I should have died. Fading back and forth from reality, I watched the lights from the hospital hallways pass above me. One by one I counted. I could feel death pulling the leash from my life. It’s time to go, I could feel him say. … However, I was stubborn. Gripping my hand on the hospital bed rail, I kept my mind centered on living. I could feel death watching with the void of his eyes. His presence felt like a foul odor. A cold and lifeless welcome. I lifted my hand towards the light. Blood. So much blood. I thought to myself. Losing consciousness, a tear rolls down my face. I could hear a swooshing sound. Wind? From blackness a surge of vivid bright colors. I smile. … I refused to die.
I woke up with my parents by my side in a small hospital room. They se
A Crazy Thought of YouI saw her again today. Same place as always. Reading her little Japanese comic books as she stood there at the comic store’s cash register. She looks so adorably beautiful. Her light blond hair, hypnotizing blue eyes, gentle pale skin, and adorable fashion sense. I’m deathly afraid she would notice me staring at her. I’m sure that would creep me out to be her. Oh well, I should keep walking.
There were a couple time I walked into the store. I was hoping she would notice me. I guess I’m living in a fantasy. I didn’t have the courage to talk to her, even after she approached me that one time. I’m such a train wreck when it comes to these things. Maybe it’s best if I shouldn’t come around at all. My thoughts seem to haunt me.
When I walk to class on campus, I often see her. Such a radiant, pleasant, and cheerful personality. Just seeing her makes me happy. Although I walk past her, we never notice each other, but simply being near her
Brushing Up Against HistoryNovember 1963
I'm eight years old and sitting in class (I strangely recall that my seat was in the middle of second row, on the side away from the window), when the principal comes in to tell us that the president has been shot.
I do not know
what it means, but I know
that it scares me.
My mother meets Senator Robert F. Kennedy while he is campaigning in San Francisco and gets his autograph. I live with my father in a small town in Michigan, where every year leading up to Memorial Day, I sell paper poppies for the VFW.
blood of soldiers on the field
war has come home
I watch the news and see the body count, arranged like a scorecard. The numbers say we are winning, but one of those numbers is from our town, the only casualty that week. I don't know him, but I see his picture on the cover of Life Magazine.
I turn 17 the next month
and try to join the Marine Corp
my father will not sign
As a small-town b
Sarcasm isn't SarcasticWhen you were a kid, did you ever imagine a voice narrating your life? Did the voice sound like the awkward rambling at the beginning of a new Disney movie saying things like, "uhhh," "whatever," "so yeah," and "I mean" as the character introduces themself in a "funny awkward," way? That's because it's the easiest thing for anyone to do.
Being lazy is so often confused with being witty, and writing awkward rambling is truly the easiest thing to do. Tacking "-ish" onto the endings of words, making one word sentences, using sloppy phrases like "she gave him the give-me-Percy-Jackson-or-I'll-kill-you expression," or making the narrator sound unsure of themself is sometimes all it takes to trick people into thinking you have a "strong voice as a writer."
It's actually the weakest and least talented voice to have as an author, because it's the most easy. This lazy babbling excused as "sarcasm" is a low form of wit, and any fool could write a book in the same voice as Rick Riordan
Funny Quotes 2Every fight is a food fight when youre a cannibal.
-- Demetri Martin
"My formula for success is rise early, work late, and strike oil."
"I'm desperately trying to figure out why kamikaze pilots wore helmets."
"A good essay is 10% inspiration, 15% perspiration, and 75% desperation"
"All my life, I always wanted to be somebody. Now I see that I should have been more specific."
"If you can't fix it with duct tape you havent used enough."
"All those who believe in telekinesis, raise my hand."
"Constipated People Don't Give A crap."
"Before you criticize someone, you should walk a mile in their shoes. That way when you criticize them, you are a mile away from them and you have their shoes."
"Never be afraid to try something new. Remember, amateurs built the ark. Professionals built the Titanic."
"There Are Three Kinds of People - Those Who Can Count and Those Who Can't"
"Do you know why they call it 'PMS'? Because 'Mad Cow Disease' was already taken."
"Life is what happens to yo
Can Christians Like Dragons?HEADS UP!!! The Biblical half of this version of the article is relatively outdated as of 02/11/2016, so please follow the below link to read the revised and expanded edition! Thank you!!!
In other words, can a Christian morally have a love for dragons? The logic behind the question is that dragons by Biblical standards seem to be evil creatures. Therefore it should be incompatible to follow Jesus Christ and love dragons at the same time, right? This is what I've been accused of many times, being a firm holder to Truth yet having a soft spot for dragons. I would like to answer in detail these accusations, thus the reason for this article.
Let us look at dragons from every angle, starting with what The Sacred Scriptures say. In The Holy Bible the Hebrew word used for dragon(s) is 'tanniyn' and shows up 29 times in The Old Testament. But, do note t
The Six Lessons of LokiI. The Norns are bitches. You can either entertain them or yourself. Deal with it.
II. If you plan to do something stupid, make sure you can save your own ass.
III. He who plays with fire risks getting burnt. Even I am no exception to this.
IV. Never lie, but only tell the truth if you have to.
V. Snake venom is painful.
VI. Sticks and stones may break my bones, but Mjollnir is sure to kill me.
SchizophreniaHolding on to a thought has always been... difficult for me. They're so rarely interesting enough to hold my attention for more than a few seconds. Quite often, I'll tune out what someone is saying because something they said sparks a thought which leads to another thought which leads to another thought...
No, I don't get distracted by shiny objects. I'm a human, not a magpie.
I never really cared that I wasn't listening to what people were saying. My thoughts, as cascading as they are, were always more interesting than they were. Eventually, I did away with people entirely, living in my own stream of consciousness. Even now, it is difficult to continue mustering the willpower to finish this, instead of rushing off to read a Virginia Woolf novel.
Then, after I'd isolated myself from all those boring people and their slow, mundane thoughts, I became aware of a shift in my own though processes. I noticed that, when having a thought, I'd finish thinking the end of the thought before I'd a
Haiku Theory Part 1 -2009-A Lot of Words About A Little Poem
An Introduction to Haiku Structures
A haiku poem cannot be defined according to the number of syllables and lines it contains (nor by the number of syllables in each line). Although I do not wish to go into the reasons why at this point (I will save that for a later discussion) the form of modern English haiku, as Haruo Shirane writes, is a short poem, usually written in one to three lines. (in Gilbert, 2009) At this point our definition sounds very vague. If the number of syllables and lines do not define a haiku poem, then what does? And if a haiku poem is simply a short one, two or three-line poem then what separates it from other forms of Western short-verse or, in the case of one-line haiku, a sentence?
Patricia Donegan writes, in agreement with the Western haiku community at large, that syllable counting... is not the important thing for haiku in English. Haiku is an experience, not an act of co
The Tale of Love: A Super Paper AnalysisAhem! Today I'll tell you the story of the lost book of prophecies.
It is a tale of love...
Chapter 1: An Introduction
In the English language, "love" can mean a lot of things. "I love chocolate!" "I love you, mommy." "I I think I'm in love with you."
Love is hard to define and is often downright illogical. What love really means to us can run the gamut from claiming to love a movie, to claiming to love the child you have raised. And moreover, love doesn't even always have to be a good thing. While love is perhaps the most beautiful thing in human experience, it can also be extremely dangerous, and when directed at certain things, quite unhealthy.
Super Paper Mario claims to be a tale of love. But it's just a game, right? What could a game teach us about love? Well, nothing in itself, really. No game, book, or movie can teach a person how to love. What these stories can do, however, is show us a reflection, however refracted, of ourselves and the people around
Made of Nothing
Fast Foreword: A Brief Introduction
Why are people so eager to tell me when they find God, but they never mention where he was hiding? Sorry, that's just been bugging me. Now about my essay I made it educational and concise, but I also tried to include some humor so it wouldn't read like an obituary column for any beliefs you may have had. To put it bluntly, this article's as likely to erase your faith in God as the Tanya Harding sex tape.
Okay, maybe that's a bit ambitious. Some people couldn't be convinced that God doesn't exist if God himself descended from the heavens just to announce that he doesn't exist. Even among otherwise critical thinkers, religion seems to be more or an emotional appendage than anything else. Trying to use reason to talk someone out of their religion seems as futile and incendiary as trying to logically convince someone they've married the wrong person. But I