This feels 76% fake to me.
I get to call a pub a nuclear sub.
Back after a while, will be gone for a while after this. Read Novas' blog post. Convincing as anything symbolic can be. I never really saw much of the fire:water::death:life (or life:death) symbol in anything I've read. I generally read comedy or whatever my high school lit teacher handed me though. So maybe I'm not the one to ask. Not to mention the fact that I hate being asked to actively analyze symbolism to my core. But in my experience, when fire is considered life it is juxtaposed with ice, as I noticed someone posted. Hel, where the word hell comes from, is the Norse goddess of death. Her realm is an icy river. So the ice as death this is very much a part of cultural attitudes. Just thought I'd say that here. (Factcheck that for me if you think I'm wrong because I was half asleep when I read the mythology book in class and you can'treally trust hearsay.) It's good to, not necessarily plan but, at least docuent your thought process while writing. This helps you to know where you're going with something and where you've been with it. This can be used as a springboard for planning or winging it depending on your personal style. But keeping your thoughts in order is better than not; whether planning is or not I can't say. I personally don't do a huge amount of planning per se. I think a lot about something before I commit it to paper or document file, but I don't do anything systematically. I avoid the use of the word holistic because there is a method to the madness, I just don't know what it is. Finally, my opinion on activity and whatever. I think that it's depressing to look at the Original Work section. I mean I don't comment on everything, but I do make an effort however small to encourage some level of activity on the part of others when I comment and critique. The Writer's Family, to my understanding, works to improve and proliferate our writing through sharing ideas and opinions. The Creativity Corner's goal is in effect the same, so I feel we need to get a little more synergy between the two likely oriented sections of the site population via actually finding the time to post a thread, a critique or a SoTM entry. Not that this means anything coming from me, just sharing some thoughts. That took longer than I wanted it to. Oh well.
Never intend on reaching premium is the simplest solution to this. I mean I've been "active"-ish since I joined, save for a few months in days missed. Most of my activity is, this is really funny, here. This is where the people are most highly concentrated and I often have nothing to add to anything anyone has to say. If you find yourself in this same situation as well then just be content with having black rather than funfetti. Simple as that.
I take my AIDS with emulsion and low molarity acids.
Great Barrier Reef
Slower than the charge boots and less ups than the jet pack.
It looks terrible and lacks greater function. In fact, it feels uglier and less intuitive to use than the old one. I hated it when they removed the skip to beginning button and I hate this now. I'm considering just ceasing all youtube activity over this.
Flygon Flygon Flygon Flygon Flygon Flygon
My submission. Done in 40 minutes. Not bad for slow as a snail me. Spoiler Pi “What is love?†Is what he’d heard her say, that girl across the way. But for her it was just, “I’m sorry, what did you say?†“I asked you what I owed you.†The woman looked at him with an almost shocked and disgusted expression. But he rang her up all the same and then called out the inevitably repeating, “Next.†And so the monotony was repaired. Everything returned to the realm of the here and now. The gift of life. He looked out of windows five and a half odd feet off the ground and stood on a foundation rooted to the linoleum by its soles. Nothing changed from day to day. Life was a circle, time was a circle, conversation was a circle, and everything he saw was a circle. Never a line. Never something that could lead him away. Only what could lead him back over where he’d been. Only what he’d already seen and done and failed to see and do. That was Walkins, Alonzo. Soon Alonzo had finished his shift and was on his way to the lockers where he could retrieve his valuables and make his way home where he’d sit in a chair with a paper cup filled half to the brim with water. He’d proceed to drink the water and sigh and refill his cup as needed, but never above half to the brim. If that grew too monotonous he’d move to a different chair and sigh with a plastic cup that he filled to the brim every time and always emptied half to the bottom before refilling it. If even this grew monotonous, he’d move to another chair and stop drinking. He’d watch television instead. He’d realize there was nothing for him to watch and he’d get up to turn off the television and return to his seat. By that time it was usually bed time and he’d always early days the next day so he’d always go to bed promptly at eight o’ clock. On some days schedule was broken and gave way to a different schedule. He’d go over to his friends’ houses on these days and sit with them and listen until it grew monotonous, in which case he would move to a different chair and listen more intently to another person. But today was on schedule, so he’d be sitting alone. The next thing heard he, was ever so simply, “Love silly.†But for her it was just, “I’m sorry, you can’t be talking to me.†“I fucking well am talking to you, you brain dead idiot.†The man bellowed at him as he went purple in the face from the effort of stamping his foot on the ground. But he ignored the man and tried to figure out what the man was asking him for. He did and gave him the inevitably repeating, “This way sir.†And so the monotony was repaired. Everything returned to the realm of the here and now. The gift of life. He looked out of windows five and a half odd feet off the ground and stood on a foundation rooted to the linoleum by its soles. Nothing changed from day to day. Life was a circle, time was a circle, conversation was a circle, and everything he saw was a circle. Never a line. Never something that could lead him away. Only what could lead him back over where he’d been. Only what he’d already seen and done and failed to see and do. That was Walkins, Alonzo. Soon Alonzo had finished directing the man to his destination and went promptly home without further interruption. There he sat in a chair with a paper cup half filled to the brim and drank it slowly. At six past five this grew monotonous and he sat in another chair and drank from a different cup. At half past seven he stood and prepared himself for bed. At eight o’ clock sharp he fell into a controlled slumber that needed no alarm to terminate it. Habit was the only clock that Alonzo followed anymore. His mind knew it and his body proved it. Neither met resistance, they merely acted as instructed and brought him full circle every day month and year. Alonzo was alive. Then giggled she, oh so sweetly, “Who’s here but you and me?†But for her it was just, “I’m sorry, there are others for sure you see.†“But those aren’t the ones I want!†The disgruntled old bird bristled. But he shook his head and told her the inevitably repeating, “We’re out of stock. Perhaps you’d like to come by later or pick out something else you’d like.†And so the monotony was repaired. Everything returned to the realm of the here and now. The gift of life. He looked out of windows five and a half odd feet off the ground and stood on a foundation rooted to the linoleum by its soles. Nothing changed from day to day. Life was a circle, time was a circle, conversation was a circle, and everything he saw was a circle. Never a line. Never something that could lead him away. Only what could lead him back over where he’d been. Only what he’d already seen and done and failed to see and do. That was Walkins, Alonzo. Soon Alonzo was on his lunch break and he was eating the same sandwich he’d been eating since he was a child. But contrary to reason the sandwich did not shirk with eat bite, but grow instead. With each passing year his sandwich was made a little larger until it became the thing he held in his hands. He took another bite. And another. And another. And another. And another. And when his lunch hour ended he stopped and returned placidly to work. That’s when he saw her. That’s when he heard her. That’s when he knew she was and remained. That’s the monotony was broken and he rejoined the present. The gift of life. He stood five feet and nine inches off the ground and she stood five and seven. They stood rooted to each other by their souls. Everything changed from day to day. Life was an adventure, time was a rush, conversation was a symposium, and everything he saw was beautiful. Always beautiful, as long as she was there. He was always being led away. Only by her though. Only by the one he truly loved. That was Alonzo Walkins. “NO!†She shouted at him, teary eyed and flhed. “It’s only you! Only you and me!†“I’m sorry, you’re right. How could I have been so silly?†And that’s how they lived. Together. Only he and only she.
Worry not. Dmitri is fine, though Fyodor... it shall suffice it to say he will not be joining us. Love is free.
Nouveeeeaaaauuuu <3
Just doing the neighborly thing and sayin' hi.
I remember Luka being a reasonable person. Would he like to dispute this?
I'd like at least to try on my days off. Break the pattern! Fight precedent! Watch me do just what you described. On the topic of name generators. I took a look at it and actually agree with what you said just here. It's not a do it for you tool so much as a spark to your fuel type if you use it that way and I can see it being genuinely useful and time saving in such a situation. Never really thought of that before. Thanks.
Doesn't need to be used remotely apparently.
Easy having yourself a good time.
No. Had it right to start with.
People still Twilight-like? I thought we were all over that now.
