PERSONAL CATASTROPHE AND PROBABLE SOLUTIONSYour life is headed for a disastrous end.
Everyone will die.
That is a fact.
You will die.
Your friends will die.
Everyone you know will die.
These are indisputable facts.
Your body will break down and crash in one way or another.
Your heart will stop.
Your brain synapses will cease firing.
100% guaranteed termination.
You and everyone you know has less than 122 years left.
The oldest person alive was 122.
Oldest person alive now is 115.
Death should be your number one enemy.
Do not accept it.
Do not welcome it.
The question is - are you willing to extend, improve your life and the lives of those you love?
Why haven't you done it yet? Do you think it's impossible?
Flying for us was impossible until airplanes were built.
Now, the question is- how do we stop the personal catastrophe of death?
The logical answer is - science!
We can slow death down using modern medicine, and we can stop and reverse some accidental causes of death.
Aging is one cause that we cannot currentl
THE CHURCH OF GOOGLISMSTEP 1: The problem.THE CHURCH OF GOOGLISM2 years ago in Personal More Like This
You have a problem.
Don't tell me you don't have problems.
Everyone has problems.
Determine what your biggest problem is.
Don't have a big problem? Too scared to admit it?
You can start smaller- How about a small problem?
How about something that concerns/bothers/confuses you today/this week/recently?
Come up with a bunch of keywords that describe your problem.
STEP 2: Ask google for solution to your problem.
Google your question using ALL the possible keyword combinations that your problem relates to or has in it.
See if anyone already has a similar problem or has already resolved it.
Take 3 hours if you must.
Finding correct information can get tough, especially if it is obscure, hidden, answered incorrectly or has conflicting answers.
Answers without proper sources or evidence are generally incorrect and should be disregarded.
If there are too many conflicting solutions and opposing answers and you're not sure which is correct,
Use the principle of
Do you know the taste of the universe?One day, when you’re five years old and made out of fractured sunlight and mirror shards, you sit down on the bench of the MAX train. You’re dressed in your winter coat and boots that are too big and one of your parents has pulled your hat too close over your ears.Do you know the taste of the universe?3 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
You’re sitting next to your mother, and on the other side is a man that smells like loneliness, something that you’ll later know as cigarettes and alcohol and homelessness. He’s crying quietly into the top of his jacket and you’re scared to look because you’ve never seen an adult cry.
The train ride goes on for five minutes, which is a long time to you, and eventually you sneak a look at the crying man who smells like Portland and loneliness, and he sees you. He leans down until you can see the red lines in his eyes and he whispers to you.
“Do you know the taste of the universe?”
And you look up at him with your little-girl eyes and shake your head because you can’t
NaPoWriMo: Day 2sometimes,NaPoWriMo: Day 23 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i have this
sudden urge to cut
most of the time,
i just wish I were anything
other than me.
a rocket ship, a bird-
the sweet flavored smoke
I promised my girlfriend
these briar patch lungs
would not in.hale.
i have fallen in love
with the strangest of things-
eyes that intimidate
the way my scars
play hide and seek
with her hands. -
the love letters
that start and end
pressed against limbs.
i make promises
i know i can not keep.
but if i were a liar
i would say i was tired
of writing to the stars.
Dark Sadistic Muse:Dark Sadistic Muse:Dark Sadistic Muse:3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I seat myself before the computer,
With fingers poised over fading keys.
Eagerly awaiting my latest epic;
Yet frozen by a lack of inspiration.
Here I sit, staring at the blank document.
The dark background mirroring the world behind me.
I swallow hard as my body locks;
Hairs tense as I sense her arrival...
Slender fingers soon wrap themselves around my throat.
With claw-like nails digging in painfully,
They prick the skin that lies just beneath my Adam’s apple;
Leaving me nursing a rather painful necklace.
"Your hands aren't moving," she coos softly,
Her clawed fingers gently stroking my chin.
"Why is that, I wonder?" she asks with a grin.
Her expression reveals a pair of pointed canines,
Both framed by lips as seductive as sin.
"I'm sorry my lady", I whisper in reply.
The excuse tumbles slowly from a paralyzed tongue.
"I have had no inspiration you see;
No dreams with which I am able to write."
She laughs at this; cruel and cold,
Tossing me from
NamelessA nameless creature jammed into a nameless space located in an unknowable location was all that stood between Experiment 726 and what he considered to be the Endless Stream of Creation itself. The creature was large and menacing, but seemingly beautiful to behold. Experiment 726 crinkled his eyelids at the creature that stood before him, frustratingly unable to comprehend all but the most simple adjectives about it. And yet… it was as clear as day and cold as night.Nameless3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Cold. That was something you could call it, 726 mused. It was one of a very limited number of describing words that he could muster about this impossible place, because no matter how much he looked or analysed anything, nothing seemed to make much sense.
“Why come here?” The nameless creature demanded. “And how? No creature such as yourself should even be capable of getting here.”
“I'm just lucky?” 726 tried. “I honestly don’t know.”
do not marry a writer.do not marry a writer.do not marry a writer.2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
their only love is a pen,
or weapon of choice.
their only home is the mind.
do not marry a writer.
they will leave you for hours,
lost in different worlds.
pulling them out is like waking a sleepwalker.
they will never live the same moment again.
thoughts are lightning quick,
and will never strike the same place more than once.
marry a writer.
only if you want your body
transformed into words.
do not marry a writer.
if you are a flower
requiring constant watering.
you will die, and we will turn your ashes into l e t t e r s.
but marry a writer,
if you want to live forever.
The Nature of LeadershipMy friends,The Nature of Leadership2 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
I come before you as a Captain, but one who has learned from the ways of the past. I address you now to speak both of myself and of the belief that I hold for the future. We are humans, creatures of free thought and free speech. We gather in groups, connecting with those who are like-minded. We form these bonds because it is impossible for us to live alone, but even then, we think and act as freely for that is the gift of our being.
Yet even such gifts can be abused at times. Often we do not realise that the weight that our tongue may be enough to sink another in grief. Each word that we speak must be chosen carefully, for the power of the speaker compounds the weight of his speech. Some, carrying their first spark of greatness, might take this too far and abuse their strength. I was one of those individual, if you had known me in my early days. I spoke carelessly, without concern for any other and I viewed this as my given right. Indeed, I was shown to be very wrong.
I Will Believe That You're Okay...If you tell me you're fine,I Will Believe That You're Okay...2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Then I won't question it.
I won't ask you about the cuts,
Or the bruises.
I'll turn a blind eye to everything...
Instead I'll ask that you join me tonight,
And maybe we'll cook ourselves a little supper.
Maybe you'd like to stay over? It'd be cool!
We'll watch a movie, play a few games.
C'mon you know how much I suck at monster hunter,
Be my wingman--er, lady tonight
And in the morning, let's go for a walk,
There's a huge park just a short distance away.
We could go on one of those nature trail things!
Hell yeah? Hell yeah!
And maybe, after you've had some time to think,
You'll see that things ain't quite as bad as you thought.
And if one day isn't enough to convince you,
Then I'm going to try again tomorrow.
Hell yeah? Hell yeah!
The Suicide PhotographerI am a photographer.The Suicide Photographer2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
People hate my work. You may ask why, but when you see my shots, you'll understand. My work is very controversial. I am sadly proud of my photos, for I may be the only one who's adopted this style.
I capture photos of suicide.
No matter where I go, I carry my camera with me, ready to shoot anything that may happen. There's surprisingly a lot of suicides in this city and the next city over. I've gotten beautiful shots.
The most common ones are those of people jumping from buildings. Of course, there's usually a crowd of people pleading for the person to come down, so I know right away what I am about to get. I stand to get a good perspective, hold up my camera, and snap the photo right as the person plunges to their demise. I take a couple one after the other so I make sure to get the perfect shot. People surrounding me shout at me and call me heartless.
On the contrary, I am more caring than them. That person wanted to end their life, so they had a perfect reason t
I Call Him CompulsionThree. Four. Five. I like five; it feels complete. Okay, one more time. SixI Call Him Compulsion4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"How long does it take to get a glass of water?" my husband calls from the living room.
"Sorry, I'm coming." I resist the urge to rinse the glass a few more times. Cleanliness is not a factorit's the numbers. The completion. The habit. I take a sip of my water and force myself to stop asking if I should just run the water one more time.
I join Sam in the living room and sit in my usual spot: the center recliner. He always lies on the couch to watch TV. It works.
He hits the play button, and we watch ten minutes of reality before the demon sneaks into my mind again. This time I see fire. It sparks from the dryer, blisters the walls, and rushes tsunami-like towards my son's room. It licks at my daughter's curtains.
I see them lying in their beds, unaware of the destruction. I see walls of flame keeping me from them.
"I have to go to the bathroom," I say. Sam pauses the show. The beast in
B e a u t i f u l.Tears roll down her cheeksB e a u t i f u l.3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and he kisses them away lovingly;
she flinches warily from his touch.
He takes her chin between his fingers,
turning her face up to his own.
Don't look at me.
Her beautiful blue eyes swim.
He is confused.
Why not, darling?
A sob wracks her body,
along with a fresh wave of tears.
His eyes fill with loving concern.
You're not ugly.
He leans closer -
a soft gasp escapes her -
their faces inches apart.
You're beautiful, baby.
He kisses her soft lips,
and for the first time in her life
she feels utterly beautiful.
Character - Fortune AdjusterCome in, boy, come in. No, I will call you boy. The carnival manager is Boy to me too, do not think yourself so high and mighty. Come in, you want your fortune told by the old circus hag, yes? Come in, sit here, let me peer at you in the shade. You want your future told? A simple task, for I have already seen it in my inner eye. But more than simply tell, I will change. In truth I am not a teller of fortunes, but an adjuster.Character - Fortune Adjuster5 years ago in Sketches More Like This
The youth of today, worried about the future, ha! The future happens over and over, will happen just as it has happened. All I need are your anchors, the things deciding your future. For example, that pretty little thing you left outside, she is no anchor. She will change you, yes, she will eat up your pocketbook! I saw her, I saw her jewelry and fake breasts. No, look at me, not at her. You did not bring her into the tent, you do not see her as part of your future, yes? She is a fun little fling, am I right? Oh, you think it shameful for me to speak of such thing
What Am I? Lingering in that photo...What Am I?3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
In that simple shot
I look, and I see a woman.
I am not a woman.
I have never worked for a lifestyle,
given birth for an allowance
I have never truly loved a man.
I am not a woman.
I do not have the means to
to wake, feel the calling..(oh, it calls, but I do not answer)
and move, move, move
until I reach a place of
I am not a woman.
Sometimes, I still take the
of my childhood and
place it on shoulders of
Sometimes, I remember the way
lifting builds me up.
But I am not a woman.
Lingering in that photo...
A wisdom of some sort
has trickled into my features
I see glimpses of it now.
In that momentary shot,
I look, and see memories there
In the darkness of my eyes.
In the taming of my smile.
In the strain stretched over my brow.
I am not a child.
And I am not a woman.
Sit down, I want to tell you something!Sit down for a second,Sit down, I want to tell you something!2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Because I want to tell you something.
I want to tell you and everybody else that walked over me.
That today, I have become something!
Just walk with me for a second,
I want to show you something.
You remember this; is it all falling into place?
Cause this is where you shut me down.
Now I didn't know what I was supposed to do;
Excuse me for being a loser, right?
I had to work up a lot of courage to ask you out.
But you didn't even look at anything beneath the surface.
So of course, you just flipped me off and walked away.
Because of you I went to the gym every single day.
Because of you I started lifting iron over my head.
And you know what it feels pretty damn good to be getting my pump.
Yeah, that's something that you did for me!
And now, over to my phone,
Let's call up Michael.
What up man?
You remember me?
Yeah, I'm the guy who could never fit in!
That kid who was
We Were SoldiersYou'll never hear me say that there's glory in war.We Were Soldiers2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
It is ugly, it is painful, it is frightening...
But I know, in my heart;
Deep within this soul born of freedom.
That what I do, at times, is a necessity.
It is nerve-wracking, most days,
Knowing that when you wake up you may not make it home.
But still I am proud,
Because of what I have managed to achieve.
And tonight; I hope that you're proud of me,
Because I'm sending a hundred of my boys home.
I just wish that I was joining them this time...
you loved someone.i.you loved someone.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Chloe is nineteen when she dies.
She ends it with a shotgun
the night her brother gets out
They say he molested her
he raped nine women
ten eleven twelve women
they say no
it was nine little girls
ten eleven twelve
little girls, kids, the bastard.
he was a bad man
“No wonder she did it.
If he was my blood
I’d’ve done it, too.”
You go to the funeral
because that’s what good people
because your mother asks you
“You want to go to Heaven,
without looking up from her knitting
and you would laugh in her face,
but she’s your mother
and you love her
so you go.
A man you know stops you –
a friend of John’s –
John, who is not yours anymore
(even now, even in death,
you know he’ll keep her
longer than he kept you)
on your way to the bathroom.
“John really loved her, y’know,” the man says
as if you wouldn
Another Language called EnglishI took your adjectives for granted. There was something about the way you skipped over your 's'es and gleaned over your 'i's and 'e's, that never really made me want to kiss you. You'd sit there with your languid fingers clutching a book that was half finished, and read me words that were completely mispronounced. It would prickle me under my skin and I would grit my teeth, wondering when you would stop. I would never understand the english language you thought you spoke, and your confidence in your own words annoyed me.Another Language called English2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
It was comical when you spoke in front of our friends. Your mistaken pronunciation of the word 'pronunciation' in particular made them giggle. I would stand in a corner, clutching a glass of rum and coke and cringe, flushing in second hand embarrassment. You would smile at me from across the room, and continue with your tangled tongue as though nothing was wrong.
I felt sorry for you. But not sorry enough when you took your favourite writing pen from my d
Thoughts of YouI wonder how many days I spent dreaming,Thoughts of You2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Of all the things I could never say.
And just when I'd written it all in a letter.
You showed up smiling in front me.
And all of a sudden, the letter didn't matter anymore... (^_^)
The Stick PeopleIn a town called Rushing Water, there lived a woodcarver with no face.The Stick People3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
When we were small, my brothers and I, Daddy would sometimes take us to visit her. We would sit there at her kitchen table, amazed, as this woman with no eyes – and indeed no nose or mouth – would pour out our tea without spilling a drop.
I was frightened of her because she looked so strange, so grotesque. All the other days of my life, I encountered people with faces – square faces, oval faces, faces round and smiling like the moon with slanted eyes or big dark ones or little beady bird eyes. Snub noses, Romans or long, thin, birdlike ones like mine. Yet here was a woman with none of that or any of the faculties that come with those organs.
As a little girl, I dreaded our visits to the faceless woodcarver. But now that I've grown up I miss most all the memories of my childhood, even the somewhat unpleasant ones, so I sometimes let them wander through my mind even when they aren't invited. So I remember the woodcarv
She Dances With FireShe dances with fire, a dragon in tow.She Dances With Fire2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Twirling with flames; graceful and slow
She dances tonight, in a city of ash.
Her feet leaving footprints, where the sand will splash.
Quietly mourning, as time goes by;
Where once she beheld a home in her eyes...
Yet naught but the barest of bones remain,
And so she dances, to soothe the pain.
Death Takes Two SugarsDeath knocked on the doorDeath Takes Two Sugars2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
came inside without invitation
poured herself some tea
and asked for a story.
He laughed at all the right parts,
cried when I cried,
asked for more than she received
It cried with me and laughed with me
sipping their tea and listening
she wondered what I didn’t do
then told me how idiotic I was.
He told me about the children
I could have had but didn’t
and the falls that lifted me up
with the loss of others.
The story of how I almost killed a girl
when she ran into the street
scared her to run into the arms of her father
and never ran into the street again.
The tale of the man who was meant for me
yet still didn’t want me
and that was not my fault but his
for his life went on a different path.
Death pushed in his chair and declared,
‘It’s time for you to go’
despite my tea’s warmth
and my story was not quite finished.
‘I’m not ready to go’
I bellowed and threw my cup
i) Wanderlusti),i) Wanderlust3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
The first time I met the girl who started a revolution the sky was throwing down so much rain it felt like we were underwater. It was hard to breathe; and maybe that was because of all the rain, but probably it was because I looked at her face, under this dark red hood, and inside I was a story with all these feelings I could never say. I guess those feelings could only ever become words on paper - words in ink - not the kind I could ever speak aloud to anybody, if only because I couldn't bear for a person to see the look on my face while I remembered. Despite how good it felt - so hopeful, so desperately happy for what it was and could become - at the same time it was drowning in this sea, like the sky that day, for the way that everything else wasn't. And I said, what's your name?
At first we called her August when I brought her back to Jack's flat, which his parents paid for mostly, and which we used for getting high, mostly. She curled up in the armchair and rarely left it from
You should never attack a poet,we are the best at exploiting weakness.You should never attack a poet,2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the night you took a scalpel to my chest
& fed my heart to the stars,
you told me i could hate you
if i needed to.
with an exorcism
i tried to cast you out
of my body.
i was contorted limbs:
the language of tongues
trying to find myself
in the cosmos
of lit kerosene fingertips,
& the kinds of habits
that only choke me at 3am -
when my eyes aren’t yet heavy
enough for sleep;
my mind tells me to do awful things.
between fucking &
you are the calories
in the mathematical equation
i think of shy moons
and i don’t eat for three days.
you only liked me
when this poetic tongue
space shrapnel aside-
you’re too far down now
for even the stars
to graph you into their maps.