WHAt we are so we don't ever actually have to DO anything.
let's all talk about
WHAt we are so we don't ever actually have to DO anything.
.
that's exactly my point
I'm too crazy to type IRL IRL IRL IRL IRL IRL IRL. So I don't know.
Talk about what we are. I am a willow tree in my mind. I love willow trees.
Isn't this something good?
Binary or dichotomous systems, although regulated by a principle, are among the most artificial arrangements that have ever been invented. -- William Swainson, A Treatise on the Geography and Classification of Animals (1835)
you can talk about stuff to make you feel like your life is good or you can DO stuff to MAKE your life good
I dunno, whatever works for each of us, heh?
Yeah, screw having a rich inner life. It's all about living fast and dying young.
Binary or dichotomous systems, although regulated by a principle, are among the most artificial arrangements that have ever been invented. -- William Swainson, A Treatise on the Geography and Classification of Animals (1835)
=)
because it seems a lot of us choose one over the other... or use one to hide from the other
...so there's a difference? Interesting.Originally Posted by Joy
In my head, I'm waking up in the middle of winter, on one of those days right after it's snowed when it's cloudy and cold and quiet and everything still has a little layer of snow on it. I'm the first one to get up, so the little layer is still all over everything: the car in my driveway, the driveway, my porch: everything. I unlock the sliding glass door in the back, walk down the ramp, and clear my way through the undergrowth that covers the ditch between my house and the pond. There's a burm on the other side of the ditch: I climb over it, and slide down the other side until I get to the bottom, where the pond is. I stand up, walk out to the middle, and just lay there until the ice melts.
Any Freudian psychoanalysts around?
But, for a certainty, back then,
We loved so many, yet hated so much,
We hurt others and were hurt ourselves...
Yet even then, we ran like the wind,
Whilst our laughter echoed,
Under cerulean skies...
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