If you want to really clean a floor smash some glass on it first. You never clean a floor as thoroughly as you do until after some glass has been smashed on it
@PensivePost #RandomThoughts
@PensivePost #RandomThoughts
...I wake from my nap, taking a sip from the room temperature milk that's been sitting on the coffee table.
I notice..., eyes, motionless; mouth, wide open, as no drool emerges from my girlfriend's mouth; and I wonder, how long has rigor mortis lasted, as I go back to my slumber...
@PensivePost #2lines
I notice..., eyes, motionless; mouth, wide open, as no drool emerges from my girlfriend's mouth; and I wonder, how long has rigor mortis lasted, as I go back to my slumber...
@PensivePost #2lines
I can get the sound to work on my computer about 25% of the time, but blaring noisy popup ads have no problem.
@PensivePost #RandomThoughts
@PensivePost #RandomThoughts
I can't remember a time when I wasn't able to read and all I saw was random text.
@PensivePost #RandomThoughts
@PensivePost #RandomThoughts
I Tortured Myself to Look Like This
I don't mean working out to the point of collapse or anything stupid like that. Obviously magic was involved.Now, conjuring up my twenty-seven year old self was no simple task, but I deemed it a necessary one. At fourteen, my face was several reds of exposed flesh and pimple grease. I couldn't face the other witches and wizards at the academy without knowing the proper techniques to clear up my mess of a visage.The odd thing was, she seemed terrified when I summoned her, as though she'd known my intentions. Without her wand, there wasn't a damned thing she could do as I placed her on the torture rack. She was, of course, gorgeous, and I needed to know every last secret.Had she divulged them simply, like I'd expected of her, there would've been no need to conjure up blades, whips, and chains. Instead, she withheld everything throughout the day's torture until midnight, when I'd glean a particularly useful tip from her. I had to wonder why my older, wiser self didn't spare herself the pain; perhaps she knew it was a necessary part of being beautiful. I grew more persistent in improving my looks. Sure, my skin was clean and flawless, my figure curvy in the right places, my hair sleek and glossy. However, her skin sparkled in an unnaturally beautiful way, her curls defied gravity, and there was something about her hips... Clearly, she'd done something to get that way, and I needed to know what that was.Ironically, the more techniques I stole from her, the more harshly I beat her, making her progressively less beautiful while my looks shone. When I'd gotten everything I possibly could from her, I let her go. Surely she could fix herself when she found her wand. As for me, I enjoyed the showers of compliments where there'd been insults before. It was fantastic.I didn't neglect to take notes during that period where I was torturing myself. Yes, I'd need them in case I ever forgot, but I memorized the list of spells and human beauty products almost religiously. Why? Well, I suppose one day, when I'm twenty-seven, I'll make the grave mistake of misplacing my wand.When that time comes, I'll need to know what to say.
@PensivePost #ss Submitted by TeamShadowWind
I don't mean working out to the point of collapse or anything stupid like that. Obviously magic was involved.Now, conjuring up my twenty-seven year old self was no simple task, but I deemed it a necessary one. At fourteen, my face was several reds of exposed flesh and pimple grease. I couldn't face the other witches and wizards at the academy without knowing the proper techniques to clear up my mess of a visage.The odd thing was, she seemed terrified when I summoned her, as though she'd known my intentions. Without her wand, there wasn't a damned thing she could do as I placed her on the torture rack. She was, of course, gorgeous, and I needed to know every last secret.Had she divulged them simply, like I'd expected of her, there would've been no need to conjure up blades, whips, and chains. Instead, she withheld everything throughout the day's torture until midnight, when I'd glean a particularly useful tip from her. I had to wonder why my older, wiser self didn't spare herself the pain; perhaps she knew it was a necessary part of being beautiful. I grew more persistent in improving my looks. Sure, my skin was clean and flawless, my figure curvy in the right places, my hair sleek and glossy. However, her skin sparkled in an unnaturally beautiful way, her curls defied gravity, and there was something about her hips... Clearly, she'd done something to get that way, and I needed to know what that was.Ironically, the more techniques I stole from her, the more harshly I beat her, making her progressively less beautiful while my looks shone. When I'd gotten everything I possibly could from her, I let her go. Surely she could fix herself when she found her wand. As for me, I enjoyed the showers of compliments where there'd been insults before. It was fantastic.I didn't neglect to take notes during that period where I was torturing myself. Yes, I'd need them in case I ever forgot, but I memorized the list of spells and human beauty products almost religiously. Why? Well, I suppose one day, when I'm twenty-seven, I'll make the grave mistake of misplacing my wand.When that time comes, I'll need to know what to say.
@PensivePost #ss Submitted by TeamShadowWind
James Kunstler: How bad architecture wrecked cities
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q1ZeXnmDZMQ
Submitted September 04, 2017 at 02:14AM by connardnumero1
via reddit http://bit.ly/2eAf091
@PensivePost #ted
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q1ZeXnmDZMQ
Submitted September 04, 2017 at 02:14AM by connardnumero1
via reddit http://bit.ly/2eAf091
@PensivePost #ted
YouTube
James Kunstler: How bad architecture wrecked cities
http://www.ted.com In James Howard Kunstler's view, public spaces should be inspired centers of civic life and the physical manifestation of the common good. Instead, he argues, what we have in America is a nation of places not worth caring about.
TEDTalks…
TEDTalks…
If somehow I eventually go blind from excessive technology use, there's a good chance technology will give me the ability to see again.
@PensivePost #RandomThoughts
@PensivePost #RandomThoughts
Actors are really just our society's best liars, and we revere them. What does that say about us?
@PensivePost #RandomThoughts
@PensivePost #RandomThoughts
Expectoration
It sounded as if someone just inside the twilit woods had spit suddenly, though my eyes could make out nothing among the trees. I was debating between someone's watching me and it's just a deer stepping on some grass when the man cleared his throat and spit again.
@PensivePost #2lines
It sounded as if someone just inside the twilit woods had spit suddenly, though my eyes could make out nothing among the trees. I was debating between someone's watching me and it's just a deer stepping on some grass when the man cleared his throat and spit again.
@PensivePost #2lines
The lady from my nightmares
This happened today. I am vibrating. I have either come entirely undone, or something very fucked up is actually happening to me. I can’t tell anyone I know. They wouldn’t believe me and they would bring me to a hospital. Maybe that’s what I really need. But I know I’m not delusional. Everything I thought I knew about reality is in the blender right now. I don’t know how else to put it. I think I am losing my mind.When I was a little girl, I had this recurring nightmare. And even though it’s been twenty years since I last experienced these nightmares, I can still recall them so well, so vividly, better than any other childhood memory.In my dreams, I always awoke in the dead of night with every light in the house turned on. I would wander out of my room, confused, looking for my mom and dad. They were never there. The whole, fully lit house would be empty, even my dog was gone, and I would start panicking. After checking the house I’d go back to my room, terrified, and I’d cover myself up in my blankets and hide. That’s when I’d hear the clicking on my bedroom window. It was her nails. I’d peek out from under the sheets and I’d see her face there, next to her impossibly long fingers, tapping at the corner of my window. I have shivers typing this.I can picture her face as easily as I can picture my own mother’s. She was kind of pretty. Black hair, button nose, but her smile. Her wide mouth just smiled wildly at me and she wouldn’t look away. Her deranged eyes locked into mine and I’d find that I couldn’t look away either. I was drawn to her. Despite my fear, I would slowly approach my window as if I were being pulled. And every time, just as I were about to open my window to let her in, I would wake up.I hadn’t thought of these dreams in years. At the time, as a child, I would tell anyone who’d listen about the lady in my nightmares. But recurring dreams aren’t all that uncommon, especially in children, and everyone, including me, just brushed it off. The dreams stopped around the time I outgrew barbies and whimsy and I although I did recall them from time to time, I have never put any thought into them until today.Today, I saw her.She came to my fucking work. Smiling that all too familiar, unmistakable grin.And now, as I lay in my bed alone with my new kitten, I can hear tapping on my window. I am awake. I am not dreaming. And I am hiding the way I used to do when I was seven. I can't breathe, I can't cry and I don't know what to do. I swear I'm not insane. What the fuck is happening to me.
@PensivePost #story by pinklunch
This happened today. I am vibrating. I have either come entirely undone, or something very fucked up is actually happening to me. I can’t tell anyone I know. They wouldn’t believe me and they would bring me to a hospital. Maybe that’s what I really need. But I know I’m not delusional. Everything I thought I knew about reality is in the blender right now. I don’t know how else to put it. I think I am losing my mind.When I was a little girl, I had this recurring nightmare. And even though it’s been twenty years since I last experienced these nightmares, I can still recall them so well, so vividly, better than any other childhood memory.In my dreams, I always awoke in the dead of night with every light in the house turned on. I would wander out of my room, confused, looking for my mom and dad. They were never there. The whole, fully lit house would be empty, even my dog was gone, and I would start panicking. After checking the house I’d go back to my room, terrified, and I’d cover myself up in my blankets and hide. That’s when I’d hear the clicking on my bedroom window. It was her nails. I’d peek out from under the sheets and I’d see her face there, next to her impossibly long fingers, tapping at the corner of my window. I have shivers typing this.I can picture her face as easily as I can picture my own mother’s. She was kind of pretty. Black hair, button nose, but her smile. Her wide mouth just smiled wildly at me and she wouldn’t look away. Her deranged eyes locked into mine and I’d find that I couldn’t look away either. I was drawn to her. Despite my fear, I would slowly approach my window as if I were being pulled. And every time, just as I were about to open my window to let her in, I would wake up.I hadn’t thought of these dreams in years. At the time, as a child, I would tell anyone who’d listen about the lady in my nightmares. But recurring dreams aren’t all that uncommon, especially in children, and everyone, including me, just brushed it off. The dreams stopped around the time I outgrew barbies and whimsy and I although I did recall them from time to time, I have never put any thought into them until today.Today, I saw her.She came to my fucking work. Smiling that all too familiar, unmistakable grin.And now, as I lay in my bed alone with my new kitten, I can hear tapping on my window. I am awake. I am not dreaming. And I am hiding the way I used to do when I was seven. I can't breathe, I can't cry and I don't know what to do. I swear I'm not insane. What the fuck is happening to me.
@PensivePost #story by pinklunch