Parallel Universe: Everyone extremely creative. Math does not exist, nor science. Everything is reasoned with art. Everyone speaks different languages and all are understood. Everyone very ugly- our perception of ugly. Mother Nature ( Natia ) most beautiful thing in the universe. But not valuable, a foreign being in her world. No creative talents. Could not whistle, snap, dance, sing, write, draw. mothering does not exist, mothers sacrifice their lives to bear children, fathers are the only model of being. World overrun with male population, but women greatly valued. Natia not feel called to be a mother, therefore outcast in her society and father will only speak to her telepathically (blood relatives can speak telepathically. All alone. Grows her hair long and wild, burns in the sun to be rid of her porcelain skin, starves to rid of her curves. Years later, returns to society, still not accepted. Giving up, jumps off of the edge of the world to try to kill herself, on the way down hears a new voice, unlike her fathers, messaging to her what she will become, voice of her creator. Eventually new force she does not understand pulls her toward a new universe, and she slams hard onto an invisible floor, shattering all of her bones. Enough pain you would think she’d of died, but the creator is still communicating with her telepathically. She can still hear him even in her dark state, when she starts to absorb information, her body restores to its former perfection. Gets up to walk and leaves behind beauty everywhere she goes. Things that did not exist in her last life, things never seen before, things she loved. With smells and colors she’d only seen on herself, and textures never known. After thousands of years, although she had no concept of time, the world was full of Natia’s creation. Natia had bent this world into a sphere so that none of her creation would fall off. Creator starts to speak again, she hasn’t heard a voice in thousands of years, tells her she needs to protect her child, her only comfort. New creation will be coming, a kind Natia does not understand. Creation is humans, they come, make complicated theories. Come up with science and reason and math, art is overlooked and unimportant, on the back burner. They start building. Start destroying her love, She becomes depressed and sinks into her dirt, stepped on all around her, tears and anger make floods and disaster. Soon enough her child is dying, and the effort to save her is minimal from the monsters taking it. Soon her love is dead and mother nature floats above the earth, unaffected by the theory of gravity, unable to die or live, her punishment for not being able to protect…..and…….hmmmmmmmmm.
All these little girlies with their tight pants on.
And all the Average Joes tryin’ to prove they’re brawn.
Don’t you think it’s a little overrated?
In fact I’d even say exaggerated.
Your jokes and your trends, they’re pathetically belated.
Where are all the interesting ones?
The folks with the mind guns.
They’ll go right through your skull,
You could never be dull.
The molds are many but few,
Does that make sense?
We’re all mass produced.
We’re all waiting for a cue.
Willing to be sold by our very own shops.
Are you following this? Sh. Listen.
An original piece is sold for more,
So look farther, deeper, into your core.
Can you find you there?
It may be too late, but if you can,
Jump into your van.
All the little girlies with their tight pants on.
And the Average Joe’s tryin’ to prove they’re brawn.
I’m really upset. Ridiculous amounts of upset that I completely forgot to do my online philosophy. And what did I do this weekend? Err. Uh, Like nothing. Damn it! Why do I feel this terrible hahaha. I feel really stupid.
I want to write a novel about nothing. But noone would read it. Maybe that doesn’t matter.
Why did I write this down. Maybe my mom will see it and she’ll know how upset I am about it and be less angry at me. Oh 😦
Love is a temporary madness. It erupts like an earthquake and then subsides. And when it subsides you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have become so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part. Because this is what love is.
Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not the promulgation of promises of eternal passion. That is just being “in love” which any of us can convince ourselves we are.
Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident. Your mother and I had it, we had roots that grew towards each other underground, and when all the pretty blossoms had fallen from our branches we found that we were one tree, and not two.
This is one of…
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Even if I was unable to prove the existence of the supernatural, that makes you equally unable to prove it’s nonexistence. How can a baby prove that there is no life outside the womb?
But supernatural is unscientific. Meaning science cannot prove it. Angelology is a science. Not a laboratory science. Mathematics and history are not laboratory sciences either, though. We make something that is not a science, into a science. Is that even possible?
Angels can cheer us up, but they can’t make us happy. True happiness is a state of being, not a feeling.
“If you will consult your heart in all honesty, you will know that there is only one reason why you are not even now a saint: you do not wholly want to be.” – William Law
These sentences barely connect to one another. So why am I writing them down?
1. I’m very bored.
2. I’ve been neglecting my blog.
3. I do not want to forget them forever.
I’m not feeling particularly passionate about anything in my present life. I’ve been talking about the future for a week now. But now, I feel emptiness. I feel anxious, heavy, and spinning. My self worth is dwindling a bit, probably because I’m just waiting on things. I’m not living right now, I’m just here, taking those last steps in building my future. I doubt this is how God wants it. I’m sure I’m suppose to be fulfilling some innate purpose here, but I feel like I’m aching and tired. Trying to get on to what’s next for me without getting through the now. I’m very impatient for him to refill my heart where I have drained myself. I don’t want this blog to be repetitive. I want it to be better….I’ll make it better somehow.
Just checking in.
I’m here, but it feels as though that’s all I am. I need more than that, I can’t live with just living. You know that though, which is probably something you want to reassure that my heart knows. Help me, I’m slipping into apathy I’m afraid. You can’t let that happen to me again, otherwise this last year’s brokenness will become even more consuming. I love you, I know I do, but knowing it and… being the essence of love. Those are different.