Name: Scarlett Valentine
Age: 6 years and 6 months old.
Occupation: Gathering up the trash bags but complaining about it first, and then demanding to be paid.
Likes: Kirby, Minecraft, watching youtube videos of others playing Minecraft, LEGO's lots and lots of Lego's and non-stop talking.
"I feel delicious."
"No, no, no don't be mean to him, he's right I look silly." "I know this because I looked in the mirror."
"Oh. My. GGaaahhhhhhhd."
Scarlett: "...Would I make enough money to make a down payment?"
Me: "On what?"
Scarlett: "On a house!"
Scarlett: "I wanna be a lawyer!"
I'll post it whenever I manage to finish it.
It’s easier to isolate yourself with petty complaints, and the tiny dissatisfactory details of your infinitesimally small, and meaningless life; than it is to try to grasp with your limited mind, and tiny hands the frayed edges of the skirt of the ever expanding universe. Let alone to even attempt to contrive meaning from an existence in a world where the offspring of your species are brutally raped each day, by your own species.
Yesterday I started max cardiovascular interval training.
Ssoo sore today.
For now I have to live with PVC's. They're annoying.
Lucky for me they go away when I exercise but come right back when I stop.
I'm too young for all of these health problems.
I've lost something like 27 lbs since last year. I'm a vegetarian, I eat well, I'm active.
I don't get it.
I couldn't reply to them, you must have blocked me or deleted your account maybe?
She is getting big, that's what they do.. they grow.
and grow, and grow, and then fly the coop.
"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."
"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.
"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."
"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?"
"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."
And so, how does one respond to this? Do we love harder? Do we squeeze tighter? Or do we embrace the Buddhist creed of no attachment? Do we pretend not to care that everything and everyone we know is going to be taken away from us? I don’t know if I can accept that. I think I side with the Dylan Thomas quote, “I will not go quietly into that good night but instead rage against the dying of the light.” I think that we defy entropy and impermanence with our films and our poems. I think we hold onto each other a little harder and say I will not let go. I do not accept the ephemeral nature of this moment. I’m going to extend it forever. Or at least I’m going to try.” - Jason Silva
then comes the day when you see me
and even though you recognize
what you used to feel,
it isn't there anymore.
You wont know where it has gone
you'll dig into the lost memories of yesterday
and there it will remain
washed out with the ebb and flow
in a sea of mundane trivial memories
sloshing around in your grey matter
I want this new relationship to be a means to the end of my loneliness with you, because I want something real something more than a superficial shared fantasy of an intangible relationship that could never happen or work in the first place.
Whatever happens I will always think of you fondly, but I sincerely hope we are never lonely together again.
May this be goodbye forever.
So long space cowboy.
wrapping itself around me
raising the little hairs on my arms
I wont be able to describe it
Some day the wind will blow
picking up the crisp leaves
swaying each tender branch
and I will not be able to feel it
Some day while the wind blows
parting the soft hairs on your head
caressing your weathered skin
I will cease to be in your thoughts
I measure the distance between us
by the second hand
with each deliberate tick
the space between us grows
when there is no A and or/no B
everything will mean nothing
for now I relish in the memories