What a hokey story this is, check it out...so this guy was engaged this chick right, but then he found out that she's been whoring around and got pregnant, so he decides to call off the engagement. but then that night he has a dream with some wierd voice calling itself "the lord" telling him that its this guy lord's baby and he needs to call this baby Jesus...so for some reason he changes his mind and marries the chick anyways and adopts the son even though its some other guy's who doesn't even pay child support.

It takes great effort before it becomes effortless.

The trick is to do everything with great intent and focus.

THE BRAIN IS THE KEY TO ITSELF

One of the hardest actions of a strong person can be to let go. Weak people hold on to what is no longer necessary.

Eighty Hispanics surround twenty white men.
The horns of the mariachis overwhelm, their eyes penetrate.
Two miles ahead lie high priced upper-middle class homes, a starbucks, two blocks down another starbucks.
I feel claustrophobic in my mother’s Sun Valley home.
I am in the heart of an industrial heaven. Grey surrounds my peripheral and the smokey wastes of progress saturate the air.
I want to leave the house, but its like moving in molasses.

Brief: See if you can write about food in a way that makes the reader want to eat. It's important as writers to be able to invoke passion for the subject.

Every day I uncover something new.
Every day I've been 'coming to terms' with things.
I'm going to start to loathe that phrase soon. 
I feel like I've been keeping myself from a part of my womanhood.
Whatever that means.
I've been opening up.
Through art, finding unsuspecting beauty through photography, constructing abstract images still foreign to the front lines of my waking consciousness.

In a little place past Piccadilly lies a Red Lion with golden jewelled walls created with elegant reflections, outpouring with streams of Amber.
There still lies the skeleton of once was.
Only gloss puts on a new skin to revitalise the landscape.

Oxford Circus detour:
A degenerate new beginning with no sense of soil breeds high fashion and discontented protestors.

I'm an atheist

I don't believe in god

I have compassion for others

I am empathic

I feel love

I feel passion

I feel wonder

I feel emotion

I question because I am curious to learn about the universe I live in

I question because I am curious to learn about myself

I am fallible

I make mistakes

I want to grow from my experiences

I don't shy away from uncomfortable truths

I feel pain and despair

I've felt broken

I've opened myself to trust in myself

modern architecture is so boring

straight lines with its stale simplicity

gimme some of that old school stlye

with its lucious curves, rich colors, and intricate detail

To be aware of a very possible mass extinction of the human species brought on by the human species makes me sick to my stomach. Going down, down, killing ourselves because we are controlled by money and false power. False power destroys us. I stare into the world as though it were my last viewing. My only reason to live is for the beauty in all. Beauty in destruction? Perhaps so, but it should not be so unconscious as it is. Unconscious destruction for the sake of ego preservation is not beauty.

Of all writings I love only that which is written with blood. Write with blood: and you will discover that blood is spirit.

It is not an easy thing to understand unfamiliar blood: I hate the reading idler.

He who knows the reader, does nothing further for the reader. Another century of readers - and spirit itself will stink.

That everyone can learn to read will ruin in the long run not only writing, but thinking too.

Once spirit was God, then it became man, and now it is even becoming mob.

Innocence never was
Innocence can always be

Manipulating desire
Unending love

Tied to the poles

Untainted peach stained by the most sorid piece

A soul is born of malicious peace hugging tree wrath
An angle born with devil’s eyes
A devil born with angel’s eyes

Look into this dark black heart and see your white, shining, ecstatic youth

Is there no relief in life?
Vice emerges in search of relief.
Necessities taken beyond necessity.

Attachment to a vice takes the focus away from oneself naked.

I’m in the city of lore 
where the ‘Great Beast’ once roamed.
There stood a blazing time 
where no water could be found but only overflowing foundations fountains of men’s blood.
Now a city of wankers,
too blended to be any good,
too busy to progress.
It’s cool and everyone looks for the truth in your eyes.
Shape-shifting spies in the land of conspiracy and deceit. 
They can stand everything but themselves 
for inside is a bomb waiting to explode into love, hate, and endless confusion.

"I" is not truth, not the I as a reference, but the general I of the self. So there is no I.

It just is. Just like the well-known phrase, "let it be."

Credit for this manifestation of words belongs to all.

Pretension leaks just from the fact that this is being read. But "I" have to do something, and this is what I have to give because I am grateful for what all has given to me.