Time flies
Seinor. A word of pride, a word of change, a word of goddam I want my props.
College. A word of future, a word of stress, a word of money.
Goodbye. A word of loss, a word of new beginings.
Six monthes seems like such a small amount of time, and yet its so long when you are living every day by the hour. Its six months tomorrow. And I've never been so in love.
Poetry is not just in words or music, it is in the every day flow of life, th way people pace their steps and hold their expressions, the way people glare and become cynical, and the way they smile and laugh, and the way they cry and hold despare. The emmence range of human emotions is perhaps the truest essence of poetry there ever is and there ever will be.
How are we so different from a pigion or a monkey? Is our only difference that we can process an lot more strings of learned logic at a time? Most likely, but somehow I don't think that such a small difference is really that small any more then the difference between red and purple. Unless your color blind. Then there is no purple.
Is everything we do a combination of different events strung together and then organized in a way that is sometimes so impossible to understand that it seems a new and beautiful string of individuality? Absolutly.
Is life the graph of a sine function? Only if you take calculus.
All our world is based upon the oundations of what was created before us. Dose it make a mile stone anyless important just because it was a composite of throusands of tiny insignificant steps? Where those steps really that insignificant? No, in fact it makes it that much more amazing.
What is humanity? Something indescribubly unique and throughly amazing? Or something so blessedly simple that we are still just animals living the way nature has developed the race through a relitivly easy scientific process? Most deffinetly.
Is every thing really just all and nothing?
You better beleive it.
In the deepest depths of our minds we find the truest and most contradictory facts that make up life.
College. A word of future, a word of stress, a word of money.
Goodbye. A word of loss, a word of new beginings.
Six monthes seems like such a small amount of time, and yet its so long when you are living every day by the hour. Its six months tomorrow. And I've never been so in love.
Poetry is not just in words or music, it is in the every day flow of life, th way people pace their steps and hold their expressions, the way people glare and become cynical, and the way they smile and laugh, and the way they cry and hold despare. The emmence range of human emotions is perhaps the truest essence of poetry there ever is and there ever will be.
How are we so different from a pigion or a monkey? Is our only difference that we can process an lot more strings of learned logic at a time? Most likely, but somehow I don't think that such a small difference is really that small any more then the difference between red and purple. Unless your color blind. Then there is no purple.
Is everything we do a combination of different events strung together and then organized in a way that is sometimes so impossible to understand that it seems a new and beautiful string of individuality? Absolutly.
Is life the graph of a sine function? Only if you take calculus.
All our world is based upon the oundations of what was created before us. Dose it make a mile stone anyless important just because it was a composite of throusands of tiny insignificant steps? Where those steps really that insignificant? No, in fact it makes it that much more amazing.
What is humanity? Something indescribubly unique and throughly amazing? Or something so blessedly simple that we are still just animals living the way nature has developed the race through a relitivly easy scientific process? Most deffinetly.
Is every thing really just all and nothing?
You better beleive it.
In the deepest depths of our minds we find the truest and most contradictory facts that make up life.