Book Review, “From Bacteria to Bach and Back: The Evolution of Minds” by Daniel C. Dennett

Book Review, “From Bacteria to Bach and Back: The Evolution of Minds” by Daniel C. Dennett

Let me be honest in this philosophical review: I’m more of a fanatic than an academic professional, yet there’s something alluring about Dennett’s style of progress as he arrives at ideas surrounding the mind’s factory. He speaks of the consciousness I’m not afraid of, since it can be my job as a poet to express whatever Dennett indicates in special analysis- the progressive character humanity achieves at getting without really obvious beliefs. In fact, religious philosophy may be possible although a thinker of such a category turns out to be a victim of hallucinations and practical schizophrenia. When Dennett serves as a remarkable spectator of enthusiasm on YouTube and exclusive video sources, I tend to agree on his notion that consciousness is not so mysterious. Maybe we often say consciousness is mysterious because humans have so many kinds of competences on their languages, although- as I’ve discovered from determining quality and parental affordances in my poetry- it’s important to nourish our minds by not being so explicit about comprehension. (So in other words, how can philosophers not be mean when they “mean” something on their meaning?) You can take the same image, such as the image of the fictional flag, and see some different things if you continue on Dennett’s eyesight-experiment. Perhaps it’s possible to order up on words with mistaken definitions; in fact, Japanese writing is practically like making art since I’ve seen Japanese paintings with fancy-looking kanji. Images can be mistaken; they can act like a mirage, turning and twisting in the light before we realize, ‘Oh, imagination is powerful.’ Are mistaken ideas exactly like imagination or just specific hints related to intellect? Dennett doesn’t think that sleeping people influence energetic people, not even on their communication, which leads me to believe that culture can be such a picky thing as people get aroused or bored from their affordances. You see, Dennett is pretty wild and happy when it comes to George Carlin’s words. I get afraid of his situation. Little, quick words tend to act as operating features from the speakers, who in turn act as operators because of their words. George Carlin’s schooling was pretty minimal and I’m not sure if I would’ve allowed that kind of operator to perform surgery on me or to ask his own consciousness for the humorous approval. Nonetheless, Dennett is very light on his treatment of a comedian’s alluring ideas. So what’s my goal if I’m not an official philosopher? Reading books and the importance of studying can’t be understated unless we don’t realize enough words. Dennett expresses so much in his varying opinions that I begin to wonder why the survival of humanity is such mandatory phenomena; if we look at Dennett’s book with unrestricted theories and some priorities, our words will seem to come out of nowhere.


https://www.amazon.com/Bacteria-Bach-Back-Evolution-Minds/dp/0393242072/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1504168755&sr=8-1&keywords=daniel+dennett

Oceanic Poem- "Daydreams into Nightdreams"

Daydreams into Nightdreams

Vertical action in thoughtful lift before those
quick moments into the oceans at nautical distance,
voluntary waters bring me close now in ever-glance
pulling or tumbling inside waves that roll apart from
our galaxy across shadows, dark to shine on a finished
blip as I grasp tripping conchs within momentum on
life-giving error, although these reversible shades
may break by looking glass in the eye due to
fictional storm dreams: a come-across, memory
foaming the feverish pitch I’ve comfort upon
because goodnights by hotel-sway (whatever
holds that blue pirate’s mask towards attention
near the Coast Guards’ green fullness of uniform),
daily bugs repel from in their shorter glances
along the frozen sunshine to lip on my trance when
this fee to serve more crisp heavens through watch-
ful daze becomes a sum over revelational prices,
however I’m your sleeping envy to touch beyond
physical cans of overstuffed dishes.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ocean

See Poem at: https://gameuniverso.deviantart.com/

Budgets and Sunsets

"A Sunset"
From stars bereft, the sun's magnet, a moon yet to tumble.

"Popular Deficit"
To make a shoe yours how near the flowery hut?
My brain a fuse it has to sweetness the top over!
Favorites I sharpen into colors turn like equals missing.



May I recommend something? http://www.sunset.com/

By Alvesgaspar (Own work) [GFDL (http://www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html) or CC BY-SA 3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)], via Wikimedia Commonshttp://www.sunset.com/

Schizophrenia Poem- "Dies or Dyes"

By Craig Finn (schizophrenia patient) (Plos Medicine) [CC0], via Wikimedia Commons

"Dies or Dyes"

Big brother’s skeletal wardrobe, Felix at a good week before passing.
The one-eyed selfie, too relaxed for a sick man.
Sideways ill, sideways frozen, sick and happy in cursed warm shoes.
Blue eyes closed for the blinding flash of fashionable mirrors.
Rusty pink hair over a fat wood-hue’d jacket top.
A blurry reflection from the great tremors of rich white hands.

*I wrote this poem during my schizophrenia event in which it seemed that as fantasy was invading my vision.  When I talked about the big brother, was I referring to the government in Sacramento or my actual brother named Evan?  Various abstractions are in this poem because I lived an urban life in Sacramento until I became crazy, but at least this poem illustrates the seeming virus I caught around Christmas of 2013.   

Question from Poet emilywrite on Deviant Art:  “Please let me know what you would like to see me write about? I lack inspiration in this moment.”

My Response: “When it comes to pain and pleasure in writing, this question can be asked: Why is seaweed the congregation of a needle?  I've been to doctors and beaches at least.  The idea of travelling can be underestimated when it comes to the usual destinations, yet writing about the image on a tourist mug or the disco colors of jewelry, or how televisions don't seem to be squares anymore, can lead to the imagination that leads to more imagination.  Also, those sudden sensations should combine well with memorable faculties to let you address more on the decision-making parties at work and in life.” 

http://www.webmd.com/schizophrenia/ss/slideshow-schizophrenia-famous-names

Gambling Poem- "Local Dream"

Attribution: Renjishino from Wikipedia

Local Dream

This desertous mountain is personal to me called,
Yet global orbs over yonder for choice thirsted fly good:
My wet feathers are made in a dynasty,
Through heat at my wave;
A few posters of old soda for expensive fumes,
We’re to a hundred and one degrees for Savage.
I’ve told dad, the Joshua forest scares legal guardians-
$2.87 Regular, exaggerations of taste, coffee full
Of banana split to Norwegian flavor…
Just put in the mysterious cherry-777-
Mom rents a wheel to get at the Wheel.
“We’re the best hotel in Laughlin.  Your clothes don’t match!”
So there’s pizza to dine in for that marine ring?
It’s how many times I tell you.  (It’s how many times I tell you.)



https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Laughlin,_Nevada

Ironic Photography with High Note

The Shop My Mother Swims

Your lips are tucked in honey and ginseng,
with kisses so powerful to melt into precious smalls in today’s romance,
hungry to sip softly by the Wishing Star’s towering flare.


Rain Deer through your elbow, by this funny bone,
you have a fresh wish for your great infusional bod in its titanium hue,
born to pass, living lock-horns,
picture to the perfect mist as you disengage with psychology in motion.


Tonight at this morning you’re free to fall,
come away sagging to motions deep under the arriving colors,
too rich to be weak by the growth of lovely environs.


You make me remember like a subtle magnet,
as you walk the gardens in the push you let go,
pulling strings, turning my heart upside down,
as you do shop to keep, a spirit of casual fortunes and delights in vain,
growing and beginning to die for an extra life to pour life.


*It's a distortion of my mountain community and quite daring in sharpness.
Sure, why not have a cupcake while you see this?
I'm the kind of guy who goes to restaurants and gets influenced by abstract paintings or the kinds which make you feel comfortable although you don't know either reality or fiction through them.
Now look "carefully" at my artworks and analyze between them, because I myself wouldn't buy all of my artworks to hang on my walls (in fact there's a mixture in my house of my work and other people's work, mostly other people's).

* *(About the Poem)-This all started when I had mom sip some tea and started conversation on French phrases.

https://gameuniverso.deviantart.com/

Restaurant Review, In-N-Out 25220 N The Old Rd Newhall, CA 91321

In-N-Out Review, Newhall in California

New Hall is an interesting place because there just seems to be this long line of businesses at a stocked road called Old Road.  In-N-Out is a great highlight because of its animal fries and indoor paintings, but some burger spot with blue decoration is down the street also.  Are you up for a double cheeseburger even if we just say "double" twice in a row?  Honesty is the best policy at In-N-Out in general.  Workers go here and there in the crowded lobby, washing tables and sweeping floors, as the chefs get occupied with sharing potatoes in clean containers.  As a matter of fact (if I do say myself) cleanliness is a constant routine at In-N-Out and me and my dad can walk in with variable confidence.  Still, what do you do when the chairs pile up with people and everybody is practically rushing out the door?  I've made nice calls to my dad as another seat is empty and I wait in concern as he goes between other people to reach his quick destination: our table, preferably near a couple of paintings to look at and share discussion on.  Whenever we have time to go through the roads, hit the deserts, and fill up on a quick bite... well, you know the rest.  But it's still interesting to just see how we can manage our affairs in a spot with so much attention for frankness like New Hall.  At times it's boring to look at shirts they offer near the cash registers and question myself as to how symbols and fantastic imagery are appealed to with participation.  My parents have been getting me socks from In-N-Out that only help with my appetite since I wear shoes with images of food.   After my family has appealed enough in New Hall through wearing In-N-Out clothes, we're actually in persistence with our own meals to saucy fries and huge burgers.  Just when mom thinks about turning in the tray at one of those located spots for clean-up and maintenance is that very moment where we're off to one side of the lobby, chatting away about our long road trips even as more people crowd in for secret recipes.  Okay, maybe it's not that secret!  The fact is that In-N-Out is a tourist area as pardoning customers go to the real tables where all the magic happens.  I think it's the kind of magic that comes back to us in our thoughts however we handle busy moments within the fun building.  A magic as fun as this (the feeling of going back into the wide crowd) is what helps me understand my own personal appetite.  We've gone against the floors with our own special clothes to eat where the sun shines quite well in the rushed lobby.  People rush up against us to get to their pardoning on matters of importance whether it's the assistance or the attendance, although I've beckoned a few to start quick talks on the general fashion of work and weather to remain delighted in.  Don't be shy whatever you do: have a break and pick up a fry.

Winter Photo with Poem to Rose

Wintry Photo- “Exotic Gate”  

Here's a piece of land that shares a lot in the way of chilly imagination, if the picture ever has imagination, so when picking out art for your walls I suggest searching paintings and photos online to enhance taste before conceiving a decision.  There's only so many walls in the buildings we live in.  I in particular like how the dirty ground is made up of so many little twigs and materials that it doesn't feel like you're looking at a plain desert.  Photos of mountains that are far from the photographers have the disadvantage of being unable to portray those little objects like twigs and small rocks.  In other words, if a photographer goes to far away from said objects, those very details practically disappear.

THE PEACE OF REVENGE

From what’s felt in the nose is what’s smelt in the rose.

Pretty Poems

Attribution to Photo: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Jade_ornament_with_grape_design.jpg

“Simplicity”

A little love between the air.
Into the breeze of a bear.
I just know, why worry so much?
I’m just a cut for the store.
I live along, waiting my breakfast island.
Her breaths save mine as sweet before.
We come in with her, two birds on a mitten.
Cookies get dry by the air we burn for.
If only she’d be mine, I’d be for tonight.
Pillows swallow our fevers after our abridged sun.
By love I’m forgotten, she’s my gaze.




PRETTINESS

Candid, yandid flower.
Shoppe, above heads, beneath petals.
Fires, cold and fuzzy, beneath petals.
The slowing honey, the yielding stock of flower.



*By the way, check out my comment on the picture below.  There's a mixture of clouds with different colors, although the mixture is about half and half and not so random.


https://www.deviantart.com/art/Payment-for-AlyshaAbandomations-2-2-700042074

Poetic Interview, "Sweet River"

Input and Request from Poet

From Nayyab Younas Khan on Poem Hunter: “Hi I liked your poem sweet river.....I would like to know your thoughts on my both poems Karma and Grey or a little taupe....it will help me grow better being a poetess....Good day :)”

My Response: “When you rhyme on your words, the stress you have may vary because of your feelings that amount to each other in two different flows for both poems. In fact, just tonight I've looked up the word 'silhouette' and pronounced it through indications on more than one dialect. My theory is, if your dialect varies, then your feelings must be changing on a kind of momentous whim illustrated in each poem. It's true that 'rhyme' sounds like 'crime'; however, a park can also sound like a Chihuahua's bark on principles related to abstract speaking.  It's okay to read a poem again only so many times until you've hit the borderline decline that wards off rational pleasures. Keep at it! If you're interested in knowing as to whether you should write only on computer, it's logical to assume using pen and paper can remind you, in addition to handling computer systems, to elaborate on words to conceptualize your literary destiny.”

“Sweet River”

It’s more delicious in your mouth.
Candy pulls a big one leaking with a spoon.
Man, that painter cooked his eye!
Tomorrow rolls in when it unfolded yesterday.
Of course, my doctor doesn’t fish.


http://sweets.seriouseats.com/

Add Spoons to the Table!!!!

By Salento81 & Barrosh.m (Own work) [CC BY-SA 3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0) or GFDL (http://www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html)], via Wikimedia Commons

Mommy Poem- "Happy Birthday Card to Mom, 7/17/2016"

To JAStar4 from Deviant Art: You've selected some works of mine and turned them into your favorites.  While I'm not blushing about my public image or getting crispy under the sun, at least you have these original favorites to suit your literary destiny for writing.  Thank you very much! 

Happy Birthday Card to Mom, 7/17/2016

Feel my honey before gobbling this slice.
You’re high noon returning what you are.
I can blow into that roof and be mixed.
We can’t drink from the cups over wood.
In fact, these miracles spread over dessert.
Sounds from the wedding ring are gone.
There’s our palms under commotion, too.
What’s the weight of repetition later?
A kind of nut is swinging in my mouth, also.
Ignore flight over notes, the years in my head!
Velocity sinks in from an athlete’s pie.
The sight isn’t in me, yet.
Horses above clicks make those days good.
Is that picture for a ray?
Dad’s a Muslim’s drink is keeping, right me.
Your heart is the action for one lazy boy.
Why not name your wrist after that action?
I can’t touch the bars we change from.
We’re treading history for past counting.
Tired fingers become sad clues of your magic playing.
Ageing gold, floating blood, students are thrashed.
Mother’s she follows into herself.
Dad gives you a hand, but keeps legs on.
Mommy is the time I have no theory for.
You’re rope without a bullet.

Interview on a Poet and the Show

Question on Writing

"Hi, I am a new writer and was wondering if you could please take a look at my poems and send me some feedback. I am trying to improve my writing.

Thanks in advance,
Nate [Tulay]"

-From Poem Hunter

Response: You've used the phrase 'spirit of the ages', which is related to literary critic William Hazlitt's 'Spirit of the Age'. You might want to question as to what are the pleasures you're down to earth with and how deep you can dig up on your wit. I like how your poetic dialect lays down the problems as though there's direct input to face the facts. It can also help to learn what is mysterious enough to recognize for your imagination. There's pragmatical styles in your speech between the differences on quality and personality. Let's say that quality is prolonged change and personality is eventual verdict: yes, you're in commended situations as often as poetry on movie-like phenomena revitalizes your volume on given speeches. You're doing good! Just have more strength and destiny to add the attractive tendency you exhibit.


Now, on to the show, shall we?

"Split Weather"

I’m deserted to jazz in the oasis across
from loving cockroaches who linger around
my tork, just for addition of colors to
motioning rondo when mom can order N64
on demand in tribute to Gary’s father day
of frugal coffee and free bagels.  That warm
picture of tea in its abstraction to painted
curtains helps me on those schizophrenic
dreams as they ring in my rushed mind: it’s
one lurid concept while I sleep to an Irishman’s
transformation vision that forms him into
a Chinese shape-shifter, turning in an illusion
of historical darkness while smokers exhibit
grudge at the clean parking spaces and a conceptual
bar washes discounted windows beyond the
desert which hones in our Julian family.  Dad
tells me I can doubt Terminators like Julius
Caesar would’ve, although I was given a Hawaiian
name before I ever lived shrouded in personal
memories.  So we drink ginger to grandma’s
Snapple, converting energy into casual procrastination
after Clinton leaves for cultural golf.  We’ve communicated
on the gardening behind duff.  It’s a leverage
where we’re to explicate; location, location, location
to interrupted hotels before Terrible Herbst
manages a box of dirty jewelry for gamblers
at the “Wheel of Fortune” inside those conceived
treasures.  

*This is the kind of abstract photo, "Bubble Bricks", you place somewhere where smooth comfort is required.
It's a generalization about bricks and bubbles, but it's a fine generalization.
I've sent this photo across three different computer systems to achieve this effect; it's lurid and a symbol for my floating rationale, if I do say so myself.

Poem on Adam and Eve- "Zease"

Zease

I got a crack in my shoulder and touched the apple.

That was my atom.

I reached into the crack on my shoulder and touched the apple.

That was my Adam.

-me, Alex Julian

*The painting is by William Blake, who I’ve mentioned before without much recognition.  I don’t have much recognition for him because, well, I’m new to the guy and am still trying to work out the kinks on my mind for general taste.

Meal Poem- "Famous Dessert"

Famous Dessert

A street, be street, see street.
It’s candy off an elephant’s back.
We see it through the ave on cotton to the tail.
Extra peace to solitude, another piece as rude.
Ten colors come out of the magic words, just from fun size.
Red, yellow, brown, too much purple in the town.
You wrap the dough, you bite the nugget: so fair by the roof.
A street, be street, see street.
It’s candy off an elephant’s back.

*Here I pronounce the word “ave” like the “-ave” in the word “have”.  A reference is made to my toy elephant.

Scout Poem- "Free Seasons"

Free Seasons

A fun zone seals the evolution on my local safety
when this defense gets bright upon secretive homes,
after that strike from your chase goes against our
felt roughness over theft as connected.  Just as much
spark proceeds on fixed transition beyond short fires,
marshmallows for dollars in inflation to sweet problems
although heat crosses into the wood’s pitch near
Cub Scouts at freedom of defeat.  I’ve cornered
both shadows within their moving reflections as night
goes bad out of strong wishes.  We hide under the
cold shades during pretended disco, before seven
dwarf stars meet the eye skill guardians concede
as affordance of permission.  Hey, my aunt is
far and old enough for pawing at super discounts!
We’ve been crossed on casual demand as these
circles in flesh and blood speak out of a wound
for In-N-Out stops and Indian death, pinecones
in ink or badges on violent craft in dust, cutting
on the hot decision above ghostly showers even
as bleeding raccoons fill up two pairs of crows because
road rage, between three warlike deer, curtails
on myth the weathered confusion on gay merit for
which popcorn sells.  One hypnotized group I’m in
plays Mario Kart after Home Improvement transcends,
imagination enough so fictional warnings of Californian
forests refine Dr. Demento fans, thus my little purple
radio shows the Zoom my toy giraffe ride promotes.

* Here I speak like I'm the Cub Scout who is currently making progress as the horror comes back in the form of sweet nostalgia.

http://www.scouting.org/scoutsource/CubScouts.aspx

By The original uploader was Mwanner at English Wikipedia (Transferred from en.wikipedia to Commons.) [GFDL (http://www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html) or CC-BY-SA-3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/)], via Wikimedia Commons

Ant Poem- "Horrible Guests"

"Horrible Guests"

This event (so clear may turn around) is divided by
promise through my recognizable focus over
noodles in a mobile cup; of course, bad logic
is part of the germ which hones in my hereditary
hunger for the Splashing Jack near chimes
that service against mountainous winds with
your tricolored fox. (That’s to say, a poker
sticker sits between texts on a radical college
without so much to please our rage than to
comply out of literary discounts across from
a faded store logo.) A desert worn as filthy
ice transforms my favorite colors of land
into transitioned features upon angry insects
who shake heads as they conflict of personal
feat to steal hot sauce, up against some
antiquated records only to present on secondary
reflections the solid light when it sinks into
dead treasures that rattle my Switch.

NASA Poem- "Rocket at Low Price"

"Rocket at Low Price"

Let a horse pass to be wild.
The crazy moon has a child.
I’m between the firsts as heard.
Weight to signal is quite murr’d.

Sometimes the angels may count.
Every maze deserves amount.
It’s after long trees vanish.
Weight to signal is such dish.

Belonging masters yet dare.
Clouds take our sun by the hair.
Gates, lose your health across stars.
Weight to signal is the Mars.






https://www.nasa.gov/

Baseball Poem- "Occupied Paradox"

                                                                                      Occupied Paradox

A bobblehead is near two minty cars at expensive pizza,
To play on a dance between scattered taxis until Evan’s barista,
Despite our explosive Bellinger: my Hispanic fruit, Oklahoma!,
Like some palmer around the pope’s choice of food in Roma
Often in silly meditation, to shove a mutant from mom’s new couch
At a cracking kitchen so Q-tips relieve on gratis her pouch;
Thus dad sleeps on professional notes, Bush out of market
When thanking the limbless after this national flag burns a met,
Before I put your spot on the right.  My globetrotting for
Wine to have sweet ice beyond 8 years, across German shore
To show strings on Vans through sentimental vibrations,
Far from translations
For tea during Elton John’s love
Shown on an electrical tube for poor French actors, above
Terrorism beyond the metros to hurt the great Disney’s
Missions.  Let’s see, I’m figurative about the Busy Bee’s
Restaurant where Treasure Island sold old Mario, Duck Hunt
Thrown in the trash after a videogame store owner (as runt)
Lost control of morbid weight as he crashed a deadly motorcycle,
Although a coffeehouse within Ventura shows no Michael
In Terminator’s voice- no Camarillo Dream, nothing
Of Esmerelda except hard data of sharks for a fascist king,
Easy antiques of sombreros by the rare Pac-Man
VHS where salsa drips from roasted mayo, grandma’s fan
From parts of China where humans believe artistic ghosts
Shout in the new millennium however tougher than L.A.’s hosts
On premium standards to foreign McDonald’s.  I can dust
Three stars with crow’s feet in a preemptive strike on a fair’s lust
For cheap goldfish, which happen to be telegraphic
On cardinal streets against Eagle Scouts; I’m mortally sick,
Turning up with music criticism on the Irish fancy,
While mom in small drifts dreams in the visionary sea.
Pizza Hut is invisible in Dodger City, yet that blue
Statue shows a glove that disturbs Nathaniel and two
Drinks.  (Shush preoccupants!  Elysian Park
Goes well at night when I perform the Bamba to hear a lark.)
A song on heat propels in the meadows to a hidden fox
Behind a decorated shed to my Crayola collection box.
No!  Neighbors aren’t donating their strict politicians
Despite those old nachos which, in summary, correlations
I assume to show fast potatoes to be off the handle
With Knorr’s condensed rice.  Gamers on Mario
Kart pose as Hitler or Jesus to display one evil on their chart
Where this gaming lobby can’t realize the hello
On land whirred from short candy, as much as we know
80’s across the stands to crispy pastries
When the Golden Oldies beckon high radios to seize
The refreshed Denny’s.  Rhyming in a vicious cycle also
Curtails the mentioned peace on mountainous thunder low,
Under our moon’s peeking eclipses
Toward Chicago’s classic wings for a table’s kisses.

*https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bobblehead

Dark Photo- "Infernal Flag"

Dark Photo- "Infernal Flag"

I don't support hell, but if a demon had a flag, I think this is what it would look like.


*On my DeviantArt, potential customers may purchase this as a gallery wrapped picture.  Here I use multiple layerings of photo manipulation.

http://gameuniverso.deviantart.com/

Moral Poems

 

"Justified Circus"

Just see the golden moon.-I own a hot balloon.

"Vested Yarn"

I took a bill from my skin.-Wheat in my mouth got so thin.

 

"Colors from Action"

A rose is under the influence.

I eat cheese when faraway.

Time is song.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cherry

Lovely Poems

Lonely Tendency

What color is the sky behind a moon?
That explains your quality of my secret.
So many flowers rise to this change between lurking dishes.
Let me conjure up the failing battle against moving seconds.
Hop in one light and save importance.
We are at help to bring cake.
A vegetable breathes out from roaring lullabies on pleasure to go.
My wisdom is soft enough before that destiny leaves it from behind.

 Tremors Beyond Clue

My permission has fallen within moments of struggle to hire,
Off seen verdict again on surreal richness lovers withhold fire.

Brain Poems

"Procrastination"

It is Monday, tomorrow is Friday.

*Procrastination, in my view, is the false belief of what time it is. It's an illusion here, but also an easy lie to make you feel comfortable. 'Teachers' can procrastinate no matter how aggressive they pretend to be.

"Creativity on Wisdom"

Once upon a time, a boy had nothing but a brain.

Then, one day, a girl told him to eat something for good health.

He didn’t know what to do, so he decided to eat his own brain.

He ate and he ate and he ate.

On his next day, he felt strange and kept on with little feeling.

So after that girl returned, he critiqued and asked on her purpose.

To be fully honest the girl said, “I thought you would’ve figured it out.”





https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brain
René Descartes [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

Poem- "Beginning Hello"

"Beginning Hello"

Different moves are the same when enough.
When you make profit, you have to get rid of waste.
How can this greeting be like death?
I call a size to relocate within traffic.
We can’t have the difficulty of a cracker on us.
My heart becomes an excessive gift.
Let’s trust our sun to its speeding gravity.
Someone may develop two shadows against classic hills.

http://gameuniverso.deviantart.com/