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Deceitful EmotionThere are few matters in life in which I feel I cannot reach a satisfiable understanding of with-in several weeks.
Of course, here I am barring academia and the like...
No, I'm talking about matters of a far more practical level. Why do people say hello to each other? Why is there stigma? Why do people swear? Questions like these, I can usually answer, given enough time.
I guess why I ask these questions is because many actions don't seem natural too me. Maybe it's because I never really was all that great at adopting actions regardless of their nature. I don't know really. But them being answered seems to be integral to the continuation of my being content.
Yet a concept I do not understand, and fear I will never really will, is happiness. Cliche, I admit, but true.
I remember reading an article, a while back, about sports stars- American footballers, and their head injuries. It talked about the life expectancies and how, in general, being a sports star wasn't all that great. But it w
The Pseudo-Nihilist.Inevitably, I always come to the same conclusion; subjectivity.
I identify with the nihilist label, and have done for a while. I accept that good and bad are abstract concepts- intangible, not subject to empirical measurement, and subjective.
I don't subscribe to concepts such as real and fake- yet I can say I have felt the former statement to be real- true, for a while, several years infact. I feel after several years I should have came to terms with the rationale I've gone over so many times.
Yet I find this not to be the case.
I often will feel an uncontrollable sense of anger at injustices committed. If it's not anger it's depression. If it's not depression, it's disgust for my humanity and misanthropy to every other individual occupying this world.
I tell my self over and over in my head that there is no right, there is no wrong, there just is. But none of it registers.
It angers me that bigots have views that conflict with mine. It depresses me that people find the bigoted views
Inspector Wolf The old lady was dead. I could smell it before I even got into the house. The whole place reeked of adrenaline, sweat, fear, copper and steel. He’d dropped her right in her living room. Chopped and chopped until she stopped moving. But I could tell I was getting close. This had been done in a hurry, and the killer didn’t have the time to clean up after himself like he usually did.
Across the room, the phone rang. The shrill sound set my teeth to grinding, but I ignored it. Instead I followed the killer’s bloody footprints into the back bedroom. He’d climbed out the window. If I hurried, I could catch up to him and end this disgusting spree he was on.
Then the answering machine kicked in. “Hi, Gramma! It’s Red. Sorry I’m running late. I kind of lost track of time. But don’t worry. I packed the picnic and I’m heading out the door right now. Love you.”
She’d been expec
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More