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Sewer ManIt felt instantaneous. As if I had gone to sleep normal, and woke up deranged. As if in a single moment, I had become what I am. I don't deny it, either my being deranged, that is. Any man, and I use the term "man" loosely, is deranged if they stray too far from the social focal point; and by God have I done that much!
It started as a fascination, grew to be an active interest, and eventually became what I recognize to be an obsession. I even remember the day that I completely regarded myself as obsessed or rather, deranged. I remember my insanity became so consuming that I submitted my humanity to it. Yes, that is why I use the term "man" loosely, because I often question if I am one.
To me, a "man" is one who thrives in social environments. There are odd balls, but even those who are troubled are still "man." However, sometimes you get these exceptions. You get these transgenders. These people who may or may not have social skills, just as a male in a female's body may
Note to SelfYou. Yes, you. This note has been written specifically to you and its contents are of the utmost importance.
Why should you trust me?
I am you from the future.
If you tell anyone this note exists, they either won't believe you or they won't understand the significance. The words will mean nothing to the stubborn and will be impossibly dilute to the gullible. You are alone in this.
I have written this to warn you.
In exactly thirteen minutes, you will die. You need to evacuate your home as quickly as possible. Once again, if you don't, you will die.
I don't have the time to explain the complex series of events that have led up to this moment, just realize that this is a matter of life and death for us both. Do not throw our life away. Please, get out immediately.
If you don't want to leave, AT LEAST turn on all the lights you can find. Then there is a chance it won't find you. A slim chance.
Before I end this message, I must stress what I said earlier: I am you from the future. I
SometimesI wish I could understand myself better.
I want to know what to do.
There is this constant feeling of lethargy crawling on my skin. There is this sudden and fleeting turmoil in my body. And no matter what I try, it never goes away.
Sometimes I'm depressed, other times not. Well, I'm always a little depressed, because that is just how it is. Depression seems to go hand in hand with confusion; at least, it does when you're confused about yourself. How could it not? We are the most important things in this universe.
The universe is seen through us, by us. By not understanding myself, by feeling this chaotic, lethargic, confusion, I'm not understanding the universe which is the most important thing in ourselves.
I've learned a lot through introspection and comparison. I give them credit for my pseudo-intellectualism. Pseudo-intellectualism being the title I dub my ability to appear far more intelligent than I actually am. Then again, I guess I could call it the same thing everybody
Max and Boston, a Pokemon FanfictionMax pulled his face out of the mud and wiped his cheeks. He was panting, struggling to catch his breath. His whole body ached and his eyes were beginning to water. He glanced back at his trainer, looking for some kind of guidance, for kind of command, but none came. All he saw was confusion and panic; it was all he ever saw in Boston. He started blinking rapidly, attempting to arouse himself; he could no longer think clearly. In the corner of his eye he saw a brown creature moving with terrifying speed, and instantly he knew what was coming. His entire body tensed as he braced for impact. A powerful kick to the face sent him flying backwards, on to his back.
Max's eyes opened. The world seemed to be flying by him. Lights were blurring past and everything was blending together, leaving him distraught and afraid. Instinctively, he looked for comfort, for anything familiar. First, all he could make out was a man above and behind him, but he didn't recognize him. He was beginning to panic.
Theme Four: ChangeSome envy the sex. Others the money. And some envy it all. They wish they could have what I have. They wish they could indulge in the treasures I've amassed. They wish they would have been born with that sensation to persevere. They want to have that inborn compulsion to advance. And if they could, they would shamelessly rob me of it.
But can I blame them? It must look like such a decadent life from the outside. To take pleasure in the stresses of progression and to unwind by basking in the things I worked so hard to attain. I must look as though I was blessed by God. I must look like I am a God; some sort of divine entity sent to earth to instruct the lesser how to live. Yet, I am not without flaw. I am not without doubt. Nor am I without misery.
Through years of walking the same road, the same path of responsibility and logic, I have done two things: (1) I have created an unbreakable habit, a thing that I am obligated to obey until the day I die, or suffer the consequences which are
Theme Three: ContentI have been walking through this desert for a lifetime. From the moment I was born and until the day I die. I have walked side by side with my family, my friends, and even my enemies. I have fallen and danced, and have seen the same happen to my brethren one-hundred fold. Yet, despite all of the inconsistencies, some things remain consistent. Despite all of the fallacy, some things are irrefutable.
It is in these niches that I have found my driving force. It is in these exceptions that I survive the intense heat, bear the loss of love; and above all, focus my attention on enjoying life, as opposed to fixing it.
So many times I've seen those with whom I once walked put faith in unreliable sources of instant gratification. I have seen their logic succumb to desperation as they ran wildly at a mirage, ecstatic with joy at their reward; only to discover their reward to be a poisonous creature, disturbed and angry. And many of them, upon feeling that sting, upon feeling that poison once aga
Leaves fell slowly to the ground, moving with the autumn wind, and we moved with them, my friends and I, the three of us sliding down the hill towards the small town at the base of our college. The wind was gentle, but the climate was brisk, and the combination of the two gave reason to wear a considerably heavy jacket. Mine was maroon, the color of the leaves. Eric’s was brown, leather. It had a Gucci logo on it so it might as well have been painted gold. Clair’s was orange, ratty, with symmetric holes running up the sleeves. Together we made a triumvirate of fallen leaves.
As we approached the town its features became visible. The four steeples rose above the tree line first, pointed upwards to the sunset looming on the horizon, growing ever so early. Then the brick buildings, arranged next to each other link toy soldiers, clad in crimson uniforms with gray rifles slung across their shoulders. A few cars lingered, but most had moved on to someplace warmer for the w
Lost to TimeTo be born and enter a world is such a magical experience, even if that fragile mind cannot begin to comprehend even the slightest of what goes on yet. But to be gifted with sight, hearing, touch, and to be able to speak one's mind, to be in this world with these gifts is a magical experience. To grow, and intern, watch others grow, to be of the farmland, and harvest once mature. Harvest and plant, and grow again. Watch and eventually pass on the duty of such. This world truly is gorgeous. I, like almost all of these creatures, was born from a mother who loved a father who would be the man to grow me, and to take care of me, teach me and guide me down the beginning of a path I would know as all my own. You never know what kind of a world you will be born into. Whether it be from the eyes of an animal in the wild, or view the visions of a gorgeously grand city with the power of electricity, with the power of science. Or maybe meet in the middle and be surrounded by equally wild peoples
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Parenting for Sex AddictsThe half-day.
We are not those folks that need an occasion to try. And that’s what they call it, too. Trying. As if the very idea of it is taxing. It’s not taxing and we are not those people.
No. We do not go by some magical calendar. Schedules aren’t really our thing in general. That’d be too organized. Too stuffy. Too… I don’t know… too planned. And we’re not the type of people whom plan.
If we could—plan—our lives would be much different. I think. It’s hard to say because this is how we’ve always been.
Our very togetherness is a result of impulse. I’m almost certain that the amount of time it took us to decide to move in together was significantly shorter than the amount of time it took us to remember each other’s names. We might have had our first conversation moments after that first… what I mean to say is we didn’t plan. Because planning would have been much t
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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