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RMH
Today's Document
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@laidbackwriter-blog
I have a new blog everybody!
My new handle is @partsofMorgan and I invest you to join me over there! There will be new work, more consistently.
This blog will be out of use. And my work will steadily be removed.
So please feel free to come with me.
We're moving onwards and upwards people!
Land like a Dancer
NYU Langone’s Harkness Center for Dance Injuries (HCDI) performed a study on the biomechanics of jump landing, comparing athletes and dancers to learn more about the incidence of anterior cruciate ligament (ACL) injuries in both groups. From this study, HCDI has been able to identify training methods that dancers implement early on that can be useful to athletes who experience a higher rate of ACL injuries than dancers.
The lessen to be learned from this recent paper goes deeper than the biomechanics of landing and the epidemiology of ACL injuries. It brings to light the notion that how we move and an awareness of proper mechanics can have a huge impact long term. Healthy for me means being able to do the things in life I want to do – in the foreseeable future this is a full day of running around the hospital followed closely by a killer nighttime dance class. Keeping up this pace is going to mean paying more attention to things like posture and mechanics, even if it’s tempting to think that my 23 year old joints are invincible. I feel like the posture police these days, but it seems like a small price to pay for saving a trip to the OR further down the road. Trust me, those bone saws they use in ortho procedures are scary.
www.iwontdance.com
When do you plan on posting again?
I actually haven't thought about it in a while. So busy with work. Didn't think anyone was watching.
A mind is like a parachute. It doesn’t work if it is not open.
Frank Zappa (via wordsnquotes)
Cut your hair short!! Wear red lipstick!! Get that piercing!! Text them first!! Life is too short not to try new things I believe in you!!!!
A Warning.
There are many things I've wished a thousand times for which I could say sorry. But ultimately, I did not apologise and I can't say I regret it, though sometimes it lies heavily across my heart. Alternatively, I could apologise all the time. Like you. But I am not sorry and you seem so lost in what others expect of you that you will always fail to match their escalating fantasy. So I do not apologise. But somehow, I end up coming back to you even though I have other options. I do not know why I stay around. The weight of your blame for something beyond my control is crippling and yet I let you push away all of your horrors. I'm sorry that tying your shoe laces made you feel bad that day. I'm sorry that you're insecure about your body and me, wishing not to observe it in a picture, drove you to perspire, almost expire in the summer heat. There I go again. Apologising. I'm not sorry for those things. Maybe you are rubbing off on me. I can no more feed your need for attention as a fish can climb a tree but that is what you seek and I am sorry for that. Yet I am still here. My venomous rage punctured your veins and I know you're waiting. I wish I wouldn't come. But I will. Just know that the weight of your blame is stamping out everything that I have. And just like fire, everything that I have given, will bleed from my body amongst the ash.
Chapter 2
Its long body had no fat, no cellulite. Nor was it muscle. It was nothing more than skin covering bones. Deep yellow and orange scales covered it from top to bottom, and covering its scales were sharp barbs the colour of the sand in which it hid. Its fearsome eyes, seemed to be every colour possible. Its hooded, elongated head had no nose but its gigantic tooth lined mouth made up for that. Its long, long body lay three times the size of Del’s 6 foot 5 inches. Del turned slowly, unsuspectingly, to face ta great pile of sand that could have been easily mistaken for a dune. The creature launched itself at him and Del made a grab for its head but missed by inches. The Snake swerved and crashed to the floor, its tail whipping Del's legs from under him sending him to the sand too. The creature squirmed and writhed, finally rolling back onto its soft underbelly once more. Where was his knife? Del scrabbled in the sand, he had no recollection of dropping it but it must have happened in the panic. He turned back to face the creature with empty, shaking hands, adrenaline fizzed and bucked through his veins clearing his blurred thoughts. With the Snakes next flying leap, Del lifted his hands and clamped its jaw shut. The beast battled against Del’s hands but he held the snake up high above his head, and it struggled heavily against his body. Clenching his fingers around Del slammed the animal to the floor and he sat with a leg on either side of it, looking into its strange, hypnotic eyes. I know what you are, Del spoke. I’m what ever you want me to be. I am your lover, I am your sworn enemy. I am your salvation but I also condemn your soul. I’m whatever I have to be. Why shouldn’t I just kill you now? Del liked being vulnerable as much as he liked the desert. That is to say, not a lot. Because I have what you want. Del had strict orders not to kill it. Just to get what he needed, what they needed. He felt it rifling through his mind, looking for something. It should have felt strange, uncomfortable. It did not. It was almost familiar. Del’s chest seized with unease, something was wrong. And because you want the same thing as I. You want to be free. GIVE ME WHAT I WANT Del screamed in panic. The animal had touched something that was sacred. Something that was unsaid. Something that had never been heard, it was the only thing that he had ever owned and now it was no longer his. You are like me. Something made rather than born. Different. The beast had latched on to his weakness. And began bleeding it dry. Then realisation dawned that he was the mouse in a trap thoroughly laid out for him, Del knew that now they had what they wanted. He and the snake were the same. They had used the same material to raise a beast that could infiltrate his being the way he could do so many others. The Palace now knew that he would turn traitor as soon as look. His sister's safety was in dire jeopardy and with her body of just fourteen years, she is vulnerable. However much she protested that she could look after herself. And now his kin will burn. Run, his body screamed. But he wasn’t done yet. He scraped his bare foot up the body of the snake until his foot pressed its head back into the sand so it could not escape. Using his fingers, he ripped scales from it's body, as if pulling the feathers off a dead goose. The snake hissed and cried out in agony as its red blood started to run. Del slid a clear, angular vile from his belt and collected enough of the blood to fill it. He forced the cork back into the vile just as the snake twitched and he lost his grip on the monster. It forced itself away, flinging Del in the other direction and braced itself to leap upon he man. He landed heavily, feeling the sand beneath him shift. It was soft and warm everywhere apart from the patch just underneath his left hip. It was bumpy and hard with an end tapering out into a sharp point. He pushed his hand under his damaged body and grasped the handle. The Snakes pounce came just as he raised the blade with both hands, one on the handle the other flat against the tip, and watched as the beast fell, neck first onto it. The knife bite into it's skin not only injuring but decapitating it clean through the bone. The blood gushed out of the snake’s body straight into Del's face. It's body was still moving, independent from its head which had rolled away from him just over his left shoulder. Del lay and and waited for the last twitches to cease. The barbs from its scales, were hooked into his skin. Pulling painfully at his flesh unbearably. All he could do was lie there and hold his breath as the last of the blood slid over him. He heaved away the carcass, letting a grunt escape as the bards slid from his body once more. Del finally peeled himself from the sand and stood. Puncture holes littered his thick tunic and each hole now seeping a turquoise liquid, his body was rejecting the poison. Del limped away, leaving a trail of the snake’s blood behind him. He looked back over his shoulder, and for a second. Just for one second. The brown rings in his green eyes shone orange as he cursed himself, then continued to slink away. His punishment awaited in the palace and it was a most pressing engagement. After all, it was fore-sworn. It had been organised for more than a while now. It was really was a shame he would miss it.
Chapter 1
Was that peace he felt there surrounded by the dunes? It might have been. As conditioned for war as he was, it was hard for him to say. As swiftly as this unfamiliar feeling had settled around him, it was blown away under the scrutiny of his thoughts. He could die today. But he would die a proud man. In the name of the Kingdom he would have one day ruled. He marched on through the Sand Storm. The sand raced through the air like a fox chasing a rabbit. Only alive for the hunt. It whipped at his skin, leaving it raw and open. His eyes were wide but his pace remained unaffected. The majority of his body from the spiraling sand by a long, stiff tunic. His foot prints immediately swept away by the material dragging behind him. The robe was a cream colour, at odds with his dark, brown skin, and black hair. No jewels adorned his strong neck or arms. He was regal in his own right and grandeur clung to him like the desert heat. A breath of wind swept through, and he opened his arms wide, welcoming the harsh sting of the sand on his skin. A vicious beam of reflected light streaked across the sand turning it white just left of his feet. A plain cuff of solid gold ringed his right wrist. A sign of his power for all to see. A sign of respect. It would never part from his skin. And in the last six months it had become a symbol of his rebellion. My day will come. Thoughts bubbled through his brain like poison these days. He had grown proud and arrogant and bolstered by his vanity more everyday. Waiting. Always waiting. He was tired of waiting for his turn. My turn is soon to come. He crooned and a slow grin bit across his face. His movements were slowing. Arms still outstretched, the soft padding of his bare feet the only noise in this barren land. He stopped. He had to walk no further. This is where he would find it. Good luck on this quest, brother. May you bring our people prosperity with the Monster's gifts. His sisters familiar echo reverbetrated in his head. The imprint of her presence felt like a hand upon his back. Soothing, soft like silk and barely there like a summer breeze. Her voice a deep hum that nestled in his chest. Your wishes of good fortune set my insecurities at rest, Mora. You are a loyal sister. A King is strengthened by the women who stand behind him. Our allies and enemies alike will look at our Kingdom's wealth of women and squirm in desperate envy, he cackled generously. Mora's breath of disapproval alighted in his mind. Indeed, brother Del. But you are not King yet. His smile dropped. And you, dear sister, are our most prized possession. A great virtue that will further our influence significantly. When I am King i shall marry you to a family befitting your behavior. A shock of cold resentment and anger blew through Del and his face remained impassive. Quite, your highness. She was gone. Regret momentarily overtook his thoughts but the urge to defend himself had taken over and he had dealt a death blow. News of Mora's safety within the palace set him at ease, although she hadnt said so in as many words. His sister was dear to him and he could not lose her. Despite her tendency to raise his ire. Del placed his hand around the knife, hidden under his tunic. A tuneful reverberation rang through the air as Del drew the instrument. He sank into a low squat. Bent legs and arms were thrust forwards brandishing the knife. He was most at home like this. The golden handle of the knife was twisted at strange angles, molded to the curves of Dels palm. The sun glinted blindingly off the jagged edge of the weapon, blitzing the letters with savage heat. Its Latin inscription brought luck to the bearer of this laboured over instrument. A series of letters, desperately unreadable, crossing over and over again spanned the rest of it. The same inscription repeated in every language that will ever been known. An enlarged, blue vein pulsed in his arm. It snaked down from his elbow to his wrist, passing under his gold cuff, briefly passing across his forearm. It bunched, slithered and wound around itself. "Del!!" He bent double with breathtaking pain. Del cringed and staggered away from Mora's blood curdling screams. All was still. Mora?? He straightened. His eyes scanned the dusty landscape. The reaching fingers of his mind grasped for Mora. She must be here. I have to find her. She's here. Del fell to the floor and dug frantically with his fingers. He plunged his hands in to the already substantial pit in front of him. The sand was hot and his hands were turning red. He had to get to her, someone had tricked him. Someone had taken her. "Mora? Mora!!" The shrieks exploded from his throat, and his eyes shone plainly with the panic that consumed. Del's head spun and he could hear his pulse thump in his ears. His fingerswere blistering, and pin pricks of fire burned all over his hands. He stopped dead. The back of his neck prickled with unease. Comprehension dawned. His back straightened as he kneeled and he realised that his hands were empty of his weapon. Del struggled for control over his own mind. "Del..." She whispered now. The only sound to be heard for miles around and he almost missed it.
Parachutes.
Parachutes can only get you so far. There comes a time when we must shrug off what's safe and commit to free fall in order to grasp the very essence of ourselves. To keep ourselves soaring above amongst the clouds. And as we look around, safely drifting around with a pack carefully prepared for us by someone else, we see that this is not the reason for living. The view is beautiful, but not yet ours. The time has come. Fight or flight that will make or break. Elevate or depreciate. The void calls us, L'appel du Vide, as the skies turn pink and the Sun sinks below the horizon. Because soon the rushing darkness will arrive and the parachute can not guide us past the trees that lie between here and the ground. Having lost sight, must only trust ourselves. Nothing has changed. By shrugging off what's safe and committing to free fall, we will grasp the very essence of ourselves. We are our own guides. So lead the way.
women do not have to
be thin
cook for you
have long hair
wear makeup
be feminineÂ
be graceful
have sex with you
shave
diet
be fashionable
wear pink
love men
listen to your bullshit
My mother always told me, that women were created to part seas, to break ground and to put the sparking night sky to shame. Don’t you ever allow yourself to belong to another person. Don’t you ever quit being the sun for fear of shining too bright and don’t you ever reduce your galaxy to merely a constellation. My darling, be far too busy being a force of nature, a child of the universe and a storm of a girl. Women like you were meant to conquer mountains, Not to be pretty.
indieluhv (via wnq-writers)
Hell explained
The following is an actual question given on a University of Arizona chemistry mid-term, and an actual answer turned in by a student.
The answer by this student was so ‘profound’ that the professor shared it with colleagues, via the Internet, which is, of course, why we now have the pleasure of enjoying it as well:
Bonus Question:
Is Hell exothermic (gives off heat) or endothermic (absorbs heat)?
Most of the students wrote proofs of their beliefs using Boyle’s Law (gas cools when it expands and heats when it is compressed) or some variant.
One student, however, wrote the following:
Keep reading
Nobody will protect you from your suffering. You can’t cry it away or eat it away or starve it away or walk it away or punch it away or even therapy it away. It’s just there, and you have to survive it. You have to endure it. You have to live through it and love it and move on and be better for it and run as far as you can in the direction of your best and happiest dreams across the bridge that was built by your own desire to heal.
Cheryl Strayed, Tiny Beautiful Things (via wordsnquotes)
