May 5, 2014
Project 18/52: Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God. --Matthew 5:8
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Project 18/52: Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God. --Matthew 5:8
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4.28.14
In other news I was talking to E_____ yesterday about him going to Japan and his eyes just lit up in ways I've never seen before. It's nice having a dream that you can finally achieve. I wish I had that, but I constantly bring myself down. Maybe I should change.
Why is being a friendly, happy, out going piece of shit person so looked up to in this society? It's not a good thing too be too friendly to the point that as president of a club you can't even tell people what they are supposed to be doing? Like, I'm a scary person? I only want to get shit done first and then have fun. Is it so bad that I look at the negatives and think about how to fix them instead of being too nice and let everything fall apart in the end? What exactly is wrong being me? I honestly don't think that I will get this position as the president of buja, now that I have no one who would vote for me. Even though I spent so much of my own time picking up other peoples slack. Where is my reward. So many endless nights and failed tests for this group, what was I thinking joining this piece of shit club.
OH....MY....GOD!!! I NEED A PUNCHING BAG!! THESE CRAMPS ARE KICKING MY ASS!!!!!!! GRRRRRHHHHHH!!! BEWARE! STAY CLEAR!
I WISH I COULD JUST SLAP THE SHIT OUTTA MY CO-WORKER THAT I CAN'T STAND! THAT WOULD MAKE ME FEEL BETTER!! (or at least distract me from the pain of these cramps). Lol. #TheStormB4theCalm
Glanmore Sonnet I . Vowels ploughed into other: opened ground. The mildest February for twenty years Is mist bands over furrows, a deep no sound Vulnerable to distant gargling tractors. Our road is steaming, the turned-up acres breathe. Now the good life could be to cross a field And art a paradigm of earth new from the lathe Of ploughs. My lea is deeply tilled. Old ploughsocks gorge the subsoil of each sense And I am quickened with a redolence Of farmland as a dark unblown rose. Wait then...Breasting the mist, in sowers’ aprons, My ghosts come striding into their spring stations. The dream grain whirls like freakish Easter snows.
Seamus Heaney (1939-2013)
from Opened Ground
4/28/14
4! = 28 - (1 * 4)
Also:
4 * 2 / 8 = 1^4