The Crimp of Typhus in Jack's Exoskeleton

Yes, the revamped NBC Emerald City has its uses, as in why we need to be cautious about invasive orthopedic surgeries, and yes, the production values are lavish, and it reeks of Martin's girth, but the dowager has little inclination to be studious about Tip's gender transformation, or that the female witch girls subliminally echo Village of The Damned. Yes, I know the themes are different, but institutional memory grants perspective.
A Canadian student, user handle JBI, was a pretentious snit on Literature Network, and he posted to me, "Read a sample of Martin's work, you'll see." And I did read a sample and did see how superficial the diction was, but knew this would wind up flushed out by video enterprise, even if I did not know it would become the next Harry Potter and make its burly bear creator wealthy, despite the ensuing controversy over rape as a weapon of military intimidation. It says something about the virtue of not torturing your work, as the runs could wind up killing you at the end of the day. I cannot complain, as I chose to defy collective psychological dependence, but this year, I'm really sick, on the verge of hospitalization from overwhelming odds, whatever happens then.

Positive Endorsement

My most energetic hours are now, assuming I've eaten. I'm easiest between 2 and 5 am, with the knowledge that things are relatively tranquil, but something always acts up. My digestive tract, or the felines rousing themselves in an outburst of havoc. I am still succinctly dubious of twitter. I understand it much better as spam, but it really isn't my interactive tool of choice, though I am on it and not Facebook, and I'll add, to my detriment, that I'm waiting to be banned, baffled that I haven't been, but a little too clueless to get myself banned, since in all my online history, I haven't done the newsworthy twitter banning items, and a person cannot argue on it. Snipe, yes. Snipe which is callow and bad for the mind, but convos are a tad swift for me.

Ev's Medium I've just tried, rushing my copy without links or gifs or things, but I am forgiven because the psychology of meeting a deadline sparks my battery, and if I fix it and keep running items of interest which I do not hold for sale maybe they will commission me on the slog. I like it better than Examiner.com, an outlet I grew to hate, because I don't like tabloid journalism, not for the return on the work submitted--I mean, writing for nothing, at my age, is less than writing for cent per page view, but Clarity was no good for me. Medium is better, with one caveat: I'm lost on graphics. My brother has that literacy. I do content. I do cerebral. I do thinking. I do getting constantly chastised for expressing ferocity. I cannot do graphics, video, and I'm no photographer. I lack the dexterity. Respond with limited aesthetic appreciation, yes, but produce it, no. Similar to annexing children. I never planned for pregnancy, which is why during my fertile years I panicked against the unsheathed penis (no longer relevant), but I dislike children, which may lend itself to why old schematic films like The Village of the Damned (1960) resonate. The stark definition of the enemy, in black and white, is consoling-- and yet the motif, evil within the innocence, cuts across cultures-- though Asians utilize it with more ambiguity due to the ambivalence of their deities, as in Dark Water, which I brought up earlier. The year of the post momentarily escapes me, but  birth is a dangerous process, as was observed in the arc of The Kite Runner. We fear what is within the womb, though we may miss its comfort, forget in the ebb and flow of brutal life, which urbanism, somehow, makes more stark than the battering of living an agrarian life. Philadelphia may be a patchwork of sad residential row homes with more vibrant commerce vectors in the center and the Northeast, but Tokyo, in many ways, signifies a future devoid of the price we pay for being outsiders . It leads to even further examination of Inarritu's Japanese tween in Babel.