Quote about life and what it to become yourself, by Joyce Carol Oates.
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TALES FROM THE CUBE | Einstein’s Revenge
i am scared shitless of a few things when it comes to design, the 2 biggest being: pixelation & copyright infringement. Tell me i have terminal cancer, it would probably get a more positive response from me than if you were to tell me i was losing my job for using an image i didn’t have rights to.
WTF MOMENT | OMG ?
OMG! LOL! The venerable Oxford English Dictionary approves of the three-letter, Internet-inspired expressions you use for “Oh, my God!” and “Laughing out loud.” It is adding them to the authoritative reference book’s latest online update. You can now text the news to your BFF. That’s…
FACEBOOK VS. MYSPACE
facebook vs. myspace? no, i think that battle’s pretty much over, especially after finding this post asking the question, “Should Myspace Die Already?” apparently, Myspace laid off a LOT of employees recently, & they’re considering shutting it down as a whole. in my opinion, i’m…
The reality is that you will grieve forever. You will not ‘get over’ the loss of a loved one; you will learn to live with it. You will heal, and you will rebuild yourself around the loss you have suffered. You will be whole again, but you will never be the same. Nor should you be the same, nor would you want to.
— Elisabeth Kubler-Ross
There would never be a way for me to live comfortably with people. Maybe I'd become a monk. I'd pretend to believe in God and live in a cubicle, play an organ and stay drunk on wine. Nobody would fuck with me. I could go into a cell for months of meditation where I wouldn't have to look at anybody and they could just send in the wine.
You buy furniture. You tell yourself, this is the last sofa I will ever need in my life. Buy the sofa, then for a couple years you're satisfied that no matter what goes wrong, at least you've got your sofa issue handled. Then the right set of dishes. Then the perfect bed. The drapes. The rug. Then you're trapped in your lovely nest, and the things you used to own, now they own you.
Plants did not merely grow tall; they grew wide, curious about their surroundings, eager to seek nourishment from anywhere they could get it. Sometimes it worked, and sometimes I had to prune them back or watch a branch snap and wilt. My garden was a patchwork of failures and successes. I loved it.
— Loretta Nyhan, Digging In
What would you write if you had to write your obituary? Today, right now. What comes to mind? What memories, days, moments? What people and experiences? I realize, at first glance, that the idea of writing one’s own obituary while still alive may sound morbid. It’s not, though. I promise you. It’s a needed reminder of who you are, of what truly matters. Because it’s your life and there’s still time to write it.
We know the sound of the freeway better than we do rivers, the howl of distant trains better than wolf howls, we know the smell of gas and freshly wet concrete and burned rubber better than we do the smell of cedar or sage or even fry bread—which isn’t traditional, like reservations aren’t traditional, but nothing is original, everything comes from something that came before, which was once nothing. Everything is new and doomed.