Pokemon Rant on PaulWhy I Hate Paul
The Paul I am referring to is a character in the pokemon anime, who is currently Ash's primary rival while the group is in the Sinnoh region. Paul is really a varied character: on the Serebii.net forums, the Paul character discussion thread has, at the time of writing, nearly spans twenty pages, though most of it is saying how "awesome" he is. However, I do not think he is awesome. I hate him more than I hate Harley from the same show. I want to strangle Paul and break one of his limbs. Most probably won't know why I feel this way, so I will explain.
First, Pokemon are sentient beings in this setting. As Linkara pointed out in his review of "Captain Planet and the Planeteers #3," if animals were truly intelligent enough to make their own decisions and follow orders, animals would easily be given rights. Considering that many pokemon in this setting are shown to be smart enough to qualify, pokemon should have a bill of rights. In the real world, Paul's trea
Unacknowledged Love LettersA Collection of Unacknowledged Love Letters
In the Spring, you’re different. You’re new.
We meet for the first time (again).
I remain the same, patient and waiting.
But you Begin (again).
I’m often envious when I watch you in the Spring. So soft and faint but eager and unafraid. It must be beautiful to learn everything all over again. I’d like to rediscover the love letters carved into mountains by rivers, or the way the ocean behaves when she sees the moon - how she reaches. The hopeless romanticism of water. I’d like to see the sun all brand new and feel the touch of heat and light for the first time again. I’d like to forget everything that has made me so hard and sharp and be soft again.
I haven’t been new that way in eons. Back then I was still alone; churning and molten and shapeless. It was before I knew you, before the seasons and the rain and the ocean. When it was only the sun and the stars and I. The moon hadn’t even lef
BareI stand at the edge of the forest.
A pink and purple sun sets as cold blues illuminate the icy snow blankets.
My breath, slow, painfully inhaled and reluctantly exhaled, mists in front of my dotted vision.
I can see through the entire forest, long bare vessels of awaiting life in a hardened sea, into spaces once full of green now void.
No, not bare.
And not void.
People say that Winter is Nature's Death, and Spring is Its Birth; beautiful renewal after harsh termination.
They are wrong.
They are hypocritical.
They are Death.
We are the ones that huddle in masses, buried in sheet upon sheet of cloth, cursing the frozen season and then after finally receiving the the warmer temperatures so desperately pleaded for, we recoil from the humid muck and wish for the cool.
We are the ones that stamp out decaying leaves, dirty the vivid white of the fallen snow, and then after our handiwork call the landscape ugly.
We call Winter Death as a justification of our actions, and think ourselves right
Unto His Nest AgainIf I can stop one heart from breaking,
I shall not live in vain;
If I can ease one life the aching,
Or cool one pain,
Or help one fainting robin
Unto his nest again,
I shall not live in vain.
- Emily Dickinson
It has been just two weeks working at the marine park. My job is unspectacular: I mop up vomit on the walkways, empty trash cans holding the rest of said vomit, direct little girls back to their fathers, and sometimes scrub a tank - if I'm lucky. Things like that. If I worked at an amusement park I'd spit at the sun in an effort to douse its flames - ensuring the day would never begin and thus so wouldn't my job. But the marine park is filled with wonder. Sundown is a fantasy from the view atop the coral themed playhouse; the blood orange sun illuminates the sea turtle exhibit, iridescent on their honeycomb shells. They seem to drift as if weightless, rising and falling with an inexistent current. Every evening they do this. The dolphins leapt from their tank in the distanc
Daily Doodle 2It was cold and damp but after our road march this mud was as comfortable as any mattress. The sky over the mountains in the West turned a soft shade of violet as darkness fell. The platoon spent the night in a dark and lonely wood covered in a blanket of snow. It was a rude awakening the next morning. Clashes of sounds and flashing lights disoriented me. Even simple things like direction had become a blur. Trees cracked and fell, dirt and snow flew about. Finally, the shelling had ceased. The Germans knew our position and if we had any hope of pulling through this then we’d have to take that village today. Lieutenant Harris, a young man fresh out of college, called us up and ordered us to move into five meter spreads and head north toward the small town. After about five minutes of marching, a heavy fog settled and a light snow began to fall. We finally reached the edge of the forest where it opened to the outskirts of the town. In the middle was a large bell tower, a perfect va
La consapevolezza, la comprensione, la sicurezza delle idee...
Dipinge quadri che non può avere, immagina scenari che non può desiderare, ambisce senza potere.
Il suo sguardo vaga insicuro fra mille idee ed afferra quelle meno dolorose.
Non biasimatela, è abituata a fare quello che fa.
Con paziente precisione, regala più che donare.
Osserva lontano per il cieco e diviene muta da se stessa.
Alle volte vorrebbe urlare, distruggere, tremare, ma è tutto troppo lontano da ciò che la governa.
Una nave abituata alle onde, ecco come si dipingerebbe.
Sempre sul bordo di un precipizio che crolla piano piano, ma mai con l'intenzione di cadere o fuggirne.
Un'animale che accetta la sua gabbia.
Nel suo mondo tutto tace, eco di situazioni che la circondano l'accompagnano nella sua via, illuminata da mille pensieri, idee, concetti, che costruiscono in lei forti barriere.
Una gabbia bene illuminata, al centro di una stanza colma di persone.
“Datele una chiav
Daily Doodle 1Autumn leaves danced about the side walk in time with the music of the whistling wind while I walked home from the store carrying Momma’s groceries. The playful autumn wind brought in tidings of winter and that meant snow. I never much cared for winter because we didn’t have furnace but somehow that soft blanket of white makes everything better.
After walking about a block I turned a corner and noticed a small group of white boys. For an instant I made direct eye contact, which was already a grave mistake. I looked down to avoid their gaze and show my submission, but it was not enough for them. I crossed the street so as to avoid their wrath and all the while I heard faint whispers. I grew paranoid and began to walk faster. That’s when I heard them. They began to shout obscenities at me.
“Hold up a minute. I got something for you to look at”, one shouted at me. I knew that if I complied I was in trouble, and if I didn’t that I’d be in even more
ScomparireNessuna stanza era mai stata più buia di quella.
Qualcuno aveva spento la luce d'improvviso e lei si sentiva disorientata, abbandonata, persa.
Continuava ad osservarsi attorno nervosamente, continuava a toccare la parete con tutta la schiena, mentre le mani ne carezzavano la superficie nel tentativo di trovare una via d'uscita.
Decise di strisciare lungo quell'unica certezza.
Ben presto però, capì di trovarsi in una stanza senza via d'uscita, un cubo.
Cominciò ad urlare, come se non avesse aspettato altro nella vita, come se potesse scuotere il mondo urlando più forte che poteva.
Crollò a terra e per qualche minuto si sentì svuotata.
Una piacevole sensazione la accompagnò subito dopo, le sembrò di percepire tranquillità, di poter perfino vedere gli angoli di quella stanza.
Si stava adattando.
Poi d'improvviso gli occhi le giocarono un brutto scherzo, intravide una sagoma sbucare da uno degli spazi bui.
Strizzò gli occhi per esserne
Deserto"Che piova! Su questa terra arida."
Il sole ha portato via con sé ognuno dei nostri ricordi.
Tu sei disteso a terra ed io posso solo osservarti.
La luce picchia così forte da farmi annebbiare la vista.
Vedo una sagoma all'orizzonte che si avvicina, tendo la mano, cerco aiuto...
Ma so già che al prossimo battito delle mie palpebre, non ci sarà più nulla a cui chiedere.
Questo caldo, mi sta solo confondendo.
Mi domando se sei in piedi di fronte a me o a terra come ti vedo?
La mia gola è secca e urlarti contro ancora una volta è una fatica che non riuscirei a tollerare.
Non sembri ascoltarmi, il tuo sguardo è rivolto altrove ed io mi sento morire.
Cerco in qualche angolo dei miei pensieri, un ricordo a cui aggrapparmi, qualcosa che mi dia la forza di andare avanti, di muovermi ancora una volta, arrancando solo in un primo momento.
Tu non mi aiuti, continui a cercare le tue risposte altrove ed io ti detesto.
Le forze mi stanno abbandonando mentre ti
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