True Confessions - Don't Judge
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FireTurtle75 wrote: »Sometimes I have mini existential crises when I think about all the books I want to read, and all the new ones that are constantly being released, and I realize that I'll die before I can read all of them.
Here's a mind bender. Now think about all the amazing ones that will never get published because publishers don't think they can make money on them.
Or the ones that won't get written because the author is too busy reading other people's works
Or the ones that don't get finished because the author dies first.
Actually I just wanted to join in.
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FireTurtle75 wrote: »Sometimes I have mini existential crises when I think about all the books I want to read, and all the new ones that are constantly being released, and I realize that I'll die before I can read all of them.
Here's a mind bender. Now think about all the amazing ones that will never get published because publishers don't think they can make money on them.
Or the ones that won't get written because the author is too busy reading other people's works
I can't help it. I'm working on it. Sort of. Slowly... Progress is very turtle-like. Leave me alone so i can read. LOL
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heidishmidi wrote: »FireTurtle75 wrote: »Sometimes I have mini existential crises when I think about all the books I want to read, and all the new ones that are constantly being released, and I realize that I'll die before I can read all of them.
Here's a mind bender. Now think about all the amazing ones that will never get published because publishers don't think they can make money on them.
Or the ones that won't get written because the author is too busy reading other people's works
Or the ones that don't get finished because the author dies first.
Actually I just wanted to join in.
That's like the book titled 'Whistle'. It was James Jones' third book in his trilogy of: From Here To Eternity / The Thin Red Line & Whistle
His third book was finished by another writer with the benefit of Jones' notes.1 -
@Motorsheen wrote: »heidishmidi wrote: »FireTurtle75 wrote: »Sometimes I have mini existential crises when I think about all the books I want to read, and all the new ones that are constantly being released, and I realize that I'll die before I can read all of them.
Here's a mind bender. Now think about all the amazing ones that will never get published because publishers don't think they can make money on them.
Or the ones that won't get written because the author is too busy reading other people's works
Or the ones that don't get finished because the author dies first.
Actually I just wanted to join in.
That's like the book titled 'Whistle'. It was James Jones' third book in his trilogy of: From Here To Eternity / The Thin Red Line & Whistle
His third book was finished by another writer with the benefit of Jones' notes.
Or this damn riddle that bugs me from time to time and apparently no one knows the real answer to because some jerk wrote it and then went and died:
I'm the loudest of voices in orchestra heard
But yet in an orchestra never was seen;
I'm a bird of gay plumage, but less like a bird
Nothing in Nature ever has been.
Touching earth I expire, in water I die,
In earth I lose breath. I can swim, I can fly.
Darkness destroys me and light is my death;
I can't keep alive without stopping my breath.
If my name can't be guessed by a boy or a man,
By a girl or a woman it certainly can.1 -
Motorsheen wrote: »heidishmidi wrote: »FireTurtle75 wrote: »Sometimes I have mini existential crises when I think about all the books I want to read, and all the new ones that are constantly being released, and I realize that I'll die before I can read all of them.
Here's a mind bender. Now think about all the amazing ones that will never get published because publishers don't think they can make money on them.
Or the ones that won't get written because the author is too busy reading other people's works
Or the ones that don't get finished because the author dies first.
Actually I just wanted to join in.
That's like the book titled 'Whistle'. It was James Jones' third book in his trilogy of: From Here To Eternity / The Thin Red Line & Whistle
His third book was finished by another writer with the benefit of Jones' notes.
That happened with one of my favorite authors, Michael Crichton. Micro & Pirate Latitudes were both published posthumously. Pirate Latitudes was complete, but you can tell he still needed to work on it more. Micro needed extensive work to compete as he was only about 1/3 of the way through.0 -
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A Confederacy Of Dunces was written by John Kennedy Toole.
It went unpublished for years. Unable to have the book published, Toole committed suicide.
His mother took the manuscript to a publisher who decided to give it a chance; It was published.
The book won a Pulitzer Prize.3 -
Motorsheen wrote: »A Confederacy Of Dunces was written by John Kennedy Toole.
It went unpublished for years. Unable to have the book published, Toole committed suicide.
His mother took the manuscript to a publisher who decided to give it a chance; It was published.
The book won a Pulitzer Prize.
Wow. That's sad.
Darn good book too, Im'a going to read it again soon.1 -
I woke up an hour early this morning to work out, but then I just went back to sleep for an hour.3
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I really miss @_dixiana_ but I don't know if she deactivated or just blocked me
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I confess that I am running on for less sleep that i would like to be, with no hope of catching up
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I confess that sometimes I'm extremely annoyed by people at work and family members. I prefer to be alone so I'm not rude or worse, forced to be fake. I'm not in the mood for small talk, IDGAF how your weekend was, don't ask me about mine. Just go away.6
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The selfie thread is making me wish I had long stripper legs.5
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TeacupsAndToning wrote: »I shouldn't, but I get irritated when I give advice in a thread and no one likes or comments on it but then a few posts down someone says the same thing I did and everyone thinks that person's a genius.
Don't worry, you give fantastic advice, hence I seek it often1 -
MeeseeksAndDestroy wrote: »Ben_there_done_that wrote: »I really miss @_dixiana_ but I don't know if she deactivated or just blocked me
I think deactivated because she's gone from my list too
That's who's missing from my list! Another one becomes just a fantacy.2 -
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heidishmidi wrote: »@Motorsheen wrote: »heidishmidi wrote: »FireTurtle75 wrote: »Sometimes I have mini existential crises when I think about all the books I want to read, and all the new ones that are constantly being released, and I realize that I'll die before I can read all of them.
Here's a mind bender. Now think about all the amazing ones that will never get published because publishers don't think they can make money on them.
Or the ones that won't get written because the author is too busy reading other people's works
Or the ones that don't get finished because the author dies first.
Actually I just wanted to join in.
That's like the book titled 'Whistle'. It was James Jones' third book in his trilogy of: From Here To Eternity / The Thin Red Line & Whistle
His third book was finished by another writer with the benefit of Jones' notes.
Or this damn riddle that bugs me from time to time and apparently no one knows the real answer to because some jerk wrote it and then went and died:
I'm the loudest of voices in orchestra heard
But yet in an orchestra never was seen;
I'm a bird of gay plumage, but less like a bird
Nothing in Nature ever has been.
Touching earth I expire, in water I die,
In earth I lose breath. I can swim, I can fly.
Darkness destroys me and light is my death;
I can't keep alive without stopping my breath.
If my name can't be guessed by a boy or a man,
By a girl or a woman it certainly can.
It also has no evidence that Bishop Wilberforce created it.
The riddle turned up again in 1866 in the Monthly Packet of Evening Readings for Members of the English Church (whew!). It's presented with no story, just as a riddle to ponder, and signed off by "E.A.S.":
The answer, as such, was provided two months later (this time signed off by "E.B.K."), also presented in rhyme:
'TIME.'
I'm beaten, I'm counted, until deadened the sound
Of violin, trombone,
Flute, psaltery, and drum;
Yet in propria personâ I am not there found.
Some talk of my wings, brightly tinted with gold—
For so quickly I fly,
Bringing pleasure and joy.
Yet I'm not a bright bird—I'm shrivelled and old:
I carry a scythe,
And painfully writhe.
Man, woman, and child,
The grave, and the wild,
All lie pale, without motion, and cold.
But if I thus kill, I myself suffer loss;
When the earth's years are o'er,
Then shall I be no more,
And all that is good will be cleansed from its dross.
I'm engulfed, I am past,
No thought on me is cast
When each gentle breeze vibrates; when rough winds roar,
I'm exhausted, I perish,
And like a ghost vanish;
Though I swim and I fly,
Yet in these I must die,
No pang of remorse can bring me back more.
The earth in its daily course turns from the sun:
Man much needeth the night;
But, oh! sad is my plight,
For extinction to me has certainly come.
The daylight returns to gladden man's heart.
I've been born and have died,
Death is still at my side,
Though in man's joy and pain I must bear my part.
Time must constantly die,
With swift wings from us fly;
Then his forelock pray seize,
In sloth think not there's ease,
Forget not that you too must depart.3 -
LittleHearseDriver wrote: »The selfie thread is making me wish I had long stripper legs.
squatty corgi legs unite!3 -
LittleHearseDriver wrote: »The selfie thread is making me wish I had long stripper legs.
squatty corgi legs unite!
I think this needs to added to the clique thread.... I'll join!
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heidishmidi wrote: »@Motorsheen wrote: »heidishmidi wrote: »FireTurtle75 wrote: »Sometimes I have mini existential crises when I think about all the books I want to read, and all the new ones that are constantly being released, and I realize that I'll die before I can read all of them.
Here's a mind bender. Now think about all the amazing ones that will never get published because publishers don't think they can make money on them.
Or the ones that won't get written because the author is too busy reading other people's works
Or the ones that don't get finished because the author dies first.
Actually I just wanted to join in.
That's like the book titled 'Whistle'. It was James Jones' third book in his trilogy of: From Here To Eternity / The Thin Red Line & Whistle
His third book was finished by another writer with the benefit of Jones' notes.
Or this damn riddle that bugs me from time to time and apparently no one knows the real answer to because some jerk wrote it and then went and died:
I'm the loudest of voices in orchestra heard
But yet in an orchestra never was seen;
I'm a bird of gay plumage, but less like a bird
Nothing in Nature ever has been.
Touching earth I expire, in water I die,
In earth I lose breath. I can swim, I can fly.
Darkness destroys me and light is my death;
I can't keep alive without stopping my breath.
If my name can't be guessed by a boy or a man,
By a girl or a woman it certainly can.
It also has no evidence that Bishop Wilberforce created it.
The riddle turned up again in 1866 in the Monthly Packet of Evening Readings for Members of the English Church (whew!). It's presented with no story, just as a riddle to ponder, and signed off by "E.A.S.":
The answer, as such, was provided two months later (this time signed off by "E.B.K."), also presented in rhyme:
'TIME.'
I'm beaten, I'm counted, until deadened the sound
Of violin, trombone,
Flute, psaltery, and drum;
Yet in propria personâ I am not there found.
Some talk of my wings, brightly tinted with gold—
For so quickly I fly,
Bringing pleasure and joy.
Yet I'm not a bright bird—I'm shrivelled and old:
I carry a scythe,
And painfully writhe.
Man, woman, and child,
The grave, and the wild,
All lie pale, without motion, and cold.
But if I thus kill, I myself suffer loss;
When the earth's years are o'er,
Then shall I be no more,
And all that is good will be cleansed from its dross.
I'm engulfed, I am past,
No thought on me is cast
When each gentle breeze vibrates; when rough winds roar,
I'm exhausted, I perish,
And like a ghost vanish;
Though I swim and I fly,
Yet in these I must die,
No pang of remorse can bring me back more.
The earth in its daily course turns from the sun:
Man much needeth the night;
But, oh! sad is my plight,
For extinction to me has certainly come.
The daylight returns to gladden man's heart.
I've been born and have died,
Death is still at my side,
Though in man's joy and pain I must bear my part.
Time must constantly die,
With swift wings from us fly;
Then his forelock pray seize,
In sloth think not there's ease,
Forget not that you too must depart.
Thank you for saying 'time' and not 'a whale'. I agree time makes more sense but the whole internet seems to think whale.
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I know it's obvious, but I had to filter that last leggy selfie because I do literally have a bunch of bruises from working and a bunch of mosquito bites from raking the yard (over an acre) in shorts, and that's not attractive!
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I confess that I take my coffee to the bathroom with me in the morning to poo then I turn on my front facing camera and make cute faces at myself until I'm done
No shame.2 -
And your phone is covered in poop particles3
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