Admit it, this is all of us. Absolutely willing to go through this all over !
One Nice Bug Per Day
will byers stan first human second
$LAYYYTER

Love Begins
ojovivo

Andulka



PR's Tumblrdome
noise dept.
macklin celebrini has autism

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Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
YOU ARE THE REASON
Cosmic Funnies
Xuebing Du
Jules of Nature
Three Goblin Art
DEAR READER
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@jcadette
Admit it, this is all of us. Absolutely willing to go through this all over !

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Morning is best,
when gem-like dew drops
adorn nature still at rest
when wind frolics in boughs
wakes waves at seashore,
movements so gentle,Â
gracing the world with peace.
  It is then my creative mind wanders
 molds mountains and meanders streams
 through their rich valleys.
 Yes, itâs always the morning,
when streaks of orange paint,
 diminish the deep darkness of night,
 with the coldness of the first light,
 edging into flesh, needling to my bones.
 It is that tingling that moves my heart,
 evoking enchanting visions
 of cobbled pathways, lonely beaches
 magnificent oases, loversâ tombs
 of places my feet have yet to roam.
 It is the magic of morning,
that freshness, some dream,
that I ghostly traipse through.
But time dawdles not
for me nor for any man,
and as reality intrudes
my consciousness
illusion breaks like dawn,
departing my heart
leaving me empty.
 The light breaks,
my eyes fling open
and I exhale.
The places I see in my dreams ..... #morningmagic
May is celebrated as reading month, and for me, it is a cause for excitement. Life & work proved immovable forces which prevented me from doing what I intended but I was overjoyed to have been able to visit the Ave Maria Infant. The girls, were so happy and bubbly and they made it easier for me talk. I had never seen children so eager to read out loud. The only thing that trumped that I think was their eagerness to hug me all the same time. On the flip side, I think there is the issue of literacy or lack there of which we do not speak about more often. We are the kids of the digital age but we are struggling to read. How do we excel if we can't understand. How do we make informed decisions if we misinterpret simple things? I'm concerned that there is so much of a push In technology that we are forgetting furnish our children's minds. Reading shouldn't only be celebrated for one month.
You can sell books using social media. You also can't really sell books using social media. The cat is both dead and alive. Let me unpack this a little bit. For quite some time, social media has be...

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This last episode revealed many things. Book lovers you would note that it was rumored that the night's king was created after he fell in love with a white walker. We know now (based on the series) that he was the children of the forest who created the white walkers to fight the andals (men). But why is Bran so important? Let's remember that The nights king is a stark, like Bran. The children can kill them and ward places against them. Let's also remember that Stark ancestors were also children of the forest. I believe that the white walkers were waiting for a stark greenseer because his blood gives them power to break the spells. This can mean that he is the key to bringing down the wall. Based on clues in the book, the last defences if that happens are Winterfell & Storms End. Hmmmm
Notes from my meeting with Sir Dunstan St Omer just a few months before he died. As a child I remember playing around his house, sliding down the hill, doing gymnastics on the metal railing with his granddaughters never really understanding who he was at the time. As a child I just liked the vibe, it was a fun, colorful place & the St Omer's to me were like family. Of course growing up things changed as I got to understand who he was & how he contributed to island's history. I have yet to release that story, I did promise him I would read it to him, I never did, but it will happen, at the right time, I suppose. However, he did tell me this,' Write what you know because you will be the only expert at it, that is the appeal of Derek.' I'm beginning to understand that now.
The Girl, on the other side of the room who has caught your eye
The Tall one, standing next to your wife.
The man whose neck youâd love to wrap your hands around.
The blood, dripping from that knife.
That secret youâd kill to keep hidden.
That promise you wish you wouldâve never broken.
These are the Dark Spaces. . .
1. Nanette
2. The Mental State of Love
3. Where was La Reine Born?
4. Out of Bounds
5. Under the Mango Tree
6. Boutine
7. The Lonely
8. From Hattie
"You cannot be a writer and have a job. Writing is already a profession." Sir Derek Walcott Last evening at the chair, our featured guest, Travis Weekes, highlighted this statement, I strongly agree with Walcott. In my opinion, the profession of writing is grossly misunderstood & under appreciated. To be a writer means that you are a business owner, that you are an entrepreneur. Why? Writing requires not only passion, creativity, determination & persistence but it also requires strategy, the skill of observation, networking & considerable investment. With the advance of social media, the requirements of an author has changed; you now have the ability to develop a closer relationship with your audience, a necessity in today's world. So, in 2016 you not only have yo be a writer, but a marketer, business owner & publicist. The next time you hear someone proclaim this as their profession, respect it as if it were any other 'ideal career choice.' And if your child is determined to write, support your child. Suppressing creativity is, for the creative, extremely depressing. A solid background in the arts helps develop intuition & better decision making. Writing requires long hours, intense focus & long periods dedicated to research. You see after all, Writing is a Career.
My Life as a Tree by Jaden Alexander
Jaden Alexander is a Grade 6 Student of the Vide Bouteille Primary School
It was cool and I could feel the strong winds blowing upon my body. I opened my eyes to see where I was, and to my surprise, I wasnât home but instead, I was in a forest. I was frightened and had no idea how I got there. I decided to call my mom, but, I didnât have arms. They were replaced by strong and thick branches sticking out on each side of my body. I looked down to my feet and saw only roots digging into the damp soil. I then realized I was no longer a human being, but a blackish, brown, wooden oak tree. I was scared and confused. I looked at my leaves; they were already withering and falling to the ground.
         I bore no fruits and was very thin. I tried hopelessly to move but I was anchored by my roots. I then began to smell something burning. I looked around but all I could see were luscious green bushes and trees. The smell came closer and closer until finally I spotted the disaster which awaited us all.
     It was a raging forest fire; I could hear the cries of fear of the animals running for safety. I tried to move again but I was stuck. I knew what was going to happen next. I looked on in horror as the fire licked at my roots with a sizzle. It felt like I was being fried in an oven. I burned and fell to the ground. The smoke suffocated me as I met with my demise.

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Maybe the hardest thing for us to understand is that we donât understand anything at all.
imnina-15 (via wnq-writers)
Sometimes it takes years to really grasp what has happened to your life.
Wilma Rudolph (via quotemadness)
"The term self-expression has had a harmful impact on storytellers. Stories are not about the storyteller. If your focus is on yourself, then it is not on what is best for your story."
Wanted to share this with those who are also writing their first books.
â¤
And I made a goal to learn how to write plays this year and I get a chance.
At the Saint Josephâs Convent School working with the drama students. It was a great day !!

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From Hattie & The Unfree Irish
They came as slaves, vast human cargo transported on tall British ships bound for the Americas.Â
The Unfree Irish
They were shipped by the hundreds of thousands and included men, women, and even the youngest of children. But, they were not the black faces we have heard about.Â
The majority of the early slaves into the New World were white. The Irish were first sold into slavery by James II in 1625. Hated because of their faith, Catholicism, they were forced into slavery and as a result, Ireland's population fell from 1, 500, 000 to 600,000. Considered less valuable than Africans, the Irish were sometimes treated much worse. Whenever they rebelled or even disobeyed an order, they were punished in the harshest ways. If a planter whipped or branded or beat an Irish slave to death, it was never a crime. A death was a monetary setback, but far cheaper than killing an African. Â
Slave owners would hang their human property by their hands and set their hands or feet on fire as one form of punishment. They were burned alive and had their heads placed on pikes in the marketplace as a warning to other captives.Â
Then the planters began to breed Irish women and girls with African men to produce slaves with a distinct complexion. These new âmulattoâ slaves brought a higher price than Irish 'livestock' and, likewise, enabled the settlers to save money rather than purchase new African slaves.Â
From Hattie
It was late 2014, I had just resigned from a stressful job & I fell into a deep depression. At that time I had begun to feel like I would never accomplish anything and I would end up like one of those girls who everybody assumed would do exceptionally well when they left school, but here I was dependant and a failure.
In a world filled with constant constellation I think you are the only speck of reality Among a million pretenders It always seems like you are the stars- Constellations I could never connect, Far and free, shining beautifully from This heavy weight without a name- I would love to give it a label, but maybe Names only thread us deeper into places We do not belong And you are all these stars of sadness And suffering, but these stars We have seen will never fall In each stars we see are stories, and I could flip Every worn out cover and never find yours Someday I would love to know you Someday I would love to read you Without the high brick walls around you
herebly (via wnq-writers)