so I went down the stairs singing “I just wanna tell you how I’m feeling…." and I went through the living room singing "…don’t tell me you’re too blind to see…" and i went into the kitchen and hit the chorus and then shut up quickly because I realised I’d basically rickrolled myself oops
but why didn’t Mother Gothel just lie to Rapunzel about when her birthday was?
but in a game of gay chicken there is no real loser
He was described as the finest surgeon in Europe, by which was meant the quickest and most accurate. He could amputate a leg in 28 seconds, though once, in achieving this feat, he accidentally amputated two of his assistant’s fingers and the patient’s left testicle as well.
just something I stumbled across while reading about early surgery. Can you imagine the aftermath…
i’m blaming this stupid site for the fact that just now when i dropped my entire piece of bread into my soup, i automatically went, “when you try your best but you don’t succeed…" whilst gazing sadly at the bowl
They say: your future lies beyond a crossroads.
They say: the choices you make will define your life.
They say: choose wisely.
Well I guess they also say that two out of three ain’t bad. My life is mine to define, and I mean to scythe through it.
But my life is not a series of crossroads, and I refuse to choose one path.
Screw your warnings, I’ll step on the grass.
I’ll roll in it. I’ll make daisy chains of opportunities and proudly wear them like a garland. I’ll dig my fingers into the fragrant earth if I want.
Maybe for a while I’ll tread one road, and I won’t care about the stones or the rough ground if my heart loves the journey. But if I reach an impasse, if my endgame is no longer what I want, then I will shamelessly stray from that path. I’ll relish the coolness of the green grass tickling my bruised and bloody toes.
Perhaps I’ll happen upon another path, and decide I’ll follow it for a while. But if I do, it will be my own choice, and upon my own terms.
I may be young, but my strides can bypass your warning signs. KEEP OFF THE GRASS means nothing to me.
And here’s a sign of my own, not a warning but a For Your Information. I stake it here in my patch of brimming earth.
My hands may be soft, but my spine is stainless steel.
I am constantly angry, frustrated, and terrified at the moment and so today I wrote whatever this is.
This is an oldish one, but I painted a Spitfire.
Acrylic and watercolour.