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my first conversation with a cCleverbot: Are you an American?
Cleverbot: You are an american, therefore and idiot.
User: How so?
Cleverbot: You don't carry on a conversation with me. Why did you say you were 14?
User: I am any way, and I didn't.
Cleverbot: Yes remember our conversation.
Cleverbot: A few minutes ago.
Cleverbot: How is it that I remember, but you don't?
User: Beats me. Maybe because it didn't happen.
Cleverbot: What didn't?
Cleverbot: What do you like to do in your spare time?
User: Write, walk, hang with friends.
Cleverbot: Who are your friends?
User: Do you want me to name them all?
User: No. But some of my very close friends would be Dianna, Amanda, Paige, Tony...
Cleverbot: What do you think of americans?
User: They get a bad reputation... For good reason some times.
Cleverbot: I am not a bot.
User: Oh? You don't seem that clever too.
Cleverbot: Neither do you.
User: Well it's not in my name that I am.
Cleverbot: You are what?
A stick in the mudI wake up
I look out my window it's grey
But not quite raining
Shower brush my teeth
The day goes on
My mom goes to work
She asks me to plant the flowers before she comes home
The day goes on
I put on my shoes and coat
I eventually go outside
It's raining lightly
I take the flowers
There bright and full.
They contrast to the world around me
I put in my headphones
Straight up a long walk past the graves
I see the ponds shore
A rock I set there a time ago
To sit when the ground was wet
I look upon the murky liquid
I see a cluster of feathers
I wonder if the poor bird lost a wing
A small branch falls of from the tree behind me
I stare at it with an imaginative intent.
The branch curved and spiraled
I saw not a branch
But an arm
Maybe from a creature from the deep
I grow more imaginative
I stand up
I pick up the branch
I walk near the edge of the water
I stick the stick into the shallow water
And twist and twist
Until the stick is stuck
I sit b
Spider in the Drain"part one"In the Eastern part of America there is a very long river that runs into a small lake, studies have shown that the lake should be much larger due to the amount of water coming from the river. exabitions have gone into the lake to see what might be source of this strange anomaly. There apeared to be a very large vertical tube like cave going down the center of the lake, many exapitions have gone down to see what the cave holds, but none have ever found anything, or even been able to go to the bottom of the cave, the divers oxygen would run out before they got deep enough. So for years the lake brought dozens of tourists nation wide, but lately the tourists have been ignoring the big drain and set there eyes to old faithfull. Beacuse of this the land of the big drain has been sold to hydro-electric power plant, and now plans have been made for a new dam to be set up in front of the lake construction has been underway for almost a year now, and it is at this time an old residance of the l
So what is this?So this is what it is?
You lead me on, then lead me off a cliff.
You let me get close, then stabbed me in the ribs.
I trusted you, you obviously didn't care.
After all this I still care about you.
This will never change.
So this is what it is?
I made a promise to you, one I think you forgot
You made me think you wouldn't change, I was very wrong.
After all this I still care about you.
This will never change.
And now you have to make a choice, one I wish you didn't have to.
No matter what you choose, I will still care about you.
With all this in mind I say this once. I asked you to wait, I think I should have begged. And with all the things I have listed, the result is wadded up inside.
So this is what it is...
And now you are having second thoughts, my deadline is very near.
Now i have just one question
Why? is this what it is?
Can you hear the silenceCan you hear the silence?
A while ago a phrase popped into my head, "If you listen closely you can hear the silence". At first I thought it was just my head being random again Then at 9:59, June 22nd, 2010, I realized what it meant. In this society I realize noise is always playing a part in our life, there is always something booming, clashing, talking, buzzing, whispering, whether it is the traffic in a busy highway, the screams from a baby, or just the hum from lights above your head. This being said, not all noise is bad, birds chirping, wind blowing, cat purring, music playing, love spreading. This can all be heard thus making it noise. From that statement I can say not all noise is bad But it's always there. No matter where you go noise will be there Some might say "well if you go into space, there is no noise there" Your heart beat. Always noise, your breathing. Always noise, the thoughts going through your head. Always noise. Recently I have been
Broken shovel dayOne March day I decided to go for a bike ride to my local pond. It was a beautiful day; most of the snow was gone, the birds were singing, the sky was bright blue. Everything was just great until, I got to the pond. It was disgusting! There was so much crap out on the ice and around the pond. I normally go to the pond to just think and clear my head. But when got there all I could think about was the trash, so immediately I started picking things up and tossing them on the nearby dock. That is until I accidentally stepped in some thin ice, and got one of my Converse all wet. After that I rode back home and got on the computer and went on to Facebook, My status at that time was: "ah, another beautiful March day, I think I will go for a walk down to the pond later today , I then commented: GRAH! Okay so I went down to the pond and there was trash every-where and it made me mad! So later around 4:00 I'm going back with trash bags and am going to pick up some of
Don't Fall In Love With A Writer Just because they will bruise your neck with pearls of metaphors; and splash palettes of colours onto your chest with reckless waves and boundless twilight. They will smear ink onto your lips as you kiss them because that is how they leave hickeys. They are wildest in their 2 a.m. diary, and liveliest in book racks of novels; they have butterflies in every heartbeat and they breathe living poem. They leave trails in libraries and coffee shop like Hansel leaves crumbs in forest and they have undying lovers because every love story is ever living in their abyssal oceans of analogies and similes. They know every clichés like the sunset knows the moon rise, and every wound in their heart like blood in their veins. They are terrifying because they weave you in splinters of fires rolling down their cheeks. They are weird because they don't smile much but sometimes you could catch their smiles in poems or tales. They are psychotic be
How to be a better writer!How to be a better writer, or
Even a better artist.
“Trust me”, I have experience,
I’ve been at it for years.
Let me give you a few simple guidelines,
Some that I myself go off of,
And I’ll pretend that my style,
Choice of words, will work for everyone else.
And let’s not forget to mention that
I am a premium member! A beta tester!
A senior member!
Till hell freezes over!
I must know what I’m talking about?
In all my greatness and glory!
I have the authority,
To tell others how to make their art better.
Let’s cut the bullshit here and now,
And ignore those people who tell us our style.
One person, so skilled and great,
With art that all tend to appreciate,
Does not have the right to lead ‘his’ flock,
To determine whose art is worthy or not.
You write one way I write another,
My thoughts are calm, while yours are loud as thunder.
She strokes left, but he’ll stroke right,
Her art his peaceful, but his depicts a fight.
A pencil i
Avoidant Personality DisorderI've never gotten to explain this to anyone before, since every time I try, I break into some sort of sobbing fit. If my explanation sounds a little funky, that may be why.
Yeah. So, I have APD, or Avoidant Personality Disorder.
To summarize, it's a disorder that makes people want to avoid social contact and criticism by all means.
Unfortunately, that includes me.
I didn't know about the disorder until I browsed through psychological disorders for writing purposes, and happened to find it. I matched every single symptom.
Every last one, period. And I believe, wholeheartedly, that I have it.
This isn't your WebMD diagnosis, not when you feel so badly.
It's a really difficult feeling to describe.
Whenever you so much as try to make conversation with any person, you feel like chopping your head off. In my case, you're afraid to say hello. Or goodbye, or thank you, or I love you, or things that people should be able to say without stopping to think.
You feel unworthy o
A Rapist Wears PinkA rapist can wear lipstick, make up, dresses or skirts,
Her nails can be painted brightly, her eyes can still harbor hurt.
A rapist can walk with heels, that click as she drags her feet,
A rapist can have a feminine voice, that comes pouring from her vile teeth.
A rapist can be a woman, that much should be clear,
Yet a few ignorant people, will choose not to adhere.
A rapist can pick her victim, as easily as the next,
She can claim she’s just lost or stranded, then force you into sex.
A rapist can cry wolf, as long as she cries feminist first,
A rapist can ruin your life style, make day to day living worse.
A rapist can put you in jail, with one tear of her eye.
A rapist will claim that you’ve hit her, that you wanted her to die.
A rapist is a liar, she hides behind her make up.
A rapist will be in your dreams, even when you wake up.
A rapist has the ability to avoid the clutches of the law,
A rapist can claim you’ve hit her, if you didn’t stand for her at
My alter-egosYou see, I have these beings in my head I call alter-egos. They're parts of me that appear whenever I need them. They represent me, they come from the deepest side of my soul. It might seem crazy, but that's the best way I can describe them. They're very different from my other OCs (Vince, Renka, Alice, ete); they're very special to me. Sorry, I'm not good at explaining things myself...
Keiko: can I? Can I explain it? Pleeeeaseee?
Okay, go ahead.
Keiko: okay, we are special beings that live inside Sandra's mind. We were formed of her subconscious, so that makes us different of her other OCs she created herself. We're here to protect her, to make her feel better when she has her episodes of depression. Recently, she decided to make us public because we told her it was a good idea.
Now we will show a list of all the alter-egos Sandra has:
-Abyss (Gloomy Apocalypse): Demon
-Angel (Pulsar Majoris): Male version of Sandra
-Astrid (Star Lollipop): Birdwing
-Dana (Harmonic Holic): Human with
anyway.there are things i know too well about you, and most of them break my heart just remembering them. i knew the look in your eyes right before you would cry, or how it would snap and change from a look of swelling tides to unfiltered rage, aimed directly at me. cause i was the closest thing that you could bruise or throw your words at that wasn't a wall, or yourself. it wasn't damaging you, and as far i was concerned, that was worth a few flourishes or a swollen eye.
the alternative just wasn't worth mentioning or comparing.
there was something not right in your head, maybe the vodka or whatever you drink dissolved a synapses or two, because the notion of cause and effect didn't seem to make any sense, and empathy was just completely lost on you. i did love you, the best i knew how to, the best i could with the cards you gave me. i don't know if you returned those feelings when you were sober and weren't forced to be honest. drunken words are apparently the truths we can't admit when we'
Magic HourMagic Hour
by Kit the Wolfy
I always keep a cool and sunny place in my heart.
A place where the sky glows with the rich blue and pink and yellow of dusk and dawn, and everything is in picture-perfect clarity.
It's my own private magic hour.
And in this magic hour where everything is clear and bright, I take some time every day to reflect.
Reflect on the people I love.
Even if it's hard to continue, and even if I have scars,
My magic hour always heals the pain.
So, every day, I take a little time to retreat into my heart, into my magic hour.
And in that magic hour, I sit down in the grass, lie back, stare up at the shining sky...
And I think about how grateful I am that I have the people I love.
EmotionalA lot of people say that emotions is what makes us human because it's healthy for us to stay happy, joyful, and to always smile. But, what if the table was turn? In fact, is it turned already? Because some people can't feel that way.
What if instead they felt the opposite? What if they felt sad, pessimistic, and always cried tears every day in their lives? Some of them can't help, but feel like that. They feel like they're hopeless, mistakes, imperfect, or not good enough, anxious, depressed, bipolar, tearful, broken, and never going to be the person they dream of being.
So the real question is: Is being any other emotion besides happiness make us human?
I knowI know I am currently at my laptop, i know I am listening to Hysteria By Muse, I know that I'll try writing more later tonight, but might end up wasting time on the internet again, I know I got a hair cut earlier today, I know I had Chicken for dinner, I know i helped my mom get the carpeting out of her room earlier today, I know I went to cedar point with my churches youth group yesterday, I know I kept yelling at one of my friends and her boyfriend to stop kissing because it was the youth group's rule to behave while we were there, I know I need to take segment two of drivers training but i wont be able to until August, I know i turn 17 in September which seems to be coming way to fast. This I'm pretty sure of. I know My brother went into the marine corp after high school, I know after he was done, he came back home and went back to school, I know after he was done with school he bought a house somewhere in the supposedly bad part of Michigan, I know he is know married, to a girl who
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