<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5473474487301536493</id><updated>2011-11-27T16:14:20.347-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Ad Mentis</title><subtitle type='html'>&lt;i&gt;to the mind
&lt;br&gt;and to the forces
&lt;br&gt;it's will may bend.&lt;/i&gt;</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sehlura.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5473474487301536493/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sehlura.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Sehlura</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10801114853262555614</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>12</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5473474487301536493.post-4922589175364241751</id><published>2008-05-04T09:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-04T09:43:07.189-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Dictator's Memoir</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"&gt;No one embarks on adventures anymore.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;No one wakes up one day and decides that they want to set out on a journey of any kind, whether it is physical or metaphorical.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;If you’re not famous, rich, or powerful, then you’re no one.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I suppose that makes me no one, because I have set a course for myself; I have chartered a path; I am engaged in an epic quest.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;This is no quest to slay a beast or conquer my fear.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;This is a quest of self-discovery; to realize my potential and to manifest my future.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Before the hardships of inexplicable, intolerable instances and beautiful, self-verifying and illustrious moments that have molded it, my journey began when I said “good-bye” to my parents, who tried so hard to keep me from maturing and becoming a self-sustaining young man.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;           &lt;/span&gt;One day, I was sitting in Bruno’s and a stranger approached me.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;He spoke with a nervous undertone, “Hey there.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;           &lt;/span&gt;I finished chewing a bite of my chicken strip, “Hello.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;           &lt;/span&gt;“I’m &lt;st1:city st="on"&gt;&lt;st1:place st="on"&gt;Roy&lt;/st1:place&gt;&lt;/st1:City&gt;.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;           &lt;/span&gt;“Nice to meet you Roy.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;My name’s Evan.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;           &lt;/span&gt;“Hey Evan.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Why you eatin’ by yourself?”&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;st1:city st="on"&gt;&lt;st1:place st="on"&gt;Roy&lt;/st1:place&gt;&lt;/st1:City&gt; was commenting on the scene of me sitting alone at the ovular island table in the middle of the café.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I laughed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;           &lt;/span&gt;“I’m just finishing up, actually.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;A buddy of mine was here earlier.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;           &lt;/span&gt;“Oh.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Well, I like meetin’ new people, so I said ‘hi’ to you.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;What’s yer major?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;           &lt;/span&gt;I took a deep breath as I always do when asked this question, “I’m pulling a double major in Creative Writing and either Public Relations or Journalism.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Yea, I’m a freshman.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;What about you?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;           &lt;/span&gt;“Wow, seems like you know what you want in life.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I’m a sophomore.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I still haven’t decided what I want to do yet.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Sucks, cuz I gotta decide by next semester.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;           &lt;/span&gt;“You should probably get on that.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;           &lt;/span&gt;“Ya,” he laughed nervously, as though he was uncomfortable being around someone who was so in charge of his own life, “well, it was nice to meet you, Evan.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I gotta get goin’ to class”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;           &lt;/span&gt;“See ya around, &lt;st1:city st="on"&gt;&lt;st1:place st="on"&gt;Roy&lt;/st1:place&gt;&lt;/st1:City&gt;.”&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I went back to my chicken strips and tea.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;           &lt;/span&gt;It’s absolutely strange to see so many other college students moseying about on a daily basis.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I came from a college town, but the institution was small, and the students were mostly older adults, so it’s strange to never see the exact same faces everyday and I love it.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;In fact, I know I see at least one new face per day, guaranteeing that I could always be in the company of someone unfamiliar.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;What are even stranger are the numerous expressions I get with such a variety of faces.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Some look stressed and exhausted while others look content and thoughtful.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Though the majority of faces have a look of longing and desire and many of their expressions portray them as simply lost.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;It’s these people I pay most of my attention to.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I pity them, because if they truly are lost, I wonder in what way.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Then I realize how much better off I am.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Where as they seem to know nothing about themselves, I know what I want and where my life is headed.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;This is what differentiates me from them.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I give myself purpose.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Granted, some may have their purposes, but this is my assumption.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;           &lt;/span&gt;These people have no stories to tell.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;They’re books filled with blank pages.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;It’s a shame, because even my &lt;i style=""&gt;past&lt;/i&gt; is a prologue to the grander scheme that is my journey through college and, ultimately, life.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;It deserves to be its own novel, because moving to college is more than just a page turn; it’s an entirely new chronicle.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Unlike those lost faces, I know I will write for myself a legend so great, those who read the tale will swoon at the glory I have carved into the fabric of society.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I’m not trying to say I’m better than those with lost expressions, but in some sense I am better because I &lt;i style=""&gt;know&lt;/i&gt; I have destined myself for prominence.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;As mentioned before, I differentiate myself because I have confidence.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I take the initiative to get things done, whether it is with work, job and school, or other tasks, no matter how menial.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I’m assertive in that I’m open with my opinion, and that no matter the conversation, I make sure that my voice is heard.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I may not always need the last word; I just want the people to know I have a thought that deserves to be counted.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;These qualities are almost leader-like, making it possible for me to take charge of my life and everything about it.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;           &lt;/span&gt;It really is sad that some poor souls wander through college and then through their lives’ accomplishing nothing.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Thousands of dollars will be spent by state, by parents and by themselves so that they may waste their time doing nothing.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I believe it’s ridiculous to know that you want to go to college right out of high school but not know what you’re going to do with that time spent.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;These are the people who did not put the time and thought into their futures.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;They’re the ones who enroll into college as soon as possible just to say they went, regardless of their lack of purpose and desires.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;They think that it &lt;i style=""&gt;means&lt;/i&gt; something to go to college, which is only true when it means something to &lt;i style=""&gt;them&lt;/i&gt; as well.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;These are the people who are lost and do not assert themselves.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;These are the people who become nothing.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;           &lt;/span&gt;One day, I will look back at the account of my saga and, hopefully, I’ll remember every moment— every second —of it.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I want to be able to look back and revel in the fact that I knew &lt;i style=""&gt;then&lt;/i&gt; that now, in my future, I would be reminiscing and feeling proud of who I was and where I came from.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Some people don’t do this.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;There are people in this world that are ashamed of who they are and who they were.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;There’s no point in looking toward the future if you can’t even look into your past and feel proud of any accomplishment, no matter how miniscule.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I suppose I can live with this though; it’s not my life anyway.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;They can do whatever the hell they feel like.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;           &lt;/span&gt;Different people in this world are meant for different things.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Some are destined to be followers; ever-careful to make sure they complete and obey the every command they are burdened with.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Others are meant to burden them and bark orders.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;These are the terrible leaders who abuse the power bestowed upon them through their life’s initiative. &lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;I will lead.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;This I have already ascertained and I will use my skills to better society.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I’m confident enough to say that I now know that anything will benefit from my leadership.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I am not one of those tyrants who feel that bellowing beneath them to those below them somehow makes them a leader.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;This is ridiculous and anyone who believes that leadership is synonymous with “treat your inferiors like trash” clearly has a god complex.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I will lead this is certain because I am already a leader; and, like every leader, I began first by following with the natural instinct, the &lt;i style=""&gt;intent&lt;/i&gt; that I was going to lead as soon as I proved my worth.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;           &lt;/span&gt;This worth is measured on a scale carved from marble and weighed down, like my desires, by nothing; it’s weight worth more in gold than gold itself.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I know I can organize that which needs institution.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I can bring together the cooperation of a hunter-gatherer tribe and I can bring forth the productivity of a Chinese toy factory.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;My command and my oration will subdue the masses to willingly follow my direction into a new world; a new order where the assertion of glory will be obtainable by the entirety of civilization.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I will lead and one day I will look back at my history and re-read my tale and bask in the knowledge that I &lt;i style=""&gt;saw&lt;/i&gt; this coming.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;For myself, I set the aspiration to become the epitome of all things strived for by those who long to achieve greatness.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;           &lt;/span&gt;I almost can’t bear to witness the rest of my peers, of the future society to whither away under the weight of its own incompetence.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;There is no worth for these people, only my pity which outweighs anything they can muster.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I can even bring myself to say that I feel disgusted that it is I alone who show daily, in my stride and with my head held high, that I am stepping forward to take hold of my destiny.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I am wrestling it with my bare hands until I tame the ferocity it comes at me with.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Others can’t handle this intensity.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;           &lt;/span&gt;Someday, there will be those who recount the epic saga of my life.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I may not rule the world and I may not lead an army with an iron fist, but I will change the environment around me.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I will impinge my will and on my peers and my surroundings.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Someday, there will be an aura about me that no other has.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I have taken charge of my path and I will walk the road with grace.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5473474487301536493-4922589175364241751?l=sehlura.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sehlura.blogspot.com/feeds/4922589175364241751/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5473474487301536493&amp;postID=4922589175364241751' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5473474487301536493/posts/default/4922589175364241751'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5473474487301536493/posts/default/4922589175364241751'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sehlura.blogspot.com/2008/05/dictators-memoir.html' title='Dictator&apos;s Memoir'/><author><name>Sehlura</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10801114853262555614</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5473474487301536493.post-4579956966331195976</id><published>2008-02-15T13:47:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-15T13:48:52.256-08:00</updated><title type='text'>On the idea of "bliss"</title><content type='html'>It's impossible to decide what to write right now because it's impossible to decipher my stream of consciousness.  I know how I feel, and I know how I think;  I've gone through many trials in life and my heart is filled with trepidation about the uncertainty of what the future holds for me.  I'm fine with that though, because after feeling empty for so long; I never let go.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There's a particular route of thinking one must undergo to literally sacrifice an entire lifetime of clarity for one of ambiguity.  I'm talking, of course, about the life I've lived for the past few years.  Once, a long time ago, I made a mistake.  And for so long, I sought to rectify that which I destroyed, thinking it was the right thing to do.  There was never, ever a day that went by that I didn't wish I could go back in time and change the past, thinking that everything would have worked out how I would have wanted it to.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;However, as I have had years to reflect upon it now; things always seem to work out the way I want them.  Literally:  what I want, I get.  It's just how it works.  I'm confident, and self-assured to the point that I make sure I obtain my aspirations; and that's why I never gave up, no matter how grim the outcome looked.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Emotions are terribly tricky; but, I'm willing to bet that if you can play your cards right and keep bluffing, you'll make it through.  I did, and I don't think I'll ever be happier than I am right now.  This feeling:  nothing compares to it.  It's a euphoric state of awareness.  Carnal bliss, lustfully beckoning me.  If this feeling ever goes away, which it won't, it's here to stay, I think my mind may degrade to nothingness.  If that day ever come, kill me.  Until then, I'll live out my life happier than I've ever been, this feeling making me more happy with every passing day.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5473474487301536493-4579956966331195976?l=sehlura.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sehlura.blogspot.com/feeds/4579956966331195976/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5473474487301536493&amp;postID=4579956966331195976' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5473474487301536493/posts/default/4579956966331195976'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5473474487301536493/posts/default/4579956966331195976'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sehlura.blogspot.com/2008/02/on-idea-of-bliss.html' title='On the idea of &quot;bliss&quot;'/><author><name>Sehlura</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10801114853262555614</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5473474487301536493.post-4359346529956783002</id><published>2008-02-03T15:27:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-03T15:35:27.744-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Missing Someone Isn’t as Terrible as Having No One to Miss.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9PQGKM6BuTI/R6ZN_VjjNDI/AAAAAAAAAA8/-DTmLRrfLVU/s1600-h/Kathryn.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 326px; height: 249px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9PQGKM6BuTI/R6ZN_VjjNDI/AAAAAAAAAA8/-DTmLRrfLVU/s320/Kathryn.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5162899773340202034" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How insanely cliche, yet aptly titled.  I can't really help it; I mean, I spent literally seven minutes working on a stupid title.  But that's how I am, artsy, yet literate.  It's &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;who&lt;/span&gt; I am.  And &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;who &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;I am is a loving, writing, expressing bug of emotion.  It's never terrible to miss someone when that person is worth the wait to see them again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For years, and I mean literally "years" (plural), I've watched as how the biggest mistake I've ever made haunted me day in and day out.  Every so often, to take my mind off of the torment, exaggerated of course, I'd occupy myself with someone, "get involved" as you would say.  I am Casablanca, multiple lovers for those of you who do not know my allusion.  I've loved a few, and dated money, and yet my insatiable appetite for love has never been satisfied.  &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;That's  &lt;/span&gt;the biggest tormentor, I believe.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But, as I willingly allowed, what I find out now to be, the greatest thing in my life to walk away on a whim, I realize what a terribly, disturbingly good decision that was that I made almost five years ago.  I don't believe in Fate, or destiny; hell, I &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;barely&lt;/span&gt; believe in things happening for a reason, but if this were ever an example I'll go with it!  Because here it is, some five years later, in my life again; chance, I call it.  Ridiculous and blind chance.  Holy damn do I love the way some things work out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Listen, the reason I said it was a "good" decision to abandon that which I am now absolutely in love with is this:  if I didn't, the way I feel now may not exist, and that's just something I'd rather not think about.  I mean, what if I kept to it years ago, and it was just another casanovic fling.  I'd be here again, with someone completely unreliable and disgustingly unloving.  WOW, good thing &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;that&lt;/span&gt; never happened.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Concern:  though I love her, more than anything else in the world; things aren't ready.  Commitment, loving caress, lovers rendezvous on weekends and money spent to see one another, though unreachable and disallowing finances may say otherwise, have happened.  I vow myself to no one else, lest she differs.  &lt;span style="text-decoration: underline;"&gt;I hope she may do the same.&lt;/span&gt;  Nothing's ready, apparently.  Somehow, for now, that's fine.  I've waited about five years now, so what's a little more time;  she's &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;worth &lt;/span&gt;a &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;lifetime &lt;/span&gt;as it is anyway.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5473474487301536493-4359346529956783002?l=sehlura.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sehlura.blogspot.com/feeds/4359346529956783002/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5473474487301536493&amp;postID=4359346529956783002' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5473474487301536493/posts/default/4359346529956783002'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5473474487301536493/posts/default/4359346529956783002'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sehlura.blogspot.com/2008/02/missing-someone-isnt-as-terrible-as.html' title='Missing Someone Isn’t as Terrible as Having No One to Miss.'/><author><name>Sehlura</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10801114853262555614</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9PQGKM6BuTI/R6ZN_VjjNDI/AAAAAAAAAA8/-DTmLRrfLVU/s72-c/Kathryn.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5473474487301536493.post-865384712715219255</id><published>2008-01-26T14:31:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-26T14:48:30.669-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Physics of Love</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9PQGKM6BuTI/R5u2G1jjNCI/AAAAAAAAAA0/iq1QMRSlqK4/s1600-h/1190910389688.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 253px; height: 289px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9PQGKM6BuTI/R5u2G1jjNCI/AAAAAAAAAA0/iq1QMRSlqK4/s320/1190910389688.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5159918026654692386" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   It's ridiculous, my love life.  I don't believe things will ever work out with my ex ever again, but I'm not &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;bothered&lt;/span&gt; by that; though, it does concern me to some degree.  In the sense that she was still a good friend.  I lost that to the Navy.  What's past is gone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   It's a long and complicated story, so I'll save it for a more divulging  mood, but I'm absolutely in love.  &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;In&lt;/span&gt; love.  I hope.  This is nothing out of the blue, mind you, this comes from four and a half years of relations.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just, I love being &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;with&lt;/span&gt; someone.  Sharing my life with them.  Intertwining things; being whole with another person; don't get me wrong, I can be whole by myself, but I can be much, much more with another.  I love companionship.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   I'm really apologizing to myself when I say this but: sorry I haven't written in a while, it's been pretty crazy so far and I just haven't had the time nor have i been in the mood.  Though, you wouldn't believe how many times in these past two weeks of classes I've wished I could have written something down, I was just way too lazy to even bother getting around to it! Hah!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   So, for all intents and purposes, this is just an update, to keep my sanity alive, to maintain the thoughts in my skull, this is all to the mind.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5473474487301536493-865384712715219255?l=sehlura.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sehlura.blogspot.com/feeds/865384712715219255/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5473474487301536493&amp;postID=865384712715219255' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5473474487301536493/posts/default/865384712715219255'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5473474487301536493/posts/default/865384712715219255'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sehlura.blogspot.com/2008/01/there-was-girl-in-your-room.html' title='Physics of Love'/><author><name>Sehlura</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10801114853262555614</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9PQGKM6BuTI/R5u2G1jjNCI/AAAAAAAAAA0/iq1QMRSlqK4/s72-c/1190910389688.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5473474487301536493.post-2050641440421820488</id><published>2007-12-23T23:05:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-23T23:16:47.087-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Why do I love?</title><content type='html'>That's all I want to know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's just a simple, complex fucking emotion and it's useless.  It does nothing but hurt until you have it back.  Nothing else is like that; I can live without bliss for a day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I sure as hell can live without sorrow for a day.  But love, why -oh why- must it torment me?  Why do women, why do men, why does anyone subject him or herself to this....it's beyond me.  I can't go on bearing the fact that every time I try to take a chance, I get shut out; yet, if I don't take the chance, I know I've changed nothing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She chose being "sometimes" happy with him as apposed to always happy with me.  Why would you call someone perfect, if they're not going to be you're choice.  I never ask from her for anything, why am I throwing myself out on a limb?  All I said was to make her own choice, instead of telling him you'd date him again just to make him happy.  I told her to make herself happy.  (Though, I know deep down, that's me; her only real excuse for not being with me is that I live in Erie, one hour and twenty minutes from her)  She said she couldn't deal with that distance.  I told her I've done it before, and the relationship worked...for a while (oh, past, I forsake you.)  I told her it's not for me, she doesn't even have to choose me; just don't be with him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eh, I tried not to be selfish, I said I'd come home every single weekend.  It won't work.  So, he plans on going to a school, which they both got accepted to.  If she doesn't go there, she'll be at most 10 minutes from me, or at the same school I'm at; what then, does distance apply to him to?!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love her, and she loves me.  Yet here I am...blogging to vent emotion.  I should've chased after her.  I should have not given in.  I'm letting her slip away again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I don't wanna lose you..." she told me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's hard to keep me when I can't be there.  I'm not just her friend and she'll never learn that, I think.  I don't think you can have your two cakes and eat them both.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5473474487301536493-2050641440421820488?l=sehlura.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sehlura.blogspot.com/feeds/2050641440421820488/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5473474487301536493&amp;postID=2050641440421820488' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5473474487301536493/posts/default/2050641440421820488'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5473474487301536493/posts/default/2050641440421820488'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sehlura.blogspot.com/2007/12/why-do-i-love.html' title='Why do I love?'/><author><name>Sehlura</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10801114853262555614</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5473474487301536493.post-6722666237703326540</id><published>2007-12-22T14:03:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-22T14:07:51.626-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Let's settle in; if only for a while.</title><content type='html'>I'm home now.  For the next three weeks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's weird thinking of two places being my home; I was so used to calling my dorm home.  I mean, all of my stuff was there and now it's back here! I mean, I had to bring my clothes, computer, blankets, and by choice games and movies...but still.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It feels good to be home though, and I can't wait to see some friends that have gone elsewhere.  Denny's, here I come!  God, it's been forever since I've been there.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5473474487301536493-6722666237703326540?l=sehlura.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sehlura.blogspot.com/feeds/6722666237703326540/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5473474487301536493&amp;postID=6722666237703326540' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5473474487301536493/posts/default/6722666237703326540'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5473474487301536493/posts/default/6722666237703326540'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sehlura.blogspot.com/2007/12/lets-settle-in-if-only-for-while.html' title='Let&apos;s settle in; if only for a while.'/><author><name>Sehlura</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10801114853262555614</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5473474487301536493.post-5505326516632849977</id><published>2007-12-20T22:23:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-20T22:27:44.524-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Please rape my face...</title><content type='html'>I'm bored shitless outta my mind.  I honestly don't know what I am going to do if I ever have to live on my own.  That being said, I therefore must always have a companion, whether it be a best friend or a roommate, or a girlfriend; preferably the latter (which means the last subject in a series).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chris left earlier today and could not take me home.  Nick abandoned me.  So it was just Vince and I, because Andy left as well.  So we had fun for a total of about 15 minutes.  Then I started watching the Borne Ultimatum and then I passed the fuck out.  I feel bad that I left Vince alone to sit around and do nothing.  I woke up at 11:40, because Kathryn called me and I was too sleepy to talk, so I told her I would call her when I woke up.  Then I set my alarm and slept some more.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I regret ever napping as I can no longer get to sleep.  It is 1:26 AM here.  I wish I knew how to change the time on my blogs.  Anyone reading them is not going to fully be aware of how late at night I write.  Fuck me, right?!  I never write early on in the day, it's too uncomfortable.  I always find myself doing papers and the sort late at night, for some reason, I think the best then.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's just a habit, I suppose.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5473474487301536493-5505326516632849977?l=sehlura.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sehlura.blogspot.com/feeds/5505326516632849977/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5473474487301536493&amp;postID=5505326516632849977' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5473474487301536493/posts/default/5505326516632849977'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5473474487301536493/posts/default/5505326516632849977'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sehlura.blogspot.com/2007/12/please-rape-my-face.html' title='Please rape my face...'/><author><name>Sehlura</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10801114853262555614</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5473474487301536493.post-2576643317771425856</id><published>2007-12-18T20:46:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-18T20:46:55.426-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Not tonight...</title><content type='html'>Don't really expect much for tonight, sorry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Who the hell am I even talking to anyway? O.o&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've gotta study mad-crazy for my German final tomorrow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Night night.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5473474487301536493-2576643317771425856?l=sehlura.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sehlura.blogspot.com/feeds/2576643317771425856/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5473474487301536493&amp;postID=2576643317771425856' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5473474487301536493/posts/default/2576643317771425856'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5473474487301536493/posts/default/2576643317771425856'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sehlura.blogspot.com/2007/12/not-tonight.html' title='Not tonight...'/><author><name>Sehlura</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10801114853262555614</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5473474487301536493.post-2272857306700223667</id><published>2007-12-17T20:07:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-17T20:18:44.564-08:00</updated><title type='text'>So, today was the first day of finals....</title><content type='html'>And I'll have to admit, I was a bit worried over nothing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I mean, I spent hours last night studying for my communications final this morning.  It was one of two that I am altogether actually worried about and the second being my German history and culture exam on Wednesday; but, I'll study for that later.  I also had my math final today, which was probably the biggest knock-off joke ever.  I finished it in 11 minutes.  Then, I laughed the entire walk back up to my dorm.  That was around noon 15 that I arrived back at my room, and I've been here ever since.  Doing nothing; hold up, it's eleven-eleven, making a wish.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So ya, I just did that.  My friend Kylie got me on it and now it's just something I do.  But why wish for something?  Like I've said, I'm a realist and an optimist and I don't let hopes and dreams get in my way of my reality.  It's just life and that's how it rolls.  I have to retract a lot of what I said last night about women, I over-reacted.  Truth is: I love someone who is, obviously, very special to me.  I love her tenderly and with all of my heart and, though she says it too, we're not together, with one-another, whatever; but, I don't think we ever will be.  Kathryn and I just have a very extensive, four - almost five - year history together, and I've loved her since day one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh my, the irony.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On a side-note, Chris and I pulled a very funny prank on our suitemates earlier today.  Only because they've pranked us twice this semester.  So what we did was this: we took many gay porn pictures and put them in a hidden folder on each of their computers and then setup a program that auto-switched their desktop backgrounds every 5 seconds from a photo among said folder.  We thought it was hilarious.  Vince, however, did not.  Andy laughed at him, poking fun saying, "Hah, open it back up, I wanna see your gay porn, faggot."  Little did he realize it was on his computer too, but he soon found out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh the laughs.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5473474487301536493-2272857306700223667?l=sehlura.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sehlura.blogspot.com/feeds/2272857306700223667/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5473474487301536493&amp;postID=2272857306700223667' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5473474487301536493/posts/default/2272857306700223667'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5473474487301536493/posts/default/2272857306700223667'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sehlura.blogspot.com/2007/12/so-today-was-first-day-of-finals.html' title='So, today was the first day of finals....'/><author><name>Sehlura</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10801114853262555614</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5473474487301536493.post-8801163938426123040</id><published>2007-12-16T20:48:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-16T20:52:34.996-08:00</updated><title type='text'>No Bang-Bang Boogie</title><content type='html'>Though it's entirely enjoyable, sex isn't what any relationship should be based on.  At least, not for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I'm tired of females assuming otherwise when then correspond with me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nick and I were having a talk, discussing the events of the day today, and I've come to realize that no matter what you tell a woman, they're dead set on thinking they're gonna get screwed over "cause it happens to women everywhere".  Well, as a defense, women retaliate and screw men over.   This just in: the "being-dicked-over" ratio is pretty much 1:1 now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've been fucked over so many times this semester that it makes me laugh at how many attempts at happiness I actually made!  Nick and I are right.  Women aren't worth hunting after.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Though I do love women.  And I do love her.  I can't &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;not&lt;/span&gt; be in love with her.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5473474487301536493-8801163938426123040?l=sehlura.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sehlura.blogspot.com/feeds/8801163938426123040/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5473474487301536493&amp;postID=8801163938426123040' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5473474487301536493/posts/default/8801163938426123040'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5473474487301536493/posts/default/8801163938426123040'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sehlura.blogspot.com/2007/12/no-bang-bang-boogie.html' title='No Bang-Bang Boogie'/><author><name>Sehlura</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10801114853262555614</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5473474487301536493.post-124151500107211464</id><published>2007-12-15T22:23:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-15T22:40:08.889-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I heart Nick</title><content type='html'>For real though, Nick's one of my best friends here at Penn State.  I'm grateful for having lived in the same hall as him, because I honestly wouldn't have met him otherwise.  I know, this sounds ridiculously sexually questionable, but I'm making a point.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   The point is: it's good to have good friends.  Close friends.  Who are you without someone close to you?  You're yourself, that's true, but what's the point in being alive if you don't live a little and with someone to share that experience with to boot.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   My roommate Chris, is one of my best friends from high school.  We weren't even that great of friends until our junior year, and still were not that close until the summer before college.  So, when people told us "you two are just going to despise each other or grow apart", we laughed, because we had a different bond to begin with.  We went to college &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;becoming&lt;/span&gt; great friends, so we learned to deal with each other during the entire first semester, which pretty much ended yesterday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   And I actually met Nick at the beginning of the semester, but I just thought (being in the &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;honors&lt;/span&gt; hall) he was just some other "nerd" or "geek" who wasn't going to be social enough for me (because Chris and I already didn't fit in with everyone) to really have anything in common with.  Funny thing is, we didn't even start hanging out until about halfway through the semester!  Though, and this is gay, we immediately "clicked" because we just instantly made up inside jokes on the spot, and that's what any&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; real&lt;/span&gt; friendship is about, insider-stuff.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   Then there's our suitemates, Andy and Vince, who also happened to be friends from their respective high school.  For the first week or so, we didn't really associate except for move-in day and the occasional bumping-into-each other-in-the-kitchen/bathroom.  Chris had conversed maybe twice with them and assumed "they're cool, I guess" until he left me for a weekend.  Shit, I had &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;nothing&lt;/span&gt; at all to do.  So I walked over and started talking to them.  Turns out they were just like Chris and I, socially lost in an unsocial environment.  So the three of us went out looking for things to do.  Eventually, we came back to the dorm without having done anything at all.  No parties and no fun.  Day by day we associated more until the four of us became great roommates and friends.  Then "Wicked Wednesdays" happened every week, since we couldn't find the fun, we brought the fun to us.  Then Nick joined the fray; then the semester ended and now I am upset that I'll be gone for a few weeks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   It's all good though.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   I can look forward to good memories being made with good friends.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5473474487301536493-124151500107211464?l=sehlura.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sehlura.blogspot.com/feeds/124151500107211464/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5473474487301536493&amp;postID=124151500107211464' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5473474487301536493/posts/default/124151500107211464'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5473474487301536493/posts/default/124151500107211464'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sehlura.blogspot.com/2007/12/i-heart-nick.html' title='I heart Nick'/><author><name>Sehlura</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10801114853262555614</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5473474487301536493.post-5775748672185148402</id><published>2007-12-14T23:16:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-14T23:19:00.943-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Testing...</title><content type='html'>So, I already know this is going to work; clearly, as this site is the number one ranked in popularity on the Google-page.  But, I just want to use this as an excuse for a first "test" blog...so to speak.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's a poem, as I will do this frequently.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;The Darkness and Them&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;They look like darkness.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;They do not embrace it though.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;It has not yet encompassed them,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;but I fear they will not know;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;they won't know when they meld,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;the darkness and them.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;It's ironic because when they walk in darkness,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;they do so with their heads held high,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;their noses skyward with pride&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;and their eyes open wide.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;And when the light shows them beauty,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;unveils the color of the world and&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;banishes the darkness,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;they sink their heads down.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Their noses hide in the earth&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;and their eyes are blinded by glorious truth.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;It's just ironic&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;tha they embrace the darkness&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;and cower in the light.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5473474487301536493-5775748672185148402?l=sehlura.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sehlura.blogspot.com/feeds/5775748672185148402/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5473474487301536493&amp;postID=5775748672185148402' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5473474487301536493/posts/default/5775748672185148402'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5473474487301536493/posts/default/5775748672185148402'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sehlura.blogspot.com/2007/12/testing.html' title='Testing...'/><author><name>Sehlura</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10801114853262555614</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
