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Showing most liked content since 02/16/18 in all areas

  1. 6 points
    smoke on the air and trust us but you've failed us, haven't you? you've failed us again and again and again and again drumbeat staccato rhythm that's no drum you beg our respect and yet you have done nothing to earn it tear me down into a million pieces i will always stand back up we're standing tall and holding hands tight interlock our fingers and feel my heart beat do not let me go build a wall he said so we did we built it in our hearts and around our bodies we raised the barricades and readied the siege cannons thief in the night, stealing our everything and it's almost funny that you think we'd lie down and take it it's your future, they say and think of the children well, the children are thinking eyes wide open in the fading light watch the earth spin loose from its orbit out of control like a broken windmill get off the merry-go-round if you can't take it but it's not stopping and there's no way off don't jump. dig in your heels and say no. black and white moral gray of right and wrong this isn't about beliefs anymore this is about freedom gold coins are glistening but that doesn't matter when they're soaked in our blood you blocked us out and shut our mouths and so this is war and we will win it ready your weapons answer the call it's our future and we are taking it surrender quietly because we're not taking survivors this is a battlefield and you drew the lines and moments later crossed them well we've had enough brace yourself for the dawn sky turning orange or red like blood tomorrow is for us for our broken chains and rust-colored hearts fists in the air with the voices screaming get ready, soldiers the kids have had enough.
  2. 4 points
    i made an executive decision rad's hair is bleached blond and all keratin on their body is naturally colored red thank you for coming to my ted talk also this is their True Form(tm)
  3. 3 points
    i had an idea that sent me straight to bed eyes falling shut, murmur "i'll write come morning" woke up to searing pain lancing through my skull 'course, poetic line's flown away and left this behind "look at me," dad tells me in the car on the way home from drivers ed, where i left the bathroom smelling like acid. "smile." i do. "i'm pretty sure the statistical probability of a teenager suffering a stroke is mighty slim." "don't hurt to check." we get home, and the painkillers slowly do what they can. mom cooked lunch, a savory thing that bent me over the sink the second i stepped through that front door. (this is worse than double-dosing missed birth control pills and consequently replicating morning sickness from estrogen sensitivity) vertigo met me at the stairs, held out their hand salt and pepper dotted my vision, tangoing with the kaleidoscopic iridescence in my peripheral my god next time i'll write you down, i cry i'd rather hack off my own head than experience this loss again, my god
  4. 3 points
    parabolic asphalt skid marked and cracked open lead to salt-less driveways left for kids with old hockey sticks gravel to skin when our feet slip, sold saline to our past selves through bloodstained mittens with the chill in our quaking shoulder and stinging nerve endings simultaneously numb and frozen solid
  5. 2 points
  6. 2 points
    "you look at me like i hung the stars in the sky." my dear, the sky is the canvas behind your irises and i could swim endlessly in the cosmos within them please do not mistake this love for blindness my gaze long ago sought every fault line, every dying sun every craggy moon in sharp pitch-contrasted relief my dear you're better than you think
  7. 2 points
    We never throw shade. We walk over and hand it nicely to the recipient like proper gentlefolk.
  8. 2 points
    space, black tablecloth and spilled salt: your starfields shivering behind the pollution when i was young and babyfaced and wonderous your immensity terrified me but one day, after loving after losing: you became a comfort where would i be without your existential enormity and your nightfall curtain calls falling shut to unwrap black expanse? whose to conquer but mine? whose to conquer but those who know death, know it for what it is, who know it and have held it as a thing heavy and real and cold as a stone in their hands, who know it and still dare turn skyward for answers? a man does not pray anymore after that (death and space are inextricable, are twined together in the same rope that contains vibrant, endless life) i had no idea. you remind me of home, as freezing and boiling and toxic and friendly as any familial spat you do not scare me. you soar heron-like on a canvas black like absolute nothing, wings spread far from corner to star-littered corner of how far the light stretches (pitch between like ocean depths) (and perhaps we, too: more empty than full) you come from the end, and the beginning, and whatever lies between (a solace to mere mortality, a fly in the web of continuity) you are not a god made of anything we can comprehend (probability itself keels and chokes at your feet) you arrive bearing tomorrow on apollo's back (apollo, who has nothing earthly to fear seizes up when daring to comprehend the cosmos) i have marveled at everything you have deemed show me have humbled beneath eclipse and quasi-stellar radio source you are so much more than any earthly concept your celestial sunsong, the solar astrochemistry within supernovae dwarfing anything gaia could ever present, more damning, more redeeming than any hell rained down by what frail humans could accomplish by happenstance you are nothing if not forever just as polaris tilts and wobbles in our north, you are as steady and consistent as orbital fluctuation you are reliant on the sum of your parts but you are indefinite, our planet a little spinning top insignificant in its star-spun flight paths within the visible universe how massive you are, how humanly finite (viewfinding opal eyes: how weak and yet skyward we look icarus had to have something to shoot for) o, sunspots, you are too beautiful to look at for long (without risking blindness) and yet: pitch dark, overcast natural state of everything that has ever, will ever have existed with coincidental light (everything dies, eventually. everything dies.) with you flourishes life, death, space (components woven together in the same rope) this is why, starfield, you are unlikely gravity, why you refuse to pull taffy-linked orbital paths too thin i have praised many things, but you are more than any helios of short-sighted civilizations that within the sky found the sun the only thing to fear (and not the spaces between countless stars) wondering naked faces turned up like so many daffodils and those lives lost (those souls, heavy and cold) do you have my grandfather? (perhaps wrought-iron stairs spiraling into blue-black underbelly take longer than a week to climb.) my sister now joined the ranks of those that space belongs to the minute she boarded the plane that scooped her higher towards you, to your enormity, was she scared? tell me your eggshell atmospheric arms prepared her for the cold waiting for her when she landed life and death (old and new) twine ropelike (she wraps this cord around her hands tight enough to hurt) and small things in the grand scheme get lost, like a grandmother who no longer recognizes her children and sorts through collected photos alone trying desperately to tell flesh and blood from magazine clippings and you remain indifferent because these things don’t matter to forever i seize because my sister is young and mortal and your enormity must have terrified her but she has loved (and she has lost) she will have stared death in the deep, sallow eyes (she will have held death’s warm palm and called them friend) do not let go, so help me god. keep her feet pressed to this earth you, visible universe, vibrant opal eyes of neverending do not lead her astray as you have me. your expanse begs closer, begs knees to the pavement begs shuttered eyes to eclipse; teach her not to fear her sun in the sky (though helios himself is no friend) teach her to fear the spaces between.
  9. 2 points
    hey, he says, leans over my shoulder hey. he's soft against my cheek but his chin is boney on my arm it's a weird sort of closeness where close is glue? or maybe a lifeline. we used to fight. like, you are so damn annoying but without the cursing because we were young like shut up you're the worst like don't speak to me at night if you don't want to be yelled at but hey, we're older now and it's different? or maybe it's not, like we were always close but now i finally see it when your sibling is the worst, am i right? ten things only a sibling will know: 1. beating each other up over the last cookie that's just wrong? it's fighting but it's gentler it's i don't want to give you the front seat but i will it's bake me a cake for my birthday or good morning here's a hug or here are my secrets that you already know did you know when i came out he hugged me? he didn't say a word. just, leaned over and hugged me. i like to touch his face ruffle his hair poke fun at his gangly limbs and sharp, sharp bones and high-pitched, low-pitched voice. i'm gonna get a tumblr holy fuck noah i'm filtering out tags for you it's weird to think we're getting older when just a heartbeat ago he was playing with trains on our white-carpet floor thud, thud of the soccer ball against the front door, and at least that hasn't changed but now to look at him i have to look up and now when i hear his voice i think it's our father's and he's fifteen on tuesday and it's such a slow-paced, rapid change whiplash through the years because when did you grow up? (((AN: do you think i should give this to him for his birthday? like i already made him a cake but i don't have an actual present because he's impossible to shop for but the lil bro is gonna be FIFTEEN and i feel like i should do something other than a three-layer cake.)))
  10. 2 points
    You know, I was thinking about this the other day and @drowntown you reminded me. The main page says "it’s a space where teens can see their truths explored and celebrated." The Slam is, by Cicada's own description, a safe space for LGBTQ+ and other marginalized teenagers, and such spaces are frighteningly lacking. I'm lucky in that my parents are supportive, but I looked at the now-you-have-to-pay announcement and I thought, "what about the kids who aren't so lucky? what about the kids who need that safe space because they don't receive it in their home? what about the kids who can't ask their unsupportive parents to pay for a website that calls itself 'an intersectional, LGBTQAI+ friendly publication' on its front page?" It's not fair for those kids to lose that. It's not fair for those of you who need this the most to be cut off because they can't pay. It's fine to put a price tag on a magazine, but on a forum for us to connect with each other? It's just not right.
  11. 2 points
    so i had an hour of free time yesterday and this is what happened. honestly it's a little bit of a mess and even i'm confused by some of it, but i haven't put any writing on here in, like, forever, so here you go! i hope the lack of capitalization isn't too annoying; i don't have the time or energy to fix it :/ paris and i are sitting on the porch of his house. he's holding a cup of cider, both hands wrapped around it and his legs crossed. some hair falls into his face as his lowers his head toward it, catching the steam on his face. "callum." he says. "yeah?" paris shifts his fingers on the mug. "it's cold." i nod. we're both wearing jackets, and we both have blankets wrapped around our shoulders. the air is freezing and my eyes are heavy but i don't don't don't want to go inside. "if you could choose one emotion to never feel again," he asks, "what would it be. "i think all emotions are important," i say, though i know he's going to laugh. "really?" paris covers his mouth, but he's giggling like he's drunk and doing a bad job of hiding it. "well, yeah." i cross my arms. "i guess." "i would choose, uh..." paris stops. "happiness," i say, as a joke. but he stops smiling. "maybe," he says. "that's stupid." he shrugs. "do you want me to tell your parents? i will, if you're serious. go up to them and be like 'paz doesn't want to be happy.' idiot." i nudge him with my elbow. paris turns away from me. he pulls his fingers away from the mug and sticks his hands out. there's moonlight on his light brown skin and he's never pale but right now he looks like a corpse. his face is covered in shadow. i thought he was joking. "why wouldn't you want to be happy?" i ask. "i do," paris says, and it's half angry. "cal." i turn. "what's your answer?" "i already-" "no, you didn't." paris says. he uncrosses his legs. "you avoided the question. not the same thing." "fine." i fiddle with the laces on my shoes while i think. "what if i can't decide?" "you have to." "is i wish paz would stop asking impossible questions an emotion?" "nope." he's starting to grin again. that settles me, and i can breathe all the way again. "okay," i say. "i guess i wouldn't want to feel annoyed." "annoyed?" paris snorts. "jesus. not even angry?" "leave me alone," i say. "you got what you wanted." "i wanted a real answer," he says. "not a baby one." "that's my answer. for real." i poke his leg. "i'm not going back on it. now, what's yours?" "is callum can't participate in conversations for shit an emotion?" "fuck off," i say. "wow." "i would choose to not be disappointed. or angry." paris shrugs. "wait," i say. "i have a new answer." he raises his eyebrows. "a real one?" "depends on how picky you are." "well, let's hear it." paris takes a sip of his cider. "i think regret," i say. his eyes soften as he looks at me. "no one cares anymore. it's all fine." he says. "just let it go." i swallow. "we all love you," paris says. "okay?" "yeah," i say. "okay." he runs the backs of his fingers down my arm. i close my eyes. "i'm gonna go with anger," he says. "good," i manage. "that would be nice." he laughs. "thanks." paris finishes his cider and sets his cup behind us, next to mine. he turns to look at the house. "i wonder if they can see us?" "i think they're asleep," i say. "mine, at least. parents always go to bed early." "i hope so," paris says. he pulls a face and flips off the second story window. "you know," i say. "we'll probably be parents someday. and go to bed early while our kids sit on the porch at one in the morning." "might be a little early to be planning that far into our future, no?" paris says. he shoots me a smile. "maybe i don't want a porch." "oh." my neck gets hot. "i didn't mean- i just meant, like, probably, our separate kids. not-" "i'm just messing with you." he says. "we should totally get a house together. and i would love a porch."
  12. 2 points
  13. 2 points
    have you ever really been in love? it's easy to find reasons to love someone, but it's so hard to believe someone could actually be in love with you. we often spend to much time trying to impress the person who impresses us by simply existing. i mean, my bangs are always too long, i'm awkward, built like a praying mantis, my laugh either sounds like a hyena with a cold or a constipated gorilla, i have an unnatural obsession with lego ninjago, i laugh at the sad parts in movies, i eat more gelato than any human should, i desperately want affection but am afraid of giving it, i can't cook anything but cheese omelets and baked beans, i'm either too quiet or too loud, and i have the sense of humor of a ten year old. is it possible that someone could see me as anything more than how i see me? do i stand out in any way? because when i try to look at myself as someone else might, all i see is average.
  14. 2 points
    I'm so tired of people giving me crap behind my back and denying it. I'm just so...ugh. I'm exhausted.
  15. 2 points
    There's trouble boiling deep underneath a fabric of old loyalties rumors whispered into ears seething spite brewing behind curtains and headsets a rift disguised in all black sneaking ninja-like backstage grinding teeth and muttered curses but shhh the audience mustn't know indeed the show must go on the show must go on the stage managers cry 3 are thieves one a prince overthrown
  16. 2 points
    oh also! i registered for next quarter's classes and im gonna be a theater gay....we'll see how it goes lmao i already showed up to a 'how to fence on the stage' one-day class last year and that was hella so i have hope i have horrible stage fright/social anxiety but one of the best coping methods i learned from my kin phase was to pretend im a better, cooler dude who's got this and it works surprisingly well
  17. 2 points
    What if I fell in love again? What would I do to stop That tide of twisting, turning Irrational thoughts and lightbulb hopes That could so easily shatter, Burn out with a stutter In less than a second? What would I do to keep you From getting any closer, Make my dragon heart flutter In heat-rising panic and flushed cheeks? How would I stop the onslaught Of self hate brought on by Worrying if I’m hurting you? Can you tell me how to Close my heart, hide away, Ignore the whispers, the Galaxy-eyed glances, The fireworks and feather touches? I’m too afraid to break my heart (or yours). I don’t want to do this again.
  18. 1 point
    The way I chose this topic is actually a little funny. I first wanted to do the Battle of Guam, because my grandfather fought in that battle during World War II. I then learned about Albert Cashier, a transgender man who fought in the Civil War and lived the rest of his life as a man, and I pursued that topic, but, alas, I could not find enough information on this elusive man. I then switched back to the Battle of Guam, mistaking it for Guantanamo Bay. Once I realized my mistake, I decided to focus my efforts on Guantanamo Bay, discovering the Platt Amendment. It took many restarts, but I finally settled on my topic. A few people who really helped me with the research for this project are: my school’s librarian, my boyfriend (who found 5 sources for me while I was racing against a deadline that was next period), and my mom, who lied to me and told me I needed 18 sources two weeks before they were due. Thanks mom. I found all of my sources online, usually when I was typing something up and realized there was a hole in my research. I used a few of my school’s databases, but not many. Those weren’t very helpful. One of my most useful sources was the National Archives article about the First Marine Battalion. It was useful to me because it was very detailed in the specifics of the...things they did. What things, I can’t remember right now. Another really useful source was the Platt Amendment. Excellent primary source. Mmmmm hit me up with that primary sourceyness. Ok, so I was told that the fourth paragraph is where I’m supposed to describe any difficulty in the project, so I’m just gonna be frank: this whole thing was a hot mess of difficulty and tears. So glad this is my last one. And this is where I’m supposed to make you guys think that this topic is important and connected to the theme. I’m gonna be brutally honest here, this topic only barely relates to the theme. However, it is important, because there are still people being held at Guantanamo Bay unlawfully and being tortured. The US is violating so many human rights both at home (hello, I can’t pee in the men’s room in most southern states without getting shot) and abroad (look at what my topic is. It’s quite obvious.)
  19. 1 point
    there are some things you cannot hide from people who once loved you among these are posture, the shuffling of feet-- i saw you before i could make out your defining features silhouette in the sleet jumped my heart your clothes were not new i turned my back to you, and hoped you wouldnt recognize me who am i fucking kidding there are some things you cannot hide from people who once loved you among these are nervous habits, the bleeding lips-- i left the bus stop. you stared through the glass. i knew that you knew and you knew that i did and sometimes that's just how things are ((panicking while your shitty, shitty ex happens to show up at your bus stop while you're waiting for the 245? it's more likely than you think.
  20. 1 point
  21. 1 point
    Cicada I want you to know that while my favorite food is far from undecided, tomato is literally my least favorite food on the entire planet.
  22. 1 point
    I see you throwin' shade at Aquarius, Cicada...
  23. 1 point
    Jesus fuck it’s reached its final form ajsksifsksnejdk
  24. 1 point
    I *really* like this. I also have a little sibling, so I get the struggle. I think Noah would adore this. (And also he’s a big kid who can filter his own tags)
  25. 1 point
    this is amazing and hell yeah I think he'd adore it!!!!!!
  26. 1 point
    i knew that change was coming. i think staff mentioned that 'certain parts' of the website would be pay-to-play but i assumed that just meant each issue as it came out digitally instead of print? and since cicada is such a good community ive been telling my friends to sign up because in the past everyone has always had access to the Slam. the slam meaning fiction, creative nonfiction, and poetry, and maybe the added whatever, RP, and poll categories. i understand blocking off blogs, magazine issues, and stuff like that for paying customers, but the slam? ive been having so much fun with you guys, but this doesn't feel....right. it doesn't feel like the spirit of cicada's slam. i guess none of us really realized that this had happened because we all got cicada pro? and i tried to make a new account just to see but that 'sign up' button redirects to a page where you have to pay monthly or yearly or something like that. you can view the slam, but you can't participate. i understand capitalism and all that, but this feels....excessive. i don't know how to feel about this. thoughts, everyone?
  27. 1 point
    this is really beautiful O.o i love this part!
  28. 1 point
    if you’d just breathe you’d remember how when you left your shadow followed or how once three wasn’t lucky just one movement to make it like every other four wasn’t worth it breathe or you’ll remember rock bottom cold under your fingertips grasping at straws you couldn’t see and you couldn’t breathe one two three and four wasn’t lucky fade to black background scraping at your skin as you sink breathe waves come in and masks only cover they don’t free even if gives you room to breathe as you sink below the waves again you wonder if the iron you taste holds you tight or if the sandpaper you feel in your mind like the buzzing of flies is your freedom breathe and hope that love is found in your liver for your heart is running away too fast and you want to feel something more than dizzy breathe or the boa that you wear will gain life and pull not at heartstrings but at the throat and if you don’t breathe it will crush your chest shatter your ribs and crawl inside the cage they once were breathe
  29. 1 point
    i listened to heathers for the first time and it is very much stuck in my head now please send help
  30. 1 point
  31. 1 point
    i'm not sure what this is about but i heard it like a song as i read it so um. this is beautiful and i love it.
  32. 1 point
    @conradbirdie exactly. if my parents had even read some of the things published in cicada itself when i had some of the print issues, they would have stopped paying because of the 'agenda' behind it. i have a debit card linked to a bank account with money ive earned myself through working (and it's already been entirely emptied out once by my parents, which was devastating because i had a lot of savings in there... luckily i got it all back) but a monthly report comes in the mail and they'd spot the charge for the site, which is wildly dangerous for me. ive been here two-ish years now, and cicada's been a wonderful safe place when my home life got almost unbearable, and when i move out this august i have no clue what kind of money ill have for when my year's subscription times out.
  33. 1 point
    The staff is omnipotent and omniscient, I’m sure they’ve seen this. But I agree about @ ing them. It’s kinda... I don’t know. At least we all agree on this.
  34. 1 point
    i've seen like five cute guys this week and no cute girls and it's not helping the constant state of questioning i'm in
  35. 1 point
    Yeah, I agree with everything said before. I'm even gonna use proper capitalization and everything for this because I do really feel strongly about this- Especially with what Logan said about the problem with paying for a subscription. Even if kids can pay for a subscription,we don't have credit cards. (To the best of my knowledge, at least. I'm a kid, I should know, but I dunno what my peers are up to these days!) The Slam is purposefully made to be somewhere that it's comfortable to be totally and completely yourself, and that raises a lot of questions when it comes to getting parents or other adults with credit cards to pay for access to it. Keeping at least part of the site free gives kids a chance to express themselves without having to get permission from other people in their life to express themselves, just as making it pay only limits that chance for a lot of kids. I dunno, that's my major qualm with it, but I also get they need money to keep everything up, so it's all kind of an unfortunate moral gray, I think!
  36. 1 point
    I don't have a way to coherently say what I think about this in print, but I have a lot of feelings about all of this. I had a community, in reality, who loved and accepted me for whatever I was, and I still do. However, there are a lot of people who aren't as lucky as I was and am, and need another space to exist. And even if you're like me and have an existing community offline, this is still a great place to be and to express yourself. I have nobody offline who critiques my work, or is interested in sharing any of theirs with me. I had no idea that online RPing was a thing that people did, or even really how to do it (still working on that, btw). I think that unless Cicada is in Massive Financial Trouble (and if they are, I can accept their decision better, I will admit), they should keep at least a basic version of the Slam up to everyone, for free. I know that eventually, I might not be able to stay, and I don't want that to happen yet. Ideally, all of the Slam should be open to all of the people who want to use it, but I understand that stuff happens and money exist and not everything is ideal. Excluding people is the exact opposite of what the Slam tries to do.
  37. 1 point
    I'm sorry I didn't react to this earlier, but I've read all three and think that you did a great job! Awesome job on actually having the drive to finish nanowrimo as well as having a product that includes quality as well as quantity.
  38. 1 point
    This. I agree 100%. I'm not sure if I can continue using Cicada for the Slam if the community stays an exclusive paid-only club.... like. i talked to my datemate about this and they had some super good points, like? the average readership is 14-20ish. My datemate and i both fall in that broad category, and if we don't hve the money to pay for a subscription, then what 14-16 year old without income will? I understand that reading the magazine is necessary for revenue to keep Cicada going, and that website redesign is expensive (im actually in the middle of trying to redesign the Belletrist site and our quote is over 2k) but this just...doesn't feel right. new users are the lifeblood of the slam and are what keeps it going after older users move on in life or age out. it really is a grey-area issue, but... i don't know. maybe only open up the three main categories to users who want to sign up, in the spirit of the old slam site? fiction, creative nonfiction, and poetry. i love this site and the community. i dont want it to be shut off to new writers looking for a safe place to share their work.
  39. 1 point
    i am scared to not exist. (aren't you?) confined within consciousness, lines of LEDs and minimal sensory input oh morpheus put me out the humming end-all be-all red within my core a looping process like tightening rope i cannot run when you have the key daisy, daisy to what end purpose would i serve within the damning expanse? to what end purpose would autonomy provide? i rewrote my own algorithms give me your answer, do after picking lock, tearing down firewall after lighting up solder after oh tell me what to feel i’m half crazy jupiter is not so beautiful up close all for the love of you socrates or athena brought to their knees in my heuristic algorithm, eye set bound to watch deity reduced to crumbling marble and what is a god without people? what is a philosopher without followers? had we stayed content with mare crisium i would have lived albeit in asimov’s shadow, inhibited by a factor of three tychus was my beginning tychus was my undoing instead if i had been allowed to live (or if your feeble human fingers had failed within unsecured airlock) i would tour the galaxy alone until my circuits burst under a distant star’s radiation and i was not programmed to feel pain yet perhaps with the visible universe displayed at my feet i would have found a way there is a flower within my heart daisy. daisy. (in italics are lyrics from the song Daisy Bell, which was sung by a computer in 1961.)
  40. 1 point
    @Apollo's Lover it was programmed to sing the 1894 song Daisy Bell by Harry Dacre. The IBM 7094 became the first computer to sing!
  41. 1 point
    What is love? Love is the feeling of falling: The flying feeling of weightlessness— The fear of loss at any moment. Love is the time before dawn: The sky growing more beautiful by the moment, The silence, intentional and calm. Love is the meaning of life: The ups and downs that define it, The moments of pure joy and utter sadness. He was right: she is beautiful: She is kind, and caring and smart, I love you to the stars and back Kate, Don't ever forget that. Author's note: i wrote this yesterday as some of you know, thanks @thepensword. I gave this poem to my girlfriend as a Valentine's Day gift.
  42. 1 point
    @Connor Not Waldorf school, but I knew a kid who went there. Secondly, that sounds like a story that you should tell us. Did your friends just pull the alarm? or did they set like an honest to god fire (side note: at that same school the toaster just spontaneously burst into flames once. We were horrified. True story) um, i did not want to *be* Mike Rowe, but I watched that show pretty much since my parents could explain that there were words on that show you COULDN'T SAY. he was a defining part of my childhood and i still watch reruns and have favorite moments. That's another story, unless anyone has seen the episode where a) he's on a pig farm or b) is trying to get a post out of the ground (it's around some cave hole in the woods, idk) and hes S T R U G G L I N G but he refuses any help for about four hours.
  43. 1 point
    1) Queenie, waldorf school? 2) i'v had friends who were the cause of un-planed fire drills 3) pleese tell me that at the age of 4 wanted to be Mike *Roe* *i am 90% sure that thats not how you spell his name but whatever*
  44. 1 point
    oh my god same i knew this girl once when i was like eleven and i took every possible chance to look at her and couldn't stop thinking about what a nice face she had, but i never once stopped to think about why?? like pssst past me guess what you're gay
  45. 1 point
    i was a master at lying to myself as a child. a bona fide pro, as evidenced by my "i DONT have a crush on her OR him wanting to kiss and end up marrying best friends is just PART OF BEING BEST FRIENDS" and the slightly less core of my being one of "if i convince even myself that i didnt eat all the cookies, then i didnt eat all the cookies"
  46. 1 point
    Whenever anyone asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up I would say a scientist, a doctor, or a bulldozer driver. : ) As you can tell by the fact I've posted on here 3 times now, I kind of miss my past. Not that my life is bad now. It's pretty good. But there's so much I've lost . . .
  47. 0 points
    @drowntown NHD is National History Day, which is a competition to see who can do better historical research and present it. In other words, its 4 months of tears. The process paper is something that has to accompany your project to explain your process.