You’re being irrational!


People have this sense that everything is either good or bad and that there’s nothing in between any more. Black and white. Right or wrong. Truth or lie. Fact or fiction. Like that’s some kind of life or death decision.

Someone once gave a lecture on rational and irrational thinking, and he made a good point. You can have a gallon of milk, but if you put one drop of cyanide in the gallon of milk… it’s ruined. You can no longer drink it. Yea, that’s a good point. I can’t find an argument against that no matter how hard I try.

So why do people have this black and white view of the world? What drives this? The way we grow up? Instinct? Culture? Religion? Obviously it all plays a factor in our views of right and wrong, but in the end, who decides what is right and what is wrong?

People stereotype Muslims based on the chaos caused by radical Muslims.Although I haven’t read into it, I’m pretty sure there isn’t a part of the Quran that can be translated into “strap a bomb to your chest, go to a crowded area, blow yourself up, and take as any people as you can with you.” This is the radical view. I’m pretty sure there are people of the Muslim faith that see this as completely irrational while others may find this rational.

More people die in the ‘name of God’ these days. How is that rational? Don’t know.

What do you think? Is there even such a thing as rationality these days?


Dreaming Colors


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Celestial blue orbs unclosed to an unfamiliar world surrounding the figure of a girl. With a deep breath she rose, rustling the leaves that lay decaying underneath. Back and forth the beads scanned the new land, taking in the new sight. It was something never seen; it was something never heard; it was something that took the wind from the chest and spread it over hundreds of miles of awe. Standing to her feet she trembled, shaking with admiration. Such a beautiful sight!

Heaven’s Eye struggled to pierce through the thick vegetation. Above her it seemed as though the heavens were nothing but an endless collection of emerald leaves. Their branches extended over to one another, touching their leaves in their Earthly connection. A heavy fog hovered just below. With the light squeezing through the mist, the atmosphere illuminated with an angelic glow. Almond strips could be seen just through the fog, standing tall to support the foliage.

Below the stubs of her toes, thousands of ants used the decaying limbs and leaves as a roadway, climbing across the branches like bridges over a lake. She could feel each grain of dirt below her as she dug her bare feet into the Mother she called Earth. Tiny pools of water, which were as clear as the purity of a new soul settled coolly in the crevices of the undergrowth. Morning dew gathered on the small slits of grass that poked through the mess. They stared back at her like stars in an olive and coffee galaxy.

Ah! The sounds she heard! The giant oaks shivered in the wind that blew through them like an aurula, wafting around its essence of spirituality. Small critters made every sound at every pitch possible—chirping, tweeting, slithering, hissing, flapping. A pleasant smell settled in her nose. It was the scent of nature, beauty, divinity—if one could describe such a fragrance. In two words it could be described as moss and dew, both fresh and sweet. One could not imagine such things. Just as Heaven is indescribable, so was the Heaven that now cornered her on all sides, trapping her in its utter beauty. It was a golden world of utmost quality.

Then there came a threatening thunder. The trees squealed and screamed; the crunching noise was not one a person could simply forget. The chirping, tweeting, slithering, hissing, and flapping grew louder, and then faded until they could be heard no longer. The garden around her shrunk. Knobs and stumps of trunks now replaced the world she had so easily come to love. It was now barren, stripped of all life and song…naked. A deep sea rose within her, churning around with rage at the sight. No longer was this a safe haven. It was now a Hell born from both hate and fire. It looked angry. The forest looked angry.

Celestial orbs unopened to the lavender walls of a bedroom.

Pads Are For Pansies – Grow a Pear!


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Not sure if I have mentioned this before or not, but I take martial arts. This is going to be a rant, fair warning. Topic: some people just need to grow a pear and learn how to take a hit. I’ve been attending a new karate place for the past month or two. It’s a great place, a lot more chaotic than what I am used to, but it’s still very social and welcoming. However, the person I have been paired with in sparring has no control what-so-ever, and complains a lot about hits. The people there spar with every kind of pad imaginable. Of course they have the basic knuckle and foot pads, but they also wear shin, chest, and helmet guards. They keep asking me why I don’t have a chest guard or a helmet guard. My answer: why do I need it?

Here’s the thing. With most places, only the younger students wear the chest and helmet guards, mostly because of their lack of control. Children like to flail, right? But there are older kids with belts (up to red) that wear these and I find it completely stupid.

The boy I have been sparring is twice my height (lanky, though). He flails like a fish and has no control what-so-ever. In a single night, two spars, he managed to hit me on the head twice, grazed my left eye, kick my knee one, and my shin Lord knows how many times, all hard enough to leave a bruise. Those points don’t count because of their lack of control. However, when I graze his chin in a controlled back hand, it counts. What does he do? He complains saying that it was towards the face so it shouldn’t count. It was overruled and I ended up winning both spars.

I wanted to say a lot of things. One being that I guarantee you the guy mugging you doesn’t give a shit that he broke your nose or knocked all the air out of your lungs. Stop clutching your stomach and complaining, get off of your ass, and fight back. Yes, sparring is a controlled fight. I’m not saying go hit the other person like it’s the guy that could mug you tomorrow night, but good gosh grow a pear and learn to take a small hit.

Text Time With Mojo Jojo #1

This is Mojo Jojo, if you’re wondering.

So I got a random text from someone, and my first reply was, of course : who is this? And their reply, as epic as possible, was : I am Mojo Jojo. Now I don’t know how many of my follows are even familiar with the name ‘Mojo Jojo,’ but anyone who knows who that is, is probably a 90’s kid or a parent of a 90’s kid. Mojo Jojo was an ‘evil’ villain from an old cartoon show that I grew up watching called the Powerpuff Girls. He was, in all respects, a failed villain who showed up over and over, but was never truly evil.

Many interesting conversations have taking place between me and this impostor Mojo Jojo. Granted, nothing has been of much meaning. Most of our texts have been composed of silly and random blurts of memes and phrases known most commonly with people of our age and interest.

So why am I blogging about this? Because it’s freaking hilarious. That’s why.

The conversations we have had over text have certainly made some of my boring moments a laugh out loud session. I thought to myself: why not blog about it? I’m not going to try to find out who this is. Not now, maybe not ever. I have him in my phone as Mojo Jojo, knowing fully well that is it actually Bubbles in a disguise because Blossom and Buttercup were ganging up on her again.

I’ll be posting some of the random conversations between Mojo Jojo and I in hopes that the 90’s kids that are reading my blog can reminisce in the silliness. Hope you enjoy!

Random Number: [pic]

Me: I can’t get pictures on my phone Who is this?

Mojo Jojo: I am Mojo Jojo.

Me: I knew it! One of your more brilliant disguises? Where is Professor Utonium when you need him?

Mojo Jojo: I have him in my super secret hidden base. I, Mojo Jojo, plan to make the world bow down to me, Mojo Jojo!

Me: Well, can you plan to take over the world wait? My Chemical X is being approved my UPS, and won’t be here until Friday.

Mojo Jojo: Of course! But I, Mojo Jojo, will take over the world. Because the plans were made by me, Mojo Jojo!

Me: You have made my day, kind sir. Scotty will beam you a cookie.

This conversation has been paraphrased from memory. My texts were deleted since this started! This is a general idea of how it went, though, and only part of it! More to come!

The Employer


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She seemed so cold with her pursed lips and slanted eyebrows buried deep into her lids. With her head tilted to the side and arms crossed over her breasts, I couldn’t help but get the feeling that she was summing me up, and I was failing miserably. Perhaps she was. Perhaps I was being paranoid. Maybe it’s the strong smell of coffee perfuming the air, wafting harshly in my face as the fan blows loudly in the background. I’m looking at her trying to keep from accidentally swallowing my pride to step out and clear the lump in my throat.

“Where is the restroom?” I asked to cover my nervousness. It seemed a plausible reason to step out.

Her eyes widened slightly and her head tilted to the other side. She shook her head as though shocked by the sudden question after the long pause of painful silence. She blinked a couple of times before answering. “Uhm,” a slight pause, “down the hall… to the… left, second door on your right.” She gestured the directions with her hand, but I was mostly paying attention to the slight stutter in her words and the hesitation it took to get from her brain to her mouth.

“Thank-you. I’ll be right back.” I stood up awkwardly and bowed, grabbing my purse with my cold and clammy hands. I exited, closing the door behind me and letting out a slow but loud sigh. I straightened myself and headed to my temporary haven, praying that it was at least somewhat decent in terms of cleanliness.

I looked around the maze of hallways, attempting to remember the actual words she had uttered… stuttered. It seemed to wander aimlessly in the back of my mind. There was no way she was interested in me. Her mind was definitely on other things. I glided through the white walls and gray carpet and found my destination. The mirror seemed to glare at me. My hair was fine. I opened my mouth to check my teeth. There was nothing there. Baffled by my sense of insecurity, I straightened myself, took a deep breath and returned to her office.

I opened the door and immediately the strong smell of coffee invaded my senses.

I hated coffee. That brown strong smell and overwhelming bitter taste.

I bowed before sitting down in the black leather chair. In her hands she held a steaming mug, filled to the rim with that icky brown liquid. She looked up, handing me a sheet of paper with a label at the top: “Policies” I am certain I looked like a deer in headlights. My stupefied expression did me little good, but she seemed convinced.

“I apologize for being so rude,” she said, taking a sip from her mug with a smile, “I haven’t had my coffee this morning. I’ll see you Monday.”

A Deadman Cannot Be Freed


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(This poem is based completely off of symbolism. The topic is bullying. Comment if you can relate!)

Listen closely, come and hear
For this might just save your life.
You have very much to fear
In the moments of your strife.

They lure you to the shadows
With their glare and rope and stone.
They snatch you from the meadows
Where as a free man you once roamed.

Listen to their calls,
You can hear them in the trees.
Look around you, creatures crawl.
The wind is dancing with the leaves.
Listen to the creaking wood,
Which once stood as a home,
But is now rid of all the good,
And now sets a horrid tone.

In the dry air of the desert,
They seek the last of man
To come and be their experts,
And to feed from the devil’s hand.

Don’t listen to their lies,
For their profession is to greed.

Although a FREE MAN cannot DIE,
a DEAD MAN cannot be FREED.

No Rhyme or Reason, Just LOVE


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As if simply being was something out of bounds, we colored outside the lines.
As if flight was something only in dreams, we vowed to dream together.
As if hope was something to rid of darkness, we illuminated our worlds.
As if truth was something misunderstood, we clarified its meaning.
As if kindness was something theorized, we proved it could be real.
As if success was something that was unreachable, we made it.
As if acceptance was something undefinable, we gave it a word of its own.

As if Rhyme and Reason explained everything, we learned that it cannot explain LOVE.
Because LOVE just is.

And if you want to live for LOVE, live by the following, live for the sake of:
Simply being. Dreaming. Hoping. Understanding. Caring. Succeeding. Accepting.

Not only for yourself, but for the people that make Rhyme and Reason just another silly phrase.
I am because you are.
There is no Rhyme or Reason.
There is only LOVE.