Women speak 3 and a heif more times than men.
We’re talkin 7000 words just tumbling out of the average female’s mouth every day vs. 2000 words / daytime minutes for men.
Learned this knowledge from Leonard Shlain. Check Him out.
More on it.
Don’t be dumb. You’re gonna die. And it’s going to feel like nothing you’ve never felt. But this time you won’t have a brain to tell you how you don’t feel anymore. You’ll be “gonezo,” but don’t be fooled into thinking that das it. You pop out of your bag of chemicals back into the pool to recreate. A sess pool teaming with potential. And I’m not talking about some fantasy religious talk, reincarnation blah blah, fall down a tunnel and turn into a worm kinda shit, I’m just sayin, if all holds true with the laws we forced upon the natural world, what makes all of you’s and we’s and I’s up will be conserved, not mashed, not destroyed, just passed along to the next bag of chemicals.
Remember you will die. But don’t remember all the time. That shit’ll make you go crazy.
To redeem your autonomy from materialism, check this shit out.
Watch, think about it. Say thanks to Pluto despite its demotion.
The paper airplane? Reminds you (me) to change your perspective.
Paper isn’t just paper if it can fly about. Here to there. Space Jam kinda thing.
Maybe not Space jam. Maybe more like Radioflyer kinda stuff. Either way. It’s the weekend. Time to celebrate this many days lived without dying / disassembling.
No pun intended. Therefore none here.
Remember you’re mortal. Remember your mortality.
More words to be shed.
This is the second. Or the first real post. The new me. The guy that actually makes things every day.
Just like we all make jokes and friends. But instead of losing these things into the Forgotten Sea, I intend on keeping these things around. For the short of it and the long.
To say, the first insiders joke. Necklace Cage. Though the man gets more than a five gallon bucket of flack e’ry day, he has been in so many movies and played so many roles that the dude deserves some sort of respect.
Ah, so. My respects to you Mr. Necklace:
WITH A MOTHERFUCKIN WHALE TYPED OUT BY HAND THAT I SOLD TO A KID FOR 20 BUCKS.
That’s how it motherfuckin starts.
The Mort for Short blog of blogs.
I gotta write and write and make things up and talk about my life. That sounds like a lot of bullshit.
A post a day, at least. Fuck, that sounds like torture.