The March Hare took the watch and looked at it gloomily: then he dipped it into his cup of tea, and looked at it again: but he could think of nothing better to say than his first remark, 'It was the best butter, you know.'

Alice had been looking over his shoulder with some curiosity. 'What a funny watch!' she remarked. 'It tells the day of the month, and doesn't tell what o'clock it is!'

'Why should it?' muttered the Hatter. 'Does your watch tell you what year it is?'

'Of course not,' Alice replied very readily: 'but that's because it stays the same year for such a long time together.'

'Which is just the case with mine,' said the Hatter.

*..Please be considerate and share this note with your community. If you find its contents inconsequential or uninteresting, kindly drop it, so someone who might be open to its insight may enjoy it, and share..*

Step away from your computer, and look up at the sky. Remember that we are a tiny speck in a boundless and unimaginably colossal universe. The world outside our little blue marble is alien and indefinite. In the grand scale of our universe, we are a dust particle. Contemplate that for a moment.

Take a minute to ponder what activities we occupy our precious time with. Consider the little, irrelevant, petty, fleeting feelings we feel on a day to day basis. Next time you feel anxiety, anger, disappointment, or depression, take your few seconds to look up at the sky, and allow yourself to fall into the vastness of possible thoughts that become available to you by opening yourself up to our worlds true insignificance. Maybe you'll discover something about yourself.

Doll
11/27/11

In this single spot,

nestled among the splintered, snow-covered eaves of stone,
if you stand without stirring, you can feel the mountains breathing.

Listen. Hear them now, slowly passing down the tale of an Ur unsung,
to you,
small

Glitchen,

transfixed

in this moment,
in this time.

Your body is a part of these mountains, and the wind gently stirs the tiny speck of ur inside you, reminding you of all who have come before,

and all those
who will come to pass,
like seeds
lost in the wind.

I should really dispose of this note, but I have not yet. Please feel free to leave your own in this room :)

I came here to say something if not deep than at least hilarious, and am suddenly struck by performance anxiety.

Obviously the only way out of this is for me to fart.

*farts anxiously*

.
.
.

P.S. I'm really sorry I left you a fart note. Next time I'll leave a better note; I promise.

We shall not always plant while others reap
The golden increment of bursting fruit,
Not always countenance, abject and mute,
That lesser men should hold their brothers cheap;
Not everlastingly while others sleep
Shall we beguile their limbs with mellow flute,
Not always bend to some more subtle brute;
We were not made to eternally weep.
The night whose sable breast relieves the stark,
White stars is no less lovely being dark,
And there are buds that cannot bloom at all
In light, but crumple, piteous, and fall;
So in the dark we hide the heart that bleeds,
And wait, and tend our agonizing seeds.
-Countee Cullen

I think that I've wasted most of my life waiting for it to start. Please do not do this. Things are never going to be this magical world where nothing is awkward and nothing can be embarrassing. But here, they're not going to make fun of you for participating, or expressing yourself in any way, shape, or form. So please, make the most of your time. It's so important to us and we want it to be important to you, so make it that way.

-Kodan Armada

On a very certain April night, after the warm sun has coaxed a few more spring flowers out of their winter beds, the lake fairies gather from all the lake side to dance in the moonlight. They put away their work of weaving our dreams.
The fares will stop their everyday weaving of dreams for us. They will dress for the Ball of the Rising Moon. Golden gossamer dreams will dangle, halted at the spinning wheels. Vibrant spools of silken fancies will wait while the weaver shuttles rest. The unfinished dreams will hang from tenters and looms all of tonight. Earth people- slow moving and clumsy, compared to fairies, will have no dreams placed over their sleeping heads. The dream faries will dance to their own dreams tonight.
Gowns will glisten with stained-glass facets from Dragon fly wings. Some will have Polka dotted Lady Bug slippers and silver spiderweb vests. Star-glow sparks will fall onto the lake and sizzle and writhe and slowly dim away.

Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn?t do than by the ones you did. So throw off the bowlines, sail away from safe harbor, catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.

? Mark Twain

X

... is tofu just a waste of police's time?

Why are people always noodles?

Dear Sir: Your message was either not delivered correctly, or some kind of newfangled iguana. Please find it in your heart to help these children; their eyeglasses have become permanently affixed to their heads, and now they tumble about incessantly, windmilling their arms.

Sometimes all one needsis a little sunshine in their boots.Walk about,in the rays,drink some juice,in summers haze.Take this drink and get your dose of Vitamin C. ;)- Lioness

Sometime during one of the ages belonging to Zille, grain grew freely from the papery hides of potatoes.

You'd pry a potato from the ground, and out it would come, bristling with grain and clods of earth all sticking to it like someone had dragged a komondor through a kiddie-pool of maple and brown sugar oatmeal.

This upset Lem, because in all his ramblings, he'd never once seen such a thing as a komondor, and whatever maple was, it was NOT going into HIS oatmeal (which was thought, at the time, to be a variety of yacht. Lem had many yachts in a profundity of happenin' colors and, like most hip folk, wore them on his feet under brown, suede loafers). And so Lem said "Screw this zany shit," and made all potatoes into chickens.

To this day, to get grain, one must squeeze a chicken until the grain-barbules burst forth from its skin like the quills of a porcupine.

You hear that, Lem?! Porcupine! Yeah, just TRY and wrap your imagination around that, you grubby, hillock-faced mass.

The longest word in pretty much every single language is the full name for the protein Titin. It's so long, that i can't fit it all in this note. If you wrote it out, it would take about 4 sheets of paper and if you tried to say it, it would take several hours.

MEOW MEOW MEOW MEWO MEW MEW MEWWW? "MROOW", MEW MEO!
"MEWMEW MEOW MEO?"
MEOW MEOW MEOW MEWO MEW MEW MEWWWMEOW MEOW MEOW MEWO MEW MEW MEWWWMEOW MEOW MEOW MEWO MEW MEW MEWWWMEOW MEOW MEOW MEWO MEW MEW MEWWW
"EOW MEOW ."
Meow Meow "STOP SHITTING ON MY HARDWOOD FLOORS!" meow meow? -Hisss-
RRRRRR mew... mew eow meow

I want to see the emerald city in the sky.The island that floats.And is hostTo a tree and a rockThat choose to surviveAmongst the stars.

I'm Batgirl.

Sequences are everywhere. Did you notice:

0 1 1 2 3 5 8 13 21 34 55 89 144 233 377 610 987 1597...

0 1 1 1 2 1 3 2 5 2 7 4 11 2 13 4 17 2 19 4 23 6 29 2 31 6 37 4 41 2 43...

0 1 1 3 4 5 9 7 16 9 25 11 36 13 49 15 64 17 81 19 100 21 121 23 144...

In all honesty, I have had to look at ink blots before (in 2011). The social worker doing the testing told me the results would reveal nothing I didn't already know. I still don't know what the results were, as I had to wait until I left the psychiatric unit to see them. I guess telling me what the results were wasn't a priority. Oh well. -Dartha

Messages telling you to lose weight and be skinny. Advertisements for tabacco products and alcohol, with huge warning ads. Boring articles. Oh look, more advertisements. I'm bored already.

I spent so many currants to buy my second home here - a DE-luxe Alakol model with all the options. Near mining, vendors, and a mere street away from the subway line! The soothing whisper of the water - and not a bad view of it, either.
(A real upgrade from that shabbily modest Bortola dwelling. Ukon Cognate was hardly a happening scene in those days.)

I was so young and green, but ah, the swanky parties, the posh pig pen, the acres of closet space! A Zilloween spent quaffing pumpkin ale and moonwalking right off the balcony!

My ambitions were high, even if my pockets were empty.

I shall always cherish those early days of folly. The memories...