I have long been writing about uniqueness, though perhaps in a rather disjointed, round-about manner. I’ve captured my thoughts in scattered means – like puzzle pieces anticipating the euphoric unity of the finished masterpiece, and set them in a pile.

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Unless you have lived beneath a rock for the majority of your recent months, without any form of communication with the outside world, you know the status of the American presidential election of 2008: Obamaba won.

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I was birthed on this ship – a vessel of hope and freedom that only the least of writers would dare attempt to allude to for the fear of being mistaken, they suffer under the knowledge that the effort would be that of comprehending that which was not meant to be comprehended nor fully understood, and the attempt in itself: a near sin.

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Bees, yes those tiny little lovable insects that buzz around all day collecting honey and stinging people. Bees are an integral part of the life cycle of plants and trees (which us humans kind of need to live ) so it's only natural that we get concerned when they start to die off. So what could possibly be killing these tiny honey making machines?

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I just finished writing a stupid paragraph for my stupid English class about Nick Carraway's honesty as portrayed by th first four chapters in F. Scott Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby. While browsing through the chapters I picked up on some little things, and now I am here to tell you that boy, Nick Carraway is gay.

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So I was looking through some political videos on YouTube because I can vote within a few months and ended up on a couple American videos featuring Georgie Bush (though I myself am Canadian). These were largely based around 2001 due to 9/11 but I was appalled at what I heard. George bush was constantly and predictably declaring a war on Tera in each video!

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Many of our knowledges relate to certain scientific advances and discoveries, but when writing my last article about time I began to question how much of that is absolute.

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I’ve been putting some time into thought, and thought into time. The seconds seem to tick by at an exponentially increasing rate and I have begun to frequent the thought that perhaps some entity of sorts has been stealing away my time.

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Beauty before us:
everything viewed in macro -
behold; perfection.

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It's been long since
the sun rose westbound.
Only fleeting reminders
remain on the hallway walls,
in the crayolaexplosionsof
a four year old.

Four.
One.
Eight.
Seven.
Three:

Nothing goes nowhere
never anymore.
Rainbows turning, fell and
broke the sky.
But the sky was never here
nor there.

Five.

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I guess I'm feeling a little too similar; assimilated. I feel that I've been walking the wrong way on a path that I have myself drawn and paved, that leads to or from liberation. Everything I've known to be, and the values that I believed were what made me, all peel away, unmasking new truths.

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I have not spent my time thinking and rethinking in order to tell any person how incorrect their religious beliefs are. In fact, the possibility that the beliefs I hold are completely and perfectly valid, is no less than the possibility that another person’s central religious beliefs are in entirety correct.

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Given that this post is about language, it seems only appropriate that I should warn you:

“I am not good with words.”

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