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To be or not to be...Hamlet's soliloquy

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TMNT quick sketch

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This was a quick two-minute sketch. My 8-year-old self would have been thrilled. 

Chapter 6 of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone

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Just some copy work that I'm doing occasionally; nothing to see here.

Feel free to copy it on your own a few times and see if you can pick out anything in the writing. Or you can just use it to practice your typing.


Harry's last month with the Dursleys wasn't fun. True, Dudley was now so scared of Harry he wouldn't stay in the same room, while Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon didn't shut Harry in his cupboard, force him to do anything, or shout at him -- in fact, they didn't speak to him at all. Half terrified, half furious, they acted as though any chair with Harry in it were empty. Although this was an improvement in many ways, it did become a bit depressing after a while.

Harry kept to his room, with his new owl for company. He had decided to call her Hedwig, a name he had found in A History of Magic. His school books were very interesting. He lay on his bed reading late into the night, Hedwig swooping in and out of the open window as she pleased. It was lucky…

One of the aforementioned poems

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Here's one of the aforementioned poems. And then I'll round it out by presenting you with a really good poem that I hope you've heard of before. If you haven't...then there it is.



The following poem is from PoetryFoundation.org
Still I Rise BY MAYA ANGELOU You may write me down in history With your bitter, twisted lies, You may trod me in the very dirt But still, like dust, I'll rise.
Does my sassiness upset you? Why are you beset with gloom? ’Cause I walk like I've got oil wells Pumping in my living room.
Just like moons and like suns, With the certainty of tides, Just like hopes springing high, Still I'll rise.
Did you want to see me broken? Bowed head and lowered eyes? Shoulders falling down like teardrops, Weakened by my soulful cries?
Does my haughtiness offend you? Don't you take it awful hard ’Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines Diggin’ in my own backyard.
You may shoot me with your words, You may cut me with your eyes, You may kill me with…

Love Yourself

I believe that I've posted about this particular book before now but I wanted to put this out there again regardless because I've gotten back into it and I think that I'm in a better place than I was before to get the most out of it.

It's a simple message that I think would have received a little more attention if it was longer. As the author states in here, he thought that increasing the page numbers of this book would have only served to pad his ego. That may be true but again, people don't like buying tiny books.

As I said it's a simple message, which essentially boils down to creating a positive mental loop. If you've looked into Neuroscience or Meditation at all, you'll be familiar with the term mental loop or the default mode in the brain. I'm not an expert on this so I'm not sure if my terminology is dead on but...essentially your brain, and your thoughts are not the result of your conscious creation of them. Does that make sense? Unless …

Poetry Instagram and whatnot

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I've started writing poetry and other stuff on Instagram. It's sort of fun. I feel a sort of obligation to shamefully admit that I, sort of, started doing it out of a sense of superiority against individuals who have found money and success on that site, also writing poetry. Their stuff doesn't even rhyme!

Yeah. I know poetry doesn't need to rhyme but the intention of poetry is to draw out an emotional response in the reader, I think. From that perspective, I was being a little unfair: these people are obviously connecting on an emotional level with millions of people and who am I to pass judgment?

Having said that, I've come across several poets and writers on Instagram whose work I can appreciate with relatively little effort. Like the old saying goes, "I don't know art, but I know what I like."

I've put some stuff up on the account. I don't think that it's very good or even any better than the works that I had privately criticized out …