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"astonish" poems
Dear Future Daughter Don’t worry about making right choices After you born on this planet Because choices are what you are gifted Do remember courtesy of love And give it to your Mom Who open your eyes After she kept in you in her warm womb For Nine months and Nineteen days Dear Future Daughter I don’t want your favorite colorist must be pink Like any other ordinary girl It could be anything Which symbolize you a real astonish bold amazing girl I don’t want you to be normal girl Who live under someone else life And trapped by dogma Live for you Live for your happiness Dear Future Daughter I won’t worry about what your hairstyle is I won’t care what your fashion is all about it I won’t stubbed you Because you are the outcome Of my amaze marvelous ***** No matter what life is up to you No matter how many boys fallen in love with you Not a big deal how many Purpose you would be going to rejecting it. Dear Future Daughter I promise I will love you with all of my heart No matter what and your smile will be the upside of my day I don't need you to be perfect, although you will be perfect in my eyes. ©Saujan Gyawali 15 December 2014
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Dec 15, 2014
Dec 15, 2014 at 7:06 AM UTC
Letter to my Future Daughter
The sea cast a gift ashore one stormy sullen day and the barren rocky coast was suddenly recast as a natural history museum. A whale. A real whale, just lying there shining on the shale In another time, we'd have known how to react. This astonishing bounty would have been quickly stripped Bones for building baleen for support blubber and oil for fuel. But now it lay surrounded by detritus made of better stuff. The truth was, we didn't really need it, couldn't really use it, like being presented with Casablanca on VHS. A sign appeared: "Quad bike rides, £2", red paint on rainsoaked cardboard. I wasn't tempted. Children poked it with sticks in a desultory way, stricken, intrigued, ashamed, and utterly dwarfed. The weeks passed as we coughed in embarrassment not knowing what to do, until finally someone brought a digger down and discretely buried the beast. By now, it will be a perfect skeleton a prehistoric wonder an artefact from unjaded days when nature could still astonish, trampled by unknowing tourists as they dream of sunnier beaches.
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Jan 1, 2012
Jan 1, 2012 at 3:06 PM UTC
The Whale
Walking contradiction that has lost his validation, so now he sits alone in condemnation. Frustration seeps in, demons live in his head, praying to God that if he could just be dead. Contradiction is his addiction, worthless to this affliction, hypocritical cynical pessimist that has lost the will to hold affection. Stressing on frivolous things, don't know what voices to believe in, so he does his own thing which in some peoples eyes is a sin. Believe in a deity as the scream at him, on the picket fence, feels like he has no purpose, his fate seems dim. Labelled by humans, no better than a pig getting sent to the slaughter, or a innocent man sent to prison on the charges of man slaughter. Walking contradiction, wants to do more for society because he no longer wants to play the victim. Held back by himself and by others, scolded as inhuman by racists that define everything about him just based on his colour. Left with an illusion that he has a voice, that he has a choice, that he can be himself, that he can live happy and rejoice, that he doesn't have to live in chaos. Fading out and fading in, wanting to give in, but he is stubborn, he won't be easily seduced to be part of society's whim. Isolated, so complicated, lost in monotony, people say he has a purpose, but he feels like he an anomaly. A mistake, a freak of nature, he know's it's not good to keep in anger, but how else could one act if all their life they have been deemed a stranger. People say he doesn't have scars but they don't look on the inside, they just see his outward appearance, no wonder he always confide's with thoughts of suicide. Convictions that depict him as a nobody, restricted from playing with others because he isn't a somebody. Walking contradiction thats causes friction with everybody, flooding over misconceptions as if he were a tsunami. They tried to break him, they tried to make him into something else, but if they think he will conform they are mistaken. Walking contradiction, hypocritical and honest, doesn't care about making a profit, he just wants to demolish and astonish people's thinking like he's a rhythmical prophet. How do I know all of this?  Well to be frank the man i'm talking about is me, but don't worry I have come along way as you can see. I have become better and healthier than the kid I used to be, more mature than the teen with insecurities, I have become a man that has fortified his integrity.
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Feb 25, 2016
Feb 25, 2016 at 6:23 PM UTC
Walking Contradiction
Walking contradiction that has lost his validation, so now he sits alone in condemnation. Frustration seeps in, demons live in his head, praying to God that if he could just be dead. Contradiction is his addiction, worthless to this affliction, hypocritical cynical pessimist that has lost the will to hold affection. Stressing on frivolous things, don't know what voices to believe in, so he does his own thing which in some peoples eyes is a sin. Believe in a deity as the scream at him, on the picket fence, feels like he has no purpose, his fate seems dim. Labelled by humans, no better than a pig getting sent to the slaughter, or a innocent man sent to prison on the charges of man slaughter. Walking contradiction, wants to do more for society because he no longer wants to play the victim. Held back by himself and by others, scolded as inhuman by racists that define everything about him just based on his colour. Left with an illusion that he has a voice, that he has a choice, that he can be himself, that he can live happy and rejoice, that he doesn't have to live in chaos. Fading out and fading in, wanting to give in, but he is stubborn, he won't be easily seduced to be part of society's whim. Isolated, so complicated, lost in monotony, people say he has a purpose, but he feels like he an anomaly. A mistake, a freak of nature, he know's it's not good to keep in anger, but how else could one act if all their life they have been deemed a stranger. People say he doesn't have scars but they don't look on the inside, they just see his outward appearance, no wonder he always confide's with thoughts of suicide. Convictions that depict him as a nobody, restricted from playing with others because he isn't a somebody. Walking contradiction thats causes friction with everybody, flooding over misconceptions as if he were a tsunami. They tried to break him, they tried to make him into something else, but if they think he will conform they are mistaken. Walking contradiction, hypocritical and honest, doesn't care about making a profit, he just wants to demolish and astonish people's thinking like he's a rhythmical prophet. How do I know all of this?  Well to be frank the man i'm talking about is me, but don't worry I have come along way as you can see. I have become better and healthier than the kid I used to be, more mature than the teen with insecurities, I have become a man that has fortified his integrity.
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31 days, its been 31 days and i've been dazed, you've dizzied me I spoke to God on day 30 while you lay asleep and I held you for what felt like it was the last time It cut and healed all at once. As I held you and spoke to a God I know you don't believe in I said, God you astonish me for making a being so instantly resplendent who when dissected still is flowering on the inside       You are spring, And as spring goes else where Robert Graves' 'I will write' sits in me and I have tears stuck in my throat I let them stay and know this has been beautiful                   You are spring, you are flowering inside and I am jealous of all that will experience your constitution    But you have taught me your philosophy, painted me with your utilitarianism So I won't pluck the flowers and pray all who revel in your immensity water you
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Aug 16, 2015
Aug 16, 2015 at 10:55 AM UTC
Henry Sidgwick's great grandson
***Here we find our greatest scientist professing an independent Theorem outside of thought and perception.. He admits this as belief and also admits: this separate reality he cannot find...in his science.. Our experience tells us: this old Theorem is thought arising in infinite Awareness..and there remains.. We search..as did he.. to no avail to find the Theorem residing outside.. Would it astonish Dr. Einstein that the Theorem we experience ..as could he.. is made altogether.. of Awareness...?***
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Jan 9, 2017
Jan 9, 2017 at 8:39 PM UTC
Pythagorean Theorem
The weather it's sobbing, but not really. My heart it's trembling, really. Cause I look, and sometimes I see but sometimes I don't. So I wonder as I look her, Fishnets, mascara and hair  like silk  (I must admit to envy). And I do see Your hat- hers now, if only momentarily (I must confess to jealousy) You make it delicious. And I ponder and hash and squirm about  This **** Symbology.  I hover on knife's edge and ponder this to: Shall I fall          jump          or tightrope? Maybe I'll astonish and grow wings. Such marvelosity. (I'm feeling whimsical- practically bubbly And yet, still morose). And so the weather cries And so, too, my heart.
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May 27, 2013
May 27, 2013 at 6:11 PM UTC
Salty Raindrops
I. Adieu, New-England’s smiling meads, Adieu, the flow’ry plain: I leave thine op’ning charms, O spring, And tempt the roaring main. II. In vain for me the flow’rets rise, And boast their gaudy pride, While here beneath the northern skies I mourn for health deny’d. III. Celestial maid of rosy hue, O let me feel thy reign! I languish till thy face I view, Thy vanish’d joys regain. IV. Susanna mourns, nor can I bear To see the crystal show’r, Or mark the tender falling tear At sad departure’s hour; V. Not unregarding can I see Her soul with grief opprest: But let no sighs, no groans for me, Steal from her pensive breast. VI. In vain the feather’d warblers sing, In vain the garden blooms, And on the ***** of the spring Breathes out her sweet perfumes. VII. While for Britannia’s distant shore We sweep the liquid plain, And with astonish’d eyes explore The wide-extended main. VIII. Lo! Health appears! celestial dame! Complacent and serene, With Hebe’s mantle o’er her Frame, With soul-delighting mein. IX. To mark the vale where London lies With misty vapours crown’d, Which cloud Aurora’s thousand dyes, And veil her charms around. X. Why, Phoebus, moves thy car so slow? So slow thy rising ray? Give us the famous town to view, Thou glorious king of day! XI. For thee, Britannia, I resign New-England’s smiling fields; To view again her charms divine, What joy the prospect yields! XII. But thou! Temptation hence away, With all thy fatal train, Nor once ****** my soul away, By thine enchanting strain. XIII. Thrice happy they, whose heav’nly shield Secures their souls from harms, And fell Temptation on the field Of all its pow’r disarms!
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A Farewel To America
I. Adieu, New-England’s smiling meads, Adieu, the flow’ry plain: I leave thine op’ning charms, O spring, And tempt the roaring main. II. In vain for me the flow’rets rise, And boast their gaudy pride, While here beneath the northern skies I mourn for health deny’d. III. Celestial maid of rosy hue, O let me feel thy reign! I languish till thy face I view, Thy vanish’d joys regain. IV. Susanna mourns, nor can I bear To see the crystal show’r, Or mark the tender falling tear At sad departure’s hour; V. Not unregarding can I see Her soul with grief opprest: But let no sighs, no groans for me, Steal from her pensive breast. VI. In vain the feather’d warblers sing, In vain the garden blooms, And on the ***** of the spring Breathes out her sweet perfumes. VII. While for Britannia’s distant shore We sweep the liquid plain, And with astonish’d eyes explore The wide-extended main. VIII. Lo! Health appears! celestial dame! Complacent and serene, With Hebe’s mantle o’er her Frame, With soul-delighting mein. IX. To mark the vale where London lies With misty vapours crown’d, Which cloud Aurora’s thousand dyes, And veil her charms around. X. Why, Phoebus, moves thy car so slow? So slow thy rising ray? Give us the famous town to view, Thou glorious king of day! XI. For thee, Britannia, I resign New-England’s smiling fields; To view again her charms divine, What joy the prospect yields! XII. But thou! Temptation hence away, With all thy fatal train, Nor once ****** my soul away, By thine enchanting strain. XIII. Thrice happy they, whose heav’nly shield Secures their souls from harms, And fell Temptation on the field Of all its pow’r disarms!
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The long dormant heart need burst, explode, dance in the fire, decry the years. Dare laugh at the black angel, howl with glee, a jacquerie of one, for you are a presence, alive. Astonish, before it is too late, for the lambent eve wanes.
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Apr 27, 2017
Apr 27, 2017 at 7:06 PM UTC
Tick Tock
To fly above the white clouds, Walk on the moon. Dance with the stars, Step out of your comfort zone. To astonish the world with your creativity, Fulfil your dreams with great accomplishments, Stay productive, stand out among the crowds, Break through the chains of your comfort zone. Your pains, sorrows, and wounds my friend are Your bridge to a breathtaking life,  Full of hope, adventures, and excitement, With a new dawn, and a new day! Hussein Dekmak
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Apr 3, 2022
Apr 3, 2022 at 1:12 PM UTC
Comfort Zone
Lord God that dost me save and keep, All day to thee I cry; And all night long, before thee weep Before thee prostrate lie. Into thy presence let my praier With sighs devout ascend And to my cries, that ceaseless are, Thine ear with favour bend. For cloy’d with woes and trouble store Surcharg’d my Soul doth lie, My life at death’s uncherful dore Unto the grave draws nigh. Reck’n'd I am with them that pass Down to the dismal pit I am a *man, but weak alas * Heb. A man without manly And for that name unfit. strength. From life discharg’d and parted quite Among the dead to sleep And like the slain in ****** fight That in the grave lie deep. Whom thou rememberest no more, Dost never more regard, Them from thy hand deliver’d o’re Deaths hideous house hath barr’d. Thou in the lowest pit profound’ Hast set me all forlorn, Where thickest darkness hovers round, In horrid deeps to mourn. Thy wrath from which no shelter saves Full sore doth press on me; *Thou break’st upon me all thy waves, *The Heb. *And all thy waves break me bears both. Thou dost my friends from me estrange, And mak’st me odious, Me to them odious, for they change, And I here pent up thus. Through sorrow, and affliction great Mine eye grows dim and dead, Lord all the day I thee entreat, My hands to thee I spread. Wilt thou do wonders on the dead, Shall the deceas’d arise And praise thee from their loathsom bed With pale and hollow eyes ? Shall they thy loving kindness tell On whom the grave hath hold, Or they who in perdition dwell Thy faithfulness unfold? In darkness can thy mighty hand Or wondrous acts be known, Thy justice in the gloomy land Of dark oblivion? But I to thee O Lord do cry E’re yet my life be spent, And up to thee my praier doth hie Each morn, and thee prevent. Why wilt thou Lord my soul forsake, And hide thy face from me, That am already bruis’d, and *shake *Heb. Prae Concussione. With terror sent from thee; Bruz’d, and afflicted and so low As ready to expire, While I thy terrors undergo Astonish’d with thine ire. Thy fierce wrath over me doth flow Thy threatnings cut me through. All day they round about me go, Like waves they me persue. Lover and friend thou hast remov’d And sever’d from me far. They fly me now whom I have lov’d, And as in darkness are.
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1.9k
Psalm 88
Lord God that dost me save and keep, All day to thee I cry; And all night long, before thee weep Before thee prostrate lie. Into thy presence let my praier With sighs devout ascend And to my cries, that ceaseless are, Thine ear with favour bend. For cloy’d with woes and trouble store Surcharg’d my Soul doth lie, My life at death’s uncherful dore Unto the grave draws nigh. Reck’n'd I am with them that pass Down to the dismal pit I am a *man, but weak alas * Heb. A man without manly And for that name unfit. strength. From life discharg’d and parted quite Among the dead to sleep And like the slain in ****** fight That in the grave lie deep. Whom thou rememberest no more, Dost never more regard, Them from thy hand deliver’d o’re Deaths hideous house hath barr’d. Thou in the lowest pit profound’ Hast set me all forlorn, Where thickest darkness hovers round, In horrid deeps to mourn. Thy wrath from which no shelter saves Full sore doth press on me; *Thou break’st upon me all thy waves, *The Heb. *And all thy waves break me bears both. Thou dost my friends from me estrange, And mak’st me odious, Me to them odious, for they change, And I here pent up thus. Through sorrow, and affliction great Mine eye grows dim and dead, Lord all the day I thee entreat, My hands to thee I spread. Wilt thou do wonders on the dead, Shall the deceas’d arise And praise thee from their loathsom bed With pale and hollow eyes ? Shall they thy loving kindness tell On whom the grave hath hold, Or they who in perdition dwell Thy faithfulness unfold? In darkness can thy mighty hand Or wondrous acts be known, Thy justice in the gloomy land Of dark oblivion? But I to thee O Lord do cry E’re yet my life be spent, And up to thee my praier doth hie Each morn, and thee prevent. Why wilt thou Lord my soul forsake, And hide thy face from me, That am already bruis’d, and *shake *Heb. Prae Concussione. With terror sent from thee; Bruz’d, and afflicted and so low As ready to expire, While I thy terrors undergo Astonish’d with thine ire. Thy fierce wrath over me doth flow Thy threatnings cut me through. All day they round about me go, Like waves they me persue. Lover and friend thou hast remov’d And sever’d from me far. They fly me now whom I have lov’d, And as in darkness are.
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Total abstinence is so excellent a thing it cannot be carried to too great an extent and Wit is the  sudden marriage of ideas which before their union had no relation. Americans will occasionally astonish the God that created us when given a fair shake . Indecency is the first thing the missionary teaches the savage. Nature knows no indecencies ;man invents them. Fiction is obliged to stick to possibilities ,truth isn't. Action is always the way ; words will answer as long as it is his neighbor who is in trouble. Truth is the most valuable thing we have.Let us economize it. Herodotus says,very few things happen at the right time and the rest do not happen at all Obsession is the man with a hole in the seat of his pants and cannot keep his fingers out  it My mother had a great deal of trouble with me but I think she enjoyed it Size of the dog in the fight dont count.size of the fight in the dog Dont go around going the world owes you a living. The world was here first Denial Just aint a river in EGYPT Prose wanders around with a lantern & laboriously schedules & verifies the details. The reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated Hunger is pride's master
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Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 3:32 AM UTC
Twain. Fathoms. Depth.
The little sparrows hop ingenuously about the pavement quarreling with sharp voices over those things that interest them. But we who are wiser shut ourselves in on either hand and no one knows whether we think good or evil. Meanwhile, the old man who goes about gathering dog-lime walks in the gutter without looking up and his tread is more majestic than that of the Episcopal minister approaching the pulpit of a Sunday. These things astonish me beyond words.
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Pastoral
Oh what pure beauty, So much perfection, How is it even possible? Someone as handsome as you, You can get anyone, But why me? I'm not complaining, I am deeply amazed, Your eyes, So much astonish, Deep serenading blue, Soft pale skin, All mine, It is so warm, Just like your heart, It beats to a beautiful melody, keeping you here with me, Your lips, Red, soft, and perfect, Our kiss is what makes me love you most, It reminds that you really are real, It shows me that life is worth living, Tells me that we are going to be together, Forever.
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Nov 8, 2012
Nov 8, 2012 at 10:01 PM UTC
My love
Demons Kind of devels Ghosts of hell Controling the bell Drugged, undercover the soul of whisperers Black angel with dark blue Real astonish eyes Sun rises , he's gone Sun goes , he's here Timeless Searching special blood From people slained rudely That's his awful way To show emotions The glory of respect
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Feb 25, 2014
Feb 25, 2014 at 2:51 PM UTC
Demons
The little sparrows hop ingenuously about the pavement quarreling with sharp voices over those things that interest them. But we who are wiser shut ourselves in on either hand and no one knows whether we think good or evil. Meanwhile, the old man who goes about gathering dog-lime walks in the gutter without looking up and his tread is more majestic than that of the Episcopal minister approaching the pulpit of a Sunday. These things astonish me beyond words.
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Pastoral
Her heart Yearns for a gentle touch that leads to Lips pressed to lips like bees bumping against flowers Such a great longing Her body Allows her feet to pace anxiously And her eyes to shine in want of passionate exchanges As her hands drum to the sound of the monotony in her entire being Her mind Full of great intellect Has pushed back many a sarcastic remark Weary of the dull world surrounding her Her soul The only thing that realizes her lack of originality Longs to astonish all with its brilliance of cunning and goodness Yet is still unable to let go of past disappointments
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Feb 23, 2012
Feb 23, 2012 at 1:21 AM UTC
Restless Spirit
this marauding dark. a bleak behemoth --- the head of the chimera. integer by blind integer, life's absolute emptiness. a sidereal zero. caught in the web of a relentless tarantula. this dead end or this ***** in the armor. life's what you make it. i make it like this: intractable like a fiend, these words unsheathe like rusting swords in old scabbards. i astonish death with smallness.
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Sep 14, 2015
Sep 14, 2015 at 10:54 AM UTC
Behemoth
The wind’s rendezvous with the trees Playfully kissing the leaves from slumber Even the sun comes to join the play Weaving its rays through the dewdrops Drops of gold hanging from the leafy cradle Wind as a messenger, passing on the messages Even the animal kingdom has started to play Caressing up the trees, the young ones at play Camaraderie among the disciples on nature Rich exchange of inter-nature musings Skies have descended to pay heed And pass on the messages to the intergalactic spaces Integral part of the universe, carpeting this celestial body The wind’s rendezvous with the trees As the sun goes higher, its rays cuts across the thick foliage Giving a ray of hope to the weeds and climbers Babies of the animal kingdom, become playful Oblivious of the surrounding and its grandeur Nature’s stories are never-ending It never fails to astonish the humankind For we have lost the art of simple and careless talk Losing touch with each other Nature keeps the communication open And there is a rendezvous every day, to discuss the nitty-gritties Wind is the messenger among Nature and its being
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Jul 14, 2014
Jul 14, 2014 at 2:51 AM UTC
Nature’s Rendezvous
'inventing the wheel again?' not a bad idea altogether, a creative brian could astonish by reinventing it again.
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Jan 12, 2012
Jan 12, 2012 at 1:44 PM UTC
who says inventing the wheel all over again is a bad idea?
Dreams and Reveries In the thoughtless Mind. To Amaze and Astonish The unknown senses. Patiently awaiting True realization. The horizon burns with The promise of Tomorrow. Creeping in, it wakes you. Repressed dreams are again. Until the next, Welcome to Reality. Welcome Home.
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Feb 15, 2013
Feb 15, 2013 at 3:13 AM UTC
That Familiar Unknown
Astonish the world with humanity. Amaze it with acts of kindness. Stun it with creativity. Shake it with exceptional ideas. Bewilder it with compassion. Astound it with forgiveness. Reveal to it the best of being. Surprise it with a soft heart. Impress it with generosity. Light it up with optimism. Guard it against abuse and injustices. Hussein Dekmak
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Dec 6, 2020
Dec 6, 2020 at 8:01 AM UTC
Road Map to a Better world
g a l a x y her lips are a galaxy i was not ready to explore yet tasted with glee and she, herself, is a galaxy forget the milky way for she is my galaxy her heavenly bodies never fail to astonish me
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Apr 4, 2018
Apr 4, 2018 at 10:42 AM UTC
G
It may be established, as dull as the Amish even nightmarish but I want to publish. It never seems boarish The reading is moreish in fact it, I would relish the contracts most hellish. I have just one wish, and that is to publish music to nourish talent to astonish and help it to flourish and try to abolish the commercialised anguish
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Jan 4, 2012
Jan 4, 2012 at 11:51 AM UTC
I've found what I want to do for the rest of my life-ish