Ping!

“…Walked down this morning
Don’t believe what I saw
Hundred billion bottles
Washed up on the shore
Seems I’m not alone at being alone
Hundred billion castaways looking for a home…”

-The Police
Message in a Bottle
1979

_______________________________________________

(trevor@tethys ~) tracepath destiny
gethostbyname: Unknown host

*grin*

This entry was posted on Sunday, November 6th, 2005 at 6:46 pm and is filed under General. You can follow any comments to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a comment, or trackback from your own site.

  • dave

    lol dude.. fuck it all and move back… move to bc, fuck, move back to toronto… wherever you go it’s going to be the same shit, WE NEED TREVOR!! THE PEOPLE DEMAND TREVOR!!!

  • puffyedge

    [venice]$ traceroute 0.0.0.0
    traceroute to 0.0.0.0 (0.0.0.0), 30 hops max, 38 byte packets
    1 localhost (127.0.0.1) 8.083 ms 8.045 ms 8.034 ms

    You can decide your destiny in 8ms :)

    Lemon still has a crush on you. hahahahahahaha

    -P_

  • lyquidfyre

    “Because to influence a person is to give him one’s own soul. He does not think his natural thoughts, or burn with his natural passions. His virtues are not real to him. His sins, if there are such things as sins, are borrowed. He becomes an echo of some one else’s music, an actor of a part that has not been written for him. The aim of life is self-development. To realize one’s nature perfectly–that is what each of us is here for. People are afraid of themselves, nowadays. They have forgotten the highest of all duties, the duty that one owes to one’s self. Of course they are charitable. They feed the hungry, and clothe the beggar. But their own souls starve, and are naked. Courage has gone out of our race. Perhaps we never really had it. The terror of society, which is the basis of morals, the terror of God, which is the secret of religion–these are the two things that govern us. And yet–”

    “And yet,” continued Lord Henry, in his low, musical voice, and with that graceful wave of the hand that was always so characteristic of him, and that he had even in his Eton days, “I believe that if one man were to live out his life fully and completely, were to give form to every feeling, expression to every thought, reality to every dream–I believe that the world would gain such a fresh impulse of joy that we would forget all the maladies of mediævalism, and return to the Hellenic ideal–to something finer, richer, than the Hellenic ideal, it may be. But the bravest man amongst us is afraid of himself. The mutilation of the savage has its tragic survival in the self-denial that mars our lives. We are punished for our refusals. Every impulse that we strive to strangle broods in the mind, and poisons us. The body sins once, and has done with its sin, for action is a mode of purification. Nothing remains then but the recollection of a pleasure, or the luxury of a regret. The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it. Resist it, and your soul grows sick with longing for the things it has forbidden to itself, with desire for what its monstrous laws have made monstrous and unlawful. It has been said that the great events of the world take place in the brain. It is in the brain, and the brain only, that the great sins of the world take place also. You, Mr. Gray, you yourself, with your rose-red youth and your rose-white boyhood, you have had passions that have made you afraid, thoughts that have filled you with terror, day-dreams and sleeping dreams whose mere memory might stain your cheek with shame-”

    Picture of Dorian Grey – Oscar Wilde