Search Results for "Script"

Nah. Nothing monumental here whatsoever. I just got to a point where I was asking myself whether I'm "scripted" or "not" and this mundanely amazing (amazingly mundane?) thing happened: I got the word "script" typed letter-perfectly (in plum font color, i don't know why) on my mind. Next, a "click" and a "pop" preceded a "search" around my mental databases, with matching tinkling Christmas song and a "status bar" showing "30%" then "70%" then "100%" with which a burpy frog's sound heralded the entrance of these write-up bits as they hit the top two spots amongst the trash yielded by the split-second process.

"Let me be the dark script filling row upon row of Time's soft-flowing cheek..."
--Journal entry for January 17th, 2007

"And as always I am the script that scars this shore. That cries. And whimpers. And whispers. And sobs. And sighs. And sleeps. I am tired. Draw over me this blanket of sea. Again."
--From my poem "Crab Song," January 1, 2006

They are so far the most dramatic search results for "script" that I felt like writing a blog entry out of them. Side note: Judging from my mental search engine's Results Autoranking Manager's maiden performance, I do have a predilection for drama. Oh well, make out of it whatever you like. I'm happy to have discovered a new way to kill Time--by the split-seconds.

Another side note: Scope and Limitation--this hobby caters to whatever word the author whimsically pulls up from his vocabulary. The coverage of the search will only be all of the author's literary lifeworks. This is in consideration of the fact that his mental search engine is performing very much the same functions (as during hobby time) on a practically daily, hourly, per minute, and per second basis, towards more self-preserving and self-actualizing ends. It is therefore the responsibility of the author to strike a clever balance between the Must-Dos and the Nice-to-Dos in his life. Even Prudence dwells with Mirth.