Wall for amethyst (page 133)

What about this one!?

“I’ll be back in a jiffy, James!” James’s mother shouted.
“A jiffy is a 1/100th of a second, and you haven’t even left yet,” proclaimed poor James, too dimwitted to realize anything.
“ By the way, a goldfish has a memory span of three seconds- much more than yours,” James added.
This is how James was shipped off onto the nextdoor neighbors’.
The neighbor, kind Mr. McGruffabubbles, opened the door in horror to see the greasy-haired preadolescent right there.
“‘Typewriter’ is the longest word that can be typed on only one row of keys in a typewriter. Ironic, isn’t it?” James asked.
A few seconds later, James was two houses to the right of his original. Mistress Aurelia opened the door, gasping; flabbergasted by the glassy-eyed stares of James.
James enlightened Mistress Aurelia, “If you were to spell all the numbers, it would take you up to one thousand until you could use the letter A.”
Before you could say, “nerd,” James was three houses away from his original. After a few more hours of facts, James was in a whole different city, and by lunchtime, he was in a different state. Ohio was a lot different from Michigan, so maybe the people would be kinder.
“There are 13,092 different utensils in the White House,” James told an unknown stranger, one who was eighty or even ninety, and had a very long cane.
James had many bruises when he was at the next house, where he told a supermodel that 25% of all Americans have been on television, whether they knew it or not. Later, when he was in Mexico, he told a mariachi-player that a dime has 118 ridges around the edge.
When James had been shipped to South America, it was his thirteenth birthday. He told a criminal that only one percent of lawbreakers escape punishment in Venezuela, which just so happened to be where he was. Only this fact was a lie; he just wanted to scare him. Well, James certainly did scare him when he announced that the average NFL game lasts three hours, but the time spent playing was only eleven minutes. The man immediately fainted, although he was in a whole different continent than the NFL. Then James realized NFL could potentially stand for Never Fleeing Lice, although this didn’t make much sense either.

Yep! I said it!

idk who that is but me and zaida are probably cuter

You are simply statuesque!

~Bandit~
seconds ago
i can make you ded too
~Bandit~
seconds ago
stfu noob
PKThunder10
3 minutes ago
lol
PrimordiaISea
4 minutes ago
Demote Bandit immediately
PrimordiaISea
4 minutes ago
Reported
~Bandit~
5 minutes ago
ded

I can't talk now sadly but these are utterly glorious lolll
  1 hour ago by Omega-Blade X


x is a swiftie confirmed????????????? :OOOOOOOOOO

OMFG IM FINALLY DONE UNLOADING THE TRUCK

SPEECH BELOW

To put it plainly, we just couldn't stop writing songs. To try and put it more poetically, it feels like we were standing on the edge of the folklorian woods and had a choice: to turn and go back or to travel further into this forest of music. We chose to wander deeper in and my collaborators and I are proud to announce that my ninth studio album -- and folklore's sister record -- is here. It's called evermore.

I've never done this before; in the past, I've always treated albums as one-off eras and moved onto planning the next one as soon as an album was released. There was something different with folklore -- in making it, I felt less like I was departing and more like I was returning. I loved the escapism I found in these imaginary/not-imaginary tales. I loved the ways you welcomed the dreamscapes and tragedies and epic tales of love lost and found. So I just kept writing them.

Before I knew it, there were seventeen tales, some of which are mirrored or intersecting with one another. The one about two young con artists who fall in love while hanging out at fancy resorts trying to score rich romantic beneficiaries. The one where longtime college sweethearts had very different plans for the same night, one to end it and one who brought a ring. Dorothea, the girl who left her small down to chase down Hollywood dreams -- and what happens when she comes back for the holidays and rediscovers an old flame. The "unhappily ever after" anthology of marriages gone bad that includes infidelity, ambivalent toleration, and even murder. The most righteous motive, to avenge the fallen. The realization that maybe the only path to healing is to wish happiness on the one who took it away from you. One starring my grandmother, Marjorie, who still visits me sometimes... if only in my dreams.

I wanted to surprise you with this week of my thirty-first birthday. You've all been so caring, supportive, and thoughtful on my birthdays so I thought this time I wanted to give you something! I also know this holiday season will be a lonely one for most of us and if there are any of you out there who turn to music to cope with missing loved ones the way I do, this is for you.

SPEECH BELOW

It started with imagery. Visuals that popped into my mind and piqued my curiosity.

Stars drawn around scars. A cardigan that still bears the scent of loss twenty years later. Battleships sinking into the ocean, down, down, down. The tree swing in the woods of my childhood. Hushed tones of "let's run away" and never doing it. The sun-drenched month of August, sipped away like a bottle of wine. A mirrored disco ball hovering above a dance floor. A whiskey bottle beckoning. Hands held through plastic. A single thread that, for better or worse, ties you to your fate.

Pretty soon, these images in my head grew faces or names and became characters. I found myself not only writing my own stories, but also writing about or from the perspectives of people I've never met, people I've known, or those I wish I hadn't. An exiled man walking the bluffs of a land that isn't his own, wondering how it all went so terribly, terribly wrong. An embittered tormentor showing up at the funeral of his fallen object of obsession. A seventeen-year-old standing on a porch, learning to apologize. Lovestruck kids wandering up and down the evergreen High Line. My grandfather, Dean, landing at Guadalcanal in 1942. A misfit widow getting gleeful revenge on the town that cast her out.

A tale that becomes folklore is one that is passed down and whispered around. Sometimes even sung about. The lines between fantasy and reality blur and the boundaries between truth and fiction become almost indiscernible. Speculation, over time, becomes fact. Myths, ghost stories, and fables. Fairytales and parables. Gossip and legend. Someone's secrets written in the sky for all to behold.

In isolation, my imagination has run wild and this album is the result, a collection of songs and stories that flowed like a stream of consciousness. Picking up a pen was my way of escaping into fantasy, history, and memory. I've told these stories to the best of my ability with all the love, wonder, and whimsy they deserve.

Now, it's up to you to pass them down.

Your calculated dismantling of USPS proves one thing clearly: You are WELL AWARE that we do not want you as our president. You've chosen to blatantly cheat and put millions of Americans’ lives at risk in an effort to hold on to power.
Your ineffective leadership gravely worsened the crisis that we are in and you are now taking advantage of it to subvert and destroy our right to vote and vote safely. Request a ballot early. Vote early.