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Got in the booth last at Gillaman Music Group studios. Recorded 3 songs. Cant wait to release a lil album after a few more recording sessions!! Its gona happen baby










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How kind of you. Im so overjoyed w/ALL the Birthday wishes and love from my friends. 💕💕💕 Can't thank you all enough!!



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I can shake off everything as I write; my sorrows disappear, my courage is reborn. - Anne Frank













As soon as you trust yourself, you will know how to live – Johan Wolfgang von Geothe



















Check your attitude at the door. Having a posititive attitude, and respect of other helps us get through daily tasks with ease !




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Originally posted by machomanwrestlinghistory

First Lines

Tagged by: @stephmcx - THANK YOU! I love stuff like this.

Rules: Post the first lines of your last 10 fics, and tag 10 people.

1. The Boys Are Back In Town (MacGyver 2016)

Jack relaxes back into the deck chair and relishes the fact that he doesn’t have anywhere to be.

2. Back Out Slowly - Or Maybe Don’t (MacGyver 2016) - EXPLICIT

Jack snuck into Mac’s house.

3. Just A Commercial Holiday (MacGyver 2016)

Cage stood outside Mac’s front door, afraid to ring the bell.

4. Well Don’t Punch Me! (Hawaii Five-0 2010)

Danny’s just about to sit down in the chair in his office when-

5. There Is A Light That Never Goes Out (MacGyver 2016)

Riley wrings her hands. 

6. I Got A Plan - But You’re Not Gonna Like It (MacGyver 2016)

Mac looked around frantically, and his brain came up empty.

7. Leather and Lace (MacGyver 2016)

The night is nearing the end.

8. Cleaning Up (MacGyver 2016)

The soft sounds of the baseball game drift into the kitchen from the living room; gentle announcer’s voices and the occasional crack of a bat.

9. Hostile Territory (MacGyver 2016)

It was late. But Mac was up.

(2 lines for this one - so sue me… one didn’t seem like enough)

10. First Missions Are Cursed (MacGyver 2016/CSI)

Mac walked the halls of Phoenix with a determined bounce in his step. 


Tagging others: @thesammykinz @dont-stop-believin-in-klaine @thethistlegirl @wolfypuppypiles @bands-space-and-monsters-oh-my

Sometimes things just aren’t meant for us

at certain times in our lives,

so they get unexpectedly and unfairly

whisked away from us.


No matter how much we wanted them,

no matter how ready we were for them.


If it’s not meant to be right then and there,

then maybe it’ll happen some time

in the near or far future

when the universe declares it’s the right time.


– A


(@/faroutman via instagram)

2/? “deprived” excerpt.

they told me that karma would get him.

that he would soon feel the pain I’m feeling.

I wanted that.

I wanted something bad to happen to him.

but at the same time

I didn’t.

karma.

karma is supposed to punish.

supposed to bring pain.

if karma is supposed to get him,

why am I the one being punished and feeling pain ?

When the Night Hits Me
  • I would have been all yours
  • I'm tossed to a hundred different people
  • Different people, I've met the night before
  • But when the night really hits
  • I remember you
  • Everything you did
  • Everything I wanted
  • I remember you
  • And I stop myself
  • From doing anything else
  • You're all I can think about
What Happened At Carnelian Bay

Part IV. 

Transcript of audio recording made by Lizzy Styles, 25 February 20xx, 2:31 am.

Lizzy here. (yawns) It’s two-thirty in the morning.

I talked to that night manager Seanathon. He insists that no one has touched the GoPro since his conversation with me about it two days ago. But he did mention that since it wasn’t found until well after I checked out, there’s no guarantee whoever tried to steal it didn’t use it. He seemed bewildered about my even asking about it. I told him there was a new video on it that I didn’t take, and his reaction was something like “A mystery? How exciting!” (deep, exasperated sigh)

I also managed to find Darrius Perreira. He pulled in just before one with the Tahoe Vista delivery. He declined to be interviewed, but he offered one comment: (sound of rustling paper) ahem. “Listen lady, I don’t know what you think I mighta saw, but I didn’t see nothin’. There wasn’t nothin’ to see but a big damn hole where the road’s supposed to be. You can go check it out if you really want, but I seen enough of it.” That’s all… it’s weird though. I can’t mimic the way he said it, but he sounded defensive… I think maybe he did see something. He saw something and for whatever reason he’s too scared to talk about it.

I need to go see the highway for myself. 

—-

Transcript of a telephone conversation between Andrew Silva-Hayes, recent customer, and Seanathon Moore, assistant night manager of Red Wolf Lakeside Lodge, dated 25 February 20xx, 6.04 am.

Moore: Red Wolf Lodge, how can I help you?

Silva-Hayes: Could you please transfer me to the room Lizzy Styles is staying in?

Moore: Let me just look that up. (sounds of keyboard typing) I’m sorry sir, we don’t have a guest by that name staying with us.

Silva-Hayes: …What about Elizabeth Styles?

Moore: Certainly sir. (sounds of keyboard typing) No, I’m sorry sir, we don’t have anyone by that name either.

Silva-Hayes: Could you double-check the last name? Styles with a Y, not an I.

Moore: I’m sorry sir, we don’t have anyone named Styles staying with us at this time.

Silva-Hayes: Ah shit.

Moore: Are you certain you have the correct hotel, sir?

Silva-Hayes: Not at all, I just thought she’d go back there. Look, she was supposed to call me last night and she didn’t. I’ve been trying to reach her cell for the last hour and it keeps telling me her number isn’t in service.

Moore: Maybe she turned her phone off? It is rather early.

Silva-Hayes: No, she never turns her phone off, not for anything. Never!

Moore: I’m sorry sir, I’m afraid we can’t help you.

Silva-Hayes: (frustrated groan) Yeah well, thanks anyway.

–end call–

365 Day Writing Challenge,  Day 231

Write about a werewolf. 

So here’s a story of a real life werewolf (kinda) that I found on Mental Floss. It mostly just proves how fucked up humans are, tbh. 

So, there was this guy named Peter Stubbe who lived in Germany in the 1500s. The only record that we now have of the incidents surrounding Peter Stubbe, aka “The Werewolf of Bedburg”, is a pamphlet printed about him in the late 1500s. 

Keep reading

I did some authentic writing today, and it felt good.

I mean, it felt like shit because I wrote about how grief has been hitting me more than usual the past few days.

But, still. Good.

First Day

My arm slammed down like a phantom limb on the blaring morning alarm set on my phone before my brain could register it had begun. I sighed, eyes still closed, and contemplated the logistics of destroying my phone, rebutting my responsibilities, and starting a new life with a new name just to lay in bed for another hour or two. The fantasy was almost too easy to visualize. A ray of sunlight from the window across the room warmed my face, and I squeezed my eyes tighter in defiance. 

When the second alarm began to scream my imagination betrayed me and the vision of speeding away from my new life dissipated. The indulgent illusion had run its course. I rolled over, eyes finally open, to turn off the alarm before it could disturb anyone else’s peaceful morning. I hadn’t realized the air mattress below me had been compromised as I slept. It sunk to the carpeted floor below my hip as I fiddled the phone, trying to silence the now unbearable alarm. The sun fully enveloped my makeshift bed now. 

Well, there was no use drawing out the inevitable any longer. I got quickly to my feet, but nearly fell into the pile of boxes next to the bed in my haste. My vision blurred and took on a staticky quality as my body attempted, too slowly, to adapt to this new, upright position. I paused, hand to my forehead, for the uncomfortable sensation to pass for risk of walking right back into the boxes. When it did I opened the flaps of the box on top, hoping it housed some portion of my small wardrobe. Only pots and pans. I cursed myself for not labelling anything in my haste the day before and moved on the next box. 

The search was short but noisy, and I hoped my new roommate was a heavy sleeper as I struggled into an old pair of jeans. In Southern Virginia there could be no doubt that the temperatures would quickly soar above 90 degrees on an August day, but the dress requirements for my new lab were unclear – it would be better to play it safe than be rendered useless on my first day. 

I bit my lower lip reflexively at the thought and tried not to feel guilty about things left unfinished before what was supposed to be a fresh start. Instead, I evaluated the still unfamiliar space that now housed all of my material possessions. The half inflated air mattress in the corner covered with a flat sheet. The throw blanket I’d used in place of a comforter last night, now in a ball next to the sinking bed. The unlabeled cardboard boxes, new strewn across the floor rather than stacked. A small bookcase in the corner. At least that I’d managed to stock with a mixture of worn paperbacks and untouched academic works before sinking into apathy yesterday. I sighed, and tried to remember first moving into my dorm room as a new undergraduate almost exactly four years ago. 

My mom had been practically bursting with joy and it seemed to radiate from her every pore. My sisters had eagerly hung up the clothing I’d meticulously picked to bring into my new life from home. I’d chatted nervously with my roommates as we’d tested the waters of new friendship. It was a far cry from the three trips I’d made from the car to the upstairs room yesterday. The questioning looks from my all too observant mother that I’d left unanswered as I insisted she drive home and let me take care of the unpacking. It was better this way, I was sure. She shouldn’t have to watch her daughter break down in tears on what should be the start of the best chapter of her life. No, I wouldn’t want to compromise her pride in me with my doubts and years. 

I shook my head, as if that would banish the thoughts from my mind, and went to find the steadfast antidote to my regular morning worries: coffee. Fortunately, it seemed my racket finding a suitable outfit had not woken my roommate, but her three cats were a different story. I shielded the coffee pot from the trio as they jumped on the countertop to vie for my attention, but the attempt was clearly in vain. Almost everything downstairs had a thin layer of black cat hair on its surface. I took the mug of coffee from the pot so quickly that a few drops still streaming down burned my fingers. I cursed and reflexively brought the sensitive skin to my mouth. It was going to be a long day.