Enlightened Teen

I'm 14 and live in Vegas. I have a consistent 4.0 GPA and go to a Leadership and Law Prep. Academy. My true passion is writing and I aspire to be a wise author in the future. Right now, I try my best to be the best I can be and to Carpe Diem - Seize the Day!
Get Your Own Free Hypster.com Playlist.

July 5, 2013 7:04 am December 1, 2012 11:01 pm
carlsherburne:

The Holy Fuckin’ Bible

Love Kevin Smith. Clerks. All of eet. 

carlsherburne:

The Holy Fuckin’ Bible

Love Kevin Smith. Clerks. All of eet. 

3:44 pm

askerquestioner

Anonymous: Hello i'm dilayla..i'm from the UK and i'm 14 years old i sometimes feel like i'm the only one who sees things as they really are So i feel lonely and i was wondering If you have ever felt like this and if you have how did you deal with it?

Hi Dilayla. Can you explain to me what you mean by seeing things as they are? That seems very vague. I see things the way they are, yes, but that might be completely different from how you see them. 

November 29, 2012 12:48 am

The battle with oneself is the hardest battle to fight.

(Source: zenpencils.com, via tessaviolet)

May 4, 2012 8:04 pm
mishalmoorebloggyblog:

As seen on Facebook. (posted by Homestead Survival)
A sweet lesson on patience. A NYC Taxi driver wrote:I arrived at the address and honked the horn. After waiting a few minutes I honked again. Since this was going to be my last ride of my shift I thought about just driving away, but instead I put the car in park and walked up to the door and knocked.. ‘Just a minute’, answered a frail, elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor.After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 90’s stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940’s movie.By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets.There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the counters. In the corner was a cardboardbox filled with photos and glassware.‘Would you carry my bag out to the car?’ she said. I took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to assist the woman.She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb.She kept thanking me for my kindness. ‘It’s nothing’, I told her.. ‘I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother to be treated.’‘Oh, you’re such a good boy, she said. When we got in the cab, she gave me an address and then asked, ‘Could you drivethrough downtown?’‘It’s not the shortest way,’ I answered quickly..‘Oh, I don’t mind,’ she said. ‘I’m in no hurry. I’m on my way to a hospice.I looked in the rear-view mirror. Her eyes were glistening. ‘I don’t have any family left,’ she continued in a soft voice..’The doctor says I don’t have very long.’ I quietly reached over and shut off the meter.‘What route would you like me to take?’ I asked.For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator.We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl.Sometimes she’d ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing.As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, ‘I’m tired.Let’s go now’.We drove in silence to the address she had given me. It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico.Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move.They must have been expecting her.I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair.‘How much do I owe you?’ She asked, reaching into her purse.‘Nothing,’ I said‘You have to make a living,’ she answered.‘There are other passengers,’ I responded.Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug.She held onto me tightly.‘You gave an old woman a little moment of joy,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’I squeezed her hand, and then walked into the dim morning light.. Behind me, a door shut.It was the sound of the closing of a life..I didn’t pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly lost in thought. For the rest of that day,I could hardly talk.What if that woman had gotten an angry driver,or one who was impatient to end his shift? What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away?On a quick review, I don’t think that I have done anything more important in my life.We’re conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments.But great moments often catch us unaware-beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one.

I used this for forensics, speech. Didn’t do that bad with it. Kind of short, but it was a sweet little piece. :)

mishalmoorebloggyblog:

As seen on Facebook. (posted by Homestead Survival)

A sweet lesson on patience. 

A NYC Taxi driver wrote:

I arrived at the address and honked the horn. After waiting a few minutes I honked again. Since this was going to be my last ride of my shift I thought about just driving away, but instead I put the car in park and walked up to the door and knocked.. ‘Just a minute’, answered a frail, elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor.
After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 90’s stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940’s movie.
By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets.
There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard
box filled with photos and glassware.
‘Would you carry my bag out to the car?’ she said. I took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to assist the woman.
She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb.
She kept thanking me for my kindness. ‘It’s nothing’, I told her.. ‘I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother to be treated.’
‘Oh, you’re such a good boy, she said. When we got in the cab, she gave me an address and then asked, ‘Could you drive
through downtown?’
‘It’s not the shortest way,’ I answered quickly..
‘Oh, I don’t mind,’ she said. ‘I’m in no hurry. I’m on my way to a hospice.
I looked in the rear-view mirror. Her eyes were glistening. ‘I don’t have any family left,’ she continued in a soft voice..’The doctor says I don’t have very long.’ I quietly reached over and shut off the meter.
‘What route would you like me to take?’ I asked.
For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator.
We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl.
Sometimes she’d ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing.
As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, ‘I’m tired.Let’s go now’.
We drove in silence to the address she had given me. It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico.
Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move.
They must have been expecting her.
I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair.
‘How much do I owe you?’ She asked, reaching into her purse.
‘Nothing,’ I said
‘You have to make a living,’ she answered.
‘There are other passengers,’ I responded.
Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug.She held onto me tightly.
‘You gave an old woman a little moment of joy,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’
I squeezed her hand, and then walked into the dim morning light.. Behind me, a door shut.It was the sound of the closing of a life..
I didn’t pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly lost in thought. For the rest of that day,I could hardly talk.What if that woman had gotten an angry driver,or one who was impatient to end his shift? What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away?
On a quick review, I don’t think that I have done anything more important in my life.
We’re conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments.
But great moments often catch us unaware-beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one.

I used this for forensics, speech. Didn’t do that bad with it. Kind of short, but it was a sweet little piece. :)

(via tessaviolet)

April 17, 2012 4:59 am

Enough love.

I need to learn to stop loving so easily, for if I were to continue loving, I would continue hurting. And by the time someone worth loving enters my life, I will have hurt a thousand times over and be afraid to love again.

April 16, 2012 5:42 am

Chatroulette.

I don’t care what the experts say, I enjoy chatroulette and am safe about my travels through it’s website. I quickly pass through the perverts and say hello to everyone else. I try to keep it inside the United States so I don’t have to deal with mistranslated sentences. But the greatest part about chatroulette is the anonymous feature. You don’t need a cam and you don’t need to tell the truth.

Who is to know? I’m Josh from New York, age 21 one day, and then I’m Brad from Kentucky, age 23 the next. You have this fake persona that you can portray in hundreds of different ways.

I’ve met the sweetest, most amazing people through roulette. The stories they tell never end. The only bad thing about roulette is the parting. I make sure to get their emails, but even then. Never getting to see their face again. Never seeing them in person. I may only be 15, but I feel like I really know them. I’m Josh from New York age 21 and I will never see Dustin from Tennessee age 23 again.

My biggest regret on roulette was my first long conversation. I had the most amazing conversation with Dustin, but we didn’t get to exchange emails or anything. We had to say our goodbyes and then he was gone. He had the most amazing smile and the greatest personality. Though he was 23 and truthfully believed my strung out lie that I was 21, I still miss him. I still wish I could speak to him again. At least once more. But nope. Never again. Never will I see his face, smile, or emotions. I’ll remember him. I’ll try to never forget. It seems impossible, but I’ll try my best. I’ll save it on paper and store it away somewhere. And in a few years, when I’m really 21, I’ll go searching for him. I’ll find a way to meet him again. It’s stupid and near impossible, but I’ll try my best. I just can’t end it with nothing. And I’ll tell him I was a lot younger than I said I was. And hopefully he won’t care. 

Chatroulette can easily make me depressed. I don’t know why I do it. I just want to see the multitude of people I guess. People entertain me. 

4:37 am

tessaviolet:

TASTE IT.

Yummy. 

April 15, 2012 10:16 pm
  • Romeo: I just met you
  • Romeo: and this is crazy
  • Romeo: but marry me in three days
  • Romeo: and commit mutual suicide
April 12, 2012 8:32 pm

Unconditional love is still conditional.

I understand the point of view people come through. They love unconditionally. They see the inside beauty, and if they look presentable outside as well, then that’s just a plus. Being able to look past their mistakes and imperfections and loving them for who they are.

But this has been been on my mind for quite some time…

Those that believe love is unconditional usually still place conditions to guide them. Though it can’t be changed and though it isn’t the person’s fault, sexuality is still conditional. Unwilling to love someone back because of the gender of the other person. And that is understandable, but still conditional. 

We talked a bit about this in my English class the other day. My teacher supports unconditional love. He says he could fall in love with any girl as long as their personality is worth falling for. Everybody has imperfections, but so long as their beauty is one that shines, he can look past them.

I felt the need to ask him about this, but didn’t. It didn’t seem to be an appropriate  question to ask, and more importantly, it was far off topic anyways. 

But that doesn’t mean I can’t still ponder the question.

I know this guy. An amazing guy. His personality struck me as unique but pleasant when I first met him. And though I do see his outward beauty, I very much am glad his inward beauty is just as magnificent. The problem is, there is a condition to us not being together right now. It’s because he’s heterosexual. And I respect that as much as others respect me being bisexual. But I was concerned and saddened. I thought, “Why must sexuality outweigh pure unconditional love?”

Even if he didn’t care about my personality as much as I to his, the example still stands.

I suppose the love is still there, but it isn’t the same. When talking about unconditional love, does it mean love in the sense of just being able to like the person for who they are, or does it mean love as in willing to be committed to a relationship without any condition of who they are on the outside?

I suppose it all depends on how you interpret the phrase unconditional love. But in the case of the second definition, love is still conditional so long as sexuality is a factor.