The Eternal Notebook of a Silent Man

Your Freudian Personality Style is: Retentive hysteric: Polite, gentle, and unusually placid , you have comparatively little interest in interpersonal relationships with others and can be alone for long periods of time without feeling lonely . Having from an early age found that your own perceptions were at odds with those of others , you have retreated into an internal world of imagination and private perceptions . When others come into contact with you, they perceive you as having an asexual presentation, often with stiff and effectively constricted, child-like manners (which may come across as attractive, encouraging fantasies of domination in others). Metaphorically, your personality style may be likened to a teenage girl whose uterus is so afraid of impregnation that it shuts off every mating signal that the individual can produce, including charm and emotional presence. In the same way, the actual you may have marked difficulties with gender roles, giving others the ps

her head becomes the summit of the tree; all that remains of her is a warm glow. Loving her still, the god puts his right hand  against the trunk, and even now can feel  her heart as it beats under the new bark; he hugs her limbs as if they were still human, and then he puts his lips against the wood which even now is adverse to his kiss. " Although you cannot be my bride," he says,  "you will assuredly be my own tree, Oh Laurel, and will always find yourself  girding my locks, my lyre, and my quiver too– you will adorn great Roman generals when  every voice cries out and joyful triumph  along the route up to the capital: you will protect the portals of Augustus, guarding, on either side, his crown of oak; and as I am—perpetually youthful, my flowing locks unknown to the Barber shears—   so you will be an Evergreen forever bearing your brilliant foliage with glory!" Phoebus concluded. Laurel shook her branches and seemed to nod her summit in assent. There is a

     Millions of years ago, before humans and animals, plants and water, the earth was nothing but gray, colorless dry land. Covered in debris and dust from the void of space and surrounded by billions or trillions of twinkling stars. At that time the earth was inhabited by two very different types of beings, daemons, and apparitions. The daemons were eight-foot-tall beings with monstrous appearances; sharp teeth, yellow eyes, and grey skin made them horrifying to look upon. They spoke in deep, scratchy voices and a language only they and the apparitions understood. The apparitions were unlike the daemons in every way. Phantasmic beings with light airy appearances, so faint you could barely see them. The apparitions were delicate, wispy beings, and they spoke with light, airy voices.      The daemons and apparitions lived on the earth for many years, coexisting despite their differences until one day the argument sparked between the two groups. For many years the apparitions had been t

     Thunder rolled across the pitch-black sky as Henry stared up from his bedroom window. He longed to see a shooting star. He wished he could go back to the way his life was before the war. He remembered the endless nights he spent as a child staring at the stars and searching for planes. Now there were no stars to shed light; instead, he sat silently in a pitch-black room. Henry felt alone and scared, scared to close his eyes because he knew the nightmares that awaited him. Sometimes he wished he had never joined the army and never gone to war, and other times he still felt a sense of pride for serving his country.      It was hard for Henry to balance the fear and pain he felt due to all the suffering he witnessed with his pride. How could he be proud when every time he closed his eyes, he had to relive the sight of his best friend and fellow soldier dying in his arms. Watching him bleed and suffer repeatedly and remaining helpless. How could he feel accomplished when images of inn