|Amount of texts to »me«||130, and there are 118 texts (90.77%) with a rating above the adjusted level (-3)|
|Average lenght of texts||127 Characters|
|Average Rating||1.300 points, 24 Not rated texts|
|First text||on Apr 8th 2000, 04:29:37 wrote
me about me
|Latest text||on Nov 1st 2015, 12:46:02 wrote
carolyn stewart about me
|Some texts that have not been rated at all
on Apr 13th 2001, 19:27:01 wrote
on Oct 28th 2015, 10:06:47 wrote
on Dec 8th 2002, 10:21:53 wrote
Random associativity, rated above-average positively
Texts to »Me«
meRating: 21 point(s) | Read and rate text individually
Doe, a deer, a female deer
Ray, a drop of golden sun
Me, a name I call the rational, conscious part of my brain. Freud called this the ego, or self. So what are the parts of me that aren't me? Do my subconscious thoughts share my existance, or just interact with it? Can I (being »me«) assume responsibility for the uncontrolled actions of my id and superego? And if this is »me«, then who the hell are »you«?
meRating: 4 point(s) | Read and rate text individually
It is funny but over my life of 63 years (so far!) I have always been the same me. I recognise some changes in my decision making abiliites, and my hopes and desires, but I am still the same me I remember about 58 years ago. (I don't remember much before then.) Maybe others who have actually grown up into adults have changed more. I have had a problem with growing up--to bad I have no problem with growing old.
I wonder if anbyone else feels the same?
meRating: 6 point(s) | Read and rate text individually
meRating: 9 point(s) | Read and rate text individually
meRating: 2 point(s) | Read and rate text individually
When I wrote of the women in their dancec and wildness, it was a mask,
on their mountain, gold-hunting, singing, in orgy,
it was a mask; when I wrote of the god,
fragmented, exiled from himself, his life, the love gone down with song,
it was myself, split open, unable to speak, in exile from myself.
There is no mountain, there is no god, there is no memory
of my torn life, myself split open in sleep, the rescued child
beside me among the doctors, and a word
of rescue from the great eyes.
No more masks! No more mythologies!
Now, for the first time, the god lifts his hand,
the fragments join in me with their own music.
meRating: 7 point(s) | Read and rate text individually
meRating: 23 point(s) | Read and rate text individually
meRating: 1 point(s) | Read and rate text individually
babies do not have a concept of me / i.
that is why mothers say mum when they talk about themselves. it actually makes sense and is not only cute shit. otherwise the baby would start calling the mother me or i. get that?
babies live in oneness. separation comes with getting older.
and the problems with separation start with the getting out of hand / development of the ego.
ego lives on the energy of others. that leads to the idea of power games and manipulation in the adultworld.
that again started when religion especially christianity rose. the one god -power. the one rightness. the blocking, pointing out evil.
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