The Old Curiosity Shop by Charles Dickens wrote on Jul 22nd 2004, 23:11:43 about
| 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
(overall: 24) |
on May 12th 2000, 21:35:30 wrote
on Dec 8th 2002, 10:21:53 wrote
on Sep 13th 2002, 23:37:31 wrote |
Random associativity, rated above-average positively
Texts to »Me«
Josef wrote on May 5th 2000, 01:01:50 about
me
Rating: 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«?
mowk wrote on Oct 3rd 2001, 00:20:01 about
me
Rating: 7 point(s) | Read and rate text individuallyMe I Myself am the only me I know. You are always you but only I am me
Jay wrote on Feb 16th 2001, 21:57:40 about
me
Rating: 11 point(s) | Read and rate text individually
Rob wrote on Apr 10th 2000, 04:10:24 about
me
Rating: 6 point(s) | Read and rate text individually
Crea wrote on Jun 30th 2000, 22:07:36 about
me
Rating: 6 point(s) | Read and rate text individually
daniel wrote on May 4th 2000, 09:45:39 about
me
Rating: 11 point(s) | Read and rate text individuallyI finally found that the force at the center of the universe is not me.
little indian wrote on Apr 16th 2000, 21:12:12 about
me
Rating: 1 point(s) | Read and rate text individually
The dance stops. The men walk back to the walls, and talk in low tones or with their hands. There is little conversation, yet everyone seems to be sharing some secret. A woman looks at a small boy wandering away, and he comes back to her.
Strange, I think, and then remember. These people are not sharing words – they are sharing a mood. Everyone is happy. I am so used to white people that it seems strange so many people could be together, and because the night is beautiful outside, and the music is beautiful. I try hard to forget school and white people, and be one of these – my people. I try to forget everything but the night, and it is a part of me...
I look around the room. All the eyes are friendly; they all laugh. No one questions my being here. The drums begin to beat again, and I catch the invitation in the eyes of the old men. My feet begin to lift to the rhythm, and I look out beyond the walls into the night and see the lights. I am happy. It is beautiful. I am home.
Cam wrote on Apr 17th 2000, 14:14:58 about
me
Rating: 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?
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