I’ve been fiddling around for a few days with a script to scrape from twitter posts as they come out and look for particular syllable counts and rhyming patterns in them. Here’s first syllable and rhyme-pattern (but not rhythm) conforming sonnet it completed:
i’ve been trying to kill it actually
let’s just get married & call it a day.
like seriously where the hell are we
team relay on the other hand is a
so, did ‘garth’ do a second show tonight?
need a website designer? anyone?
don’t wait. the time will never be just right.
regulating dispute resolution:
congratulations on writing a great
true true. coffee and catch ups sometime too?
no. need to do that and investigate
only if they want to give us a new
assembling the swag bags now. july
i want to show you what i sang for my
Men who can’t cook, clean, or even do their own laundry are not “cute” and “in need of a woman to care for them.” They are spoiled brats so dependent on gender roles that they never bothered to learn the minimal skills to take care of themselves.
What’s the excuse for a person who can’t cook for themselves, you know? What’s their reason, even.
"An intense, strange excitement possessed him in these dreams: a sense that something had just happened, or was about to; a sense of immense, portentous, yet enigmatic significance, accompanied by an insatiable, yearning, bittersweet nostalgia. And when he awoke it seemed to him he was not fully awake, for the dreams were still present, still before his inward eye, painting themselves on the bedclothes and the ceiling and the walls all around him, or standing on the floor, like models, solid with exquisite detail."
— Oliver Sacks; An Anthropologist on Mars