No identification on the processing.
That means what?
Means I think.
… you’ve not thought enough to realise that you need to explain your self
sighs
what you said doesnt even make sense…
why i think decisive and to the piont is becusae i think… ??
Rewucki,
If you wish to post in the psychology forum, please bring something. One line does not make for a psychological discussion, thus your post has been moved.
A
I think I see the problem. Just because something makes sense to you does not mean that the rest of us know what the fuck you’re talking about. I for one, don’t know what you mean and I speak perfect english. 
I think I understand.
The question was, Why [do] I think fast and to the point?
The answer was, [Because there is] no identification on the processing.
I translate this to mean, ‘I do not think before I type’ …
Which would explain a thing or two, indeed.
Love is little said. You touched the bottom. At last, one. Scored.
Everybody thinks fast and to the point. The problem is communicating what you think to other people effectively.
I said today to my friend-not-in-need.
That’s why no one really understands the world. I started with myself. Thank you for the kind teaching me another lesson.
By they way, if you don’t buy it.
Buddha had the problem. Just didn’t want to go to people for some time after. He made a choice to try.
“Only when you understand yourself, may you be yourself” sounds trite, but it is not a trite in your own psyche. Torment is one of milder words, I think. And that’s only the very first step. But you did one. You start to listen but you don’t know who will speak. You don’t know much. You just want to know. When you listen, time after time, you realize that you’re more and more stupid. But that’s a good thing to know.
Delighted, I’ll create a metaphor.
I just don’t stumble. I walk upright. I can run. At times fast. And stop.
I’m still doing it due to the ground I have under my feet. It’s solid. I won’t end up with a face in sand. It’s safe. I can take off my shoes and walk barefoot. The real fun is when you step into cow’s shit. They say it brings you luck. I believe now.
If you want me to put it otherwise, I’ll do it.
The WHOLE point is that there’s ABSOLUTELY NOTHING to explain.
Chicken is OK, but I prefer turkey.
Check out KFC at Thanksgiving day to see if they added.
By the way, someone said my English sucks, the other that I put ridiculous stress on grammar issues (what’s your business, I am writing) or that my style is flamboyant, well many things have been said.
But now I checked if you have 'the" before the name of your most important national holiday. The legend is beautiful and gives one hope. Survived those, who trusted the primitive.
Good will.
Lost the habit.
Do you want my poem emailed? Won’t tell you its title here. Trust.
Wanted to write SHAKE THAT MONKEY but thought better.
There is this case of students who made a program which - in short - neatly arranges words. The text it produced was of scientific langugage, just didn’t mean anything at all. It got approval. They got problems at most of their fun. Idiots.
La, no context?
SHAKE THAT MONKEY
Lyrics posted elsewhere, if not deleted. On my winamp it’s just 2:51 elapsed, so still some pleasure to myself.
Where are the real bitches? I fear no one. Just hope so much to feel the real one one day.
Just thought.
If that makes you tremble, at least you feel warm inside
Only if that’s the goal. Who says it has to be?
I do not mean I enjoy reading jibberish or absurdity, nor do I mean I plan to follow suit, but there’s something refreshingly poetic and honest about someone who refuses to filter and censor their thoughts.
The surgeon came. Then the feeler. Then the Buddha. Then Russel. Then I farted and went elsewhere.
You tried. You’re good.
But ineffective
I give you mu heart.
No assumptions means no ‘as if’. No ‘as if’ means. So what the hell?
That’s the furthest I can take you