About Me

My photo
All I can be is just me... Here I am for all to see, love me or leave me alone.

Technology's Curse

My own nagging suspicions and fears of myself were confirmed when reflecting back upon a brief conversation with a dating prospect who voiced an opinion regarding email, online chat, and text messaging. He spoke of how technology seemed to promote social awkwardness. There have actually been studies to substantiate this, I do agree as I know that it is true. In a number of people, just not me. Knowing what I do about people (other than myself of course) it's not at all something I would want to argue. My ego only allows me to half listen to any general statement of opinion made, and if it doesn't immediately strike a chord within me, I won't remember it for long, unless of course, I am using it to criticize someone else. This is a clear example of my inability to see the apple on my own head. When it finally registered, however long afterward, I realize that not only am I one likely to fall subject to social awkwardness and anxiety. I realize that I am perhaps the ideal specimen for such a clinical presentation.

          I ask myself regularly and out loud, "What the hell am I doing?" While returning to the harsh reality of my insanity, again I chase this rapacious, unforgiving and rapidly spiraling, perpetual, ultra-manic, mind-fuck... time and time again. It seemed to intensify greatly, and would appear to have changed direction rather unexpectedly at some point in the last few months. (Perhaps "seasonal affective disorder", or simply the painful reminder of loneliness that springtime brings about when all of the animals are mating, and the birds are singing, and the people are wearing significantly less clothing).
          I am the same woman used to meet new guys and either make friends with them or bed them down within a matter of minutes. Sex is not a hard thing to achieve, regardless of body type, age, etc. It's about confidence, and I never lacked in that area. I still have several men who call or who I can call at any time, however when I think of what I really want, I become disgusted with men, well not all men. It's the "regulars" that bore me, I want someone new, and I search the internet, and I chat and I email and I text and before I know it, I am overcome with insecurity and fear, doubt, distrust, anxiety. I am in isolation, all alone, depressed, suicidal, self loathing, I am suddenly feeling physically and emotionally paralyzed, simply put, I am stuck in my own way. 
Those who know me can confirm that I was NEVER as outwardly insecure or confused about any part of life until recently. It's as if I have suffered a head injury, or burned my brain cells. I need to put down the cyber crack and get back to being the emotionally shallow, yet happy, intelligent, secure, confident, REAL person that I used to be. Another friend, one who I may actually be "in love" with and just not know, stated so eloquently, "Is it possible that you always were insecure and fearful, but you covered it up with drugs and alcohol and bad behavior for so long that you really can't (or don't want to) remember who you are? Maybe now your sober mind and body are not allowing you to continue with the exhausting facade you put on that nearly killed you." OUCH, that's a true friend, calling me on my shit, stomping out my dramatic woe is me damsel in distress act, and forcing me to look inward for the truth.
        I do have a valid need and a rather intense thirst for connection with people who stimulate my mind like this. I am intolerant of mediocrity, which stems from my own underachievement, and I have no pity for fools, as I have been acting like one for so long, myself. As my own silent criticism mirrors back to me, my vision becomes clearer into my own behavior and tendencies.
         I lie to myself and say that my preference is NOT a quest for the coveted holy grail called love, knowing that I have no idea how to be a part of a healthy relationship. My disease tells me I am not worthy at this time, so I should perish the concept and simply chase my more carnal desires, go for satisfying the insatiable, self seeking, instant gratification, through the more primitive, physical, immediate fix. Just like drugs, my mind romanticizes the lies that I tell myself, like the one that says, "I just want amazing, ongoing sex, I just wanna fuck. I wanna fuck one person who I know is cool, I want to trust that person enough to explore my darkest sexual boundaries and push me beyond them. Generally, I trust no one, not even family has earned my trust. This kinda trust doesn't have to be deep, I just need to know when I say stop, he'll stop, and when I say no, he won't force me. Other than that, this is where I am at. I don't want a label, I don't want a status, I want to explore with my hands, my tongue, my nose, all of my senses and my entire body, and just see what the hell happens." How is this not a relationship, how does this not turn into mixed feelings of confusion, lust, love, and more fear of rejection?
            This veracity is often as terrifying to a man as opening up my emotional floodgates and pouring out my shortcomings. Fuck all my whiny insecurities! Look at me, again, I am in isolation. I have been hiding behind this keyboard and screen writing incessantly about me, my feelings, my fears, my everything, while holding back from the more impulsive acts that fuel my very being. I am becoming terrified to leave my own home. I am scared to death of new people, relationships, love, and commitment. I enjoy sex and friendship, but it fucks with my mind, or it becomes a drug that I use to medicate my mood, combine that realization with the ability to be anyone I want to be online and paint any picture I choose, real or fake... DANGER, I'm likely to become the same junky I was, without a needle. I need to get back out there and be human again, I need to be seen, and feel real, and surround myself with life, all walks and aspects of life, once again, I need to be a part of the world again.
*****************


˙uıɐbɐ pןɹoʍ ǝɥʇ ɟo ʇɹɐd ɐ ǝq oʇ pǝǝu ı 'uıɐbɐ ǝɔuo 'ǝɟıן ɟo sʇɔǝdsɐ puɐ sʞןɐʍ ןןɐ 'ǝɟıן ɥʇıʍ ɟןǝsʎɯ punoɹɹns puɐ 'ןɐǝɹ ןǝǝɟ puɐ 'uǝǝs ǝq oʇ pǝǝu ı 'uıɐbɐ uɐɯnɥ ǝq puɐ ǝɹǝɥʇ ʇno ʞɔɐq ʇǝb oʇ pǝǝu ı ˙ǝןpǝǝu ɐ ʇnoɥʇıʍ 'sɐʍ ı ʎʞunظ ǝɯɐs ǝɥʇ ǝɯoɔǝq oʇ ʎןǝʞıן ɯ,ı 'ɹǝbuɐp ˙˙˙ǝʞɐɟ ɹo ןɐǝɹ 'ǝsooɥɔ ı ǝɹnʇɔıd ʎuɐ ʇuıɐd puɐ ǝuıןuo ǝq oʇ ʇuɐʍ ı ǝuoʎuɐ ǝq oʇ ʎʇıןıqɐ ǝɥʇ ɥʇıʍ uoıʇɐzıןɐǝɹ ʇɐɥʇ ǝuıqɯoɔ 'pooɯ ʎɯ ǝʇɐɔıpǝɯ oʇ ǝsn ı ʇɐɥʇ bnɹp ɐ sǝɯoɔǝq ʇı ɹo 'puıɯ ʎɯ ɥʇıʍ sʞɔnɟ ʇı ʇnq 'dıɥspuǝıɹɟ puɐ xǝs ʎoظuǝ ı ˙ʇuǝɯʇıɯɯoɔ puɐ 'ǝʌoן 'sdıɥsuoıʇɐןǝɹ 'ǝןdoǝd ʍǝu ɟo ɥʇɐǝp oʇ pǝɹɐɔs ɯɐ ı ˙ǝɯoɥ uʍo ʎɯ ǝʌɐǝן oʇ pǝıɟıɹɹǝʇ buıɯoɔǝq ɯɐ ı ˙buıǝq ʎɹǝʌ ʎɯ ןǝnɟ ʇɐɥʇ sʇɔɐ ǝʌısןndɯı ǝɹoɯ ǝɥʇ ɯoɹɟ ʞɔɐq buıpןoɥ ǝןıɥʍ 'buıɥʇʎɹǝʌǝ ʎɯ 'sɹɐǝɟ ʎɯ 'sbuıןǝǝɟ ʎɯ 'ǝɯ ʇnoqɐ ʎןʇuɐssǝɔuı buıʇıɹʍ uǝǝɹɔs puɐ pɹɐoqʎǝʞ sıɥʇ puıɥǝq buıpıɥ uǝǝq ǝʌɐɥ ı ˙uoıʇɐןosı uı ɯɐ ı 'uıɐbɐ 'ǝɯ ʇɐ ʞooן ¡sǝıʇıɹnɔǝsuı ʎuıɥʍ ʎɯ ןןɐ ʞɔnɟ ˙sbuıɯoɔʇɹoɥs ʎɯ ʇno buıɹnod puɐ sǝʇɐbpooןɟ ןɐuoıʇoɯǝ ʎɯ dn buıuǝdo sɐ uɐɯ ɐ oʇ buıʎɟıɹɹǝʇ sɐ uǝʇɟo sı ʎʇıɔɐɹǝʌ sıɥʇ          
¿uoıʇɔǝظǝɹ ɟo ɹɐǝɟ ǝɹoɯ puɐ 'ǝʌoן 'ʇsnן 'uoısnɟuoɔ ɟo sbuıןǝǝɟ pǝxıɯ oʇuı uɹnʇ ʇou sıɥʇ sǝop ʍoɥ 'dıɥsuoıʇɐןǝɹ ɐ ʇou sıɥʇ sı ʍoɥ "˙suǝddɐɥ ןןǝɥ ǝɥʇ ʇɐɥʍ ǝǝs ʇsnظ puɐ 'ʎpoq ǝɹıʇuǝ ʎɯ puɐ sǝsuǝs ʎɯ ɟo ןןɐ 'ǝsou ʎɯ 'ǝnbuoʇ ʎɯ 'spuɐɥ ʎɯ ɥʇıʍ ǝɹoןdxǝ oʇ ʇuɐʍ ı 'snʇɐʇs ɐ ʇuɐʍ ʇ,uop ı 'ןǝqɐן ɐ ʇuɐʍ ʇ,uop ı ˙ʇɐ ɯɐ ı ǝɹǝɥʍ sı sıɥʇ 'ʇɐɥʇ uɐɥʇ ɹǝɥʇo ˙ǝɯ ǝɔɹoɟ ʇ,uoʍ ǝɥ 'ou ʎɐs ı uǝɥʍ puɐ 'doʇs ןן,ǝɥ 'doʇs ʎɐs ı uǝɥʍ ʍouʞ oʇ pǝǝu ʇsnظ ı 'dǝǝp ǝq oʇ ǝʌɐɥ ʇ,usǝop ʇsnɹʇ ɐpuıʞ sıɥʇ ˙ʇsnɹʇ ʎɯ pǝuɹɐǝ sɐɥ ʎןıɯɐɟ uǝʌǝ ʇou 'ǝuo ou ʇsnɹʇ ı 'ʎןןɐɹǝuǝb ˙ɯǝɥʇ puoʎǝq ǝɯ ɥsnd puɐ sǝıɹɐpunoq ןɐnxǝs ʇsǝʞɹɐp ʎɯ ǝɹoןdxǝ oʇ ɥbnouǝ uosɹǝd ʇɐɥʇ ʇsnɹʇ oʇ ʇuɐʍ ı 'ןooɔ sı ʍouʞ ı oɥʍ uosɹǝd ǝuo ʞɔnɟ ɐuuɐʍ ı ˙ʞɔnɟ ɐuuɐʍ ʇsnظ ı 'xǝs buıobuo 'buızɐɯɐ ʇuɐʍ ʇsnظ ı" 'sʎɐs ʇɐɥʇ ǝuo ǝɥʇ ǝʞıן 'ɟןǝsʎɯ ןןǝʇ ı ʇɐɥʇ sǝıן ǝɥʇ sǝzıɔıʇuɐɯoɹ puıɯ ʎɯ 'sbnɹp ǝʞıן ʇsnظ ˙xıɟ ǝʇɐıpǝɯɯı 'ןɐɔısʎɥd 'ǝʌıʇıɯıɹd ǝɹoɯ ǝɥʇ ɥbnoɹɥʇ 'uoıʇɐɔıɟıʇɐɹb ʇuɐʇsuı 'buıʞǝǝs ɟןǝs 'ǝןqɐıʇɐsuı ǝɥʇ buıʎɟsıʇɐs ɹoɟ ob 'sǝɹısǝp ןɐuɹɐɔ ǝɹoɯ ʎɯ ǝsɐɥɔ ʎןdɯıs puɐ ʇdǝɔuoɔ ǝɥʇ ɥsıɹǝd pןnoɥs ı os 'ǝɯıʇ sıɥʇ ʇɐ ʎɥʇɹoʍ ʇou ɯɐ ı ǝɯ sןןǝʇ ǝsɐǝsıp ʎɯ ˙dıɥsuoıʇɐןǝɹ ʎɥʇןɐǝɥ ɐ ɟo ʇɹɐd ɐ ǝq oʇ ʍoɥ ɐǝpı ou ǝʌɐɥ ı ʇɐɥʇ buıʍouʞ 'ǝʌoן pǝןןɐɔ ןıɐɹb ʎןoɥ pǝʇǝʌoɔ ǝɥʇ ɹoɟ ʇsǝnb ɐ ʇou sı ǝɔuǝɹǝɟǝɹd ʎɯ ʇɐɥʇ ʎɐs puɐ ɟןǝsʎɯ oʇ ǝıן ı        
˙sǝıɔuǝpuǝʇ puɐ ɹoıʌɐɥǝq uʍo ʎɯ oʇuı ɹǝɹɐǝןɔ sǝɯoɔǝq uoısıʌ ʎɯ 'ǝɯ oʇ ʞɔɐq sɹoɹɹıɯ ɯsıɔıʇıɹɔ ʇuǝןıs uʍo ʎɯ sɐ ˙ɟןǝsʎɯ 'buoן os ɹoɟ ǝuo ǝʞıן buıʇɔɐ uǝǝq ǝʌɐɥ ı sɐ 'sןooɟ ɹoɟ ʎʇıd ou ǝʌɐɥ ı puɐ 'ʇuǝɯǝʌǝıɥɔɐɹǝpun uʍo ʎɯ ɯoɹɟ sɯǝʇs ɥɔıɥʍ 'ʎʇıɹɔoıpǝɯ ɟo ʇuɐɹǝןoʇuı ɯɐ ı ˙sıɥʇ ǝʞıן puıɯ ʎɯ ǝʇɐןnɯıʇs oɥʍ ǝןdoǝd ɥʇıʍ uoıʇɔǝuuoɔ ɹoɟ ʇsɹıɥʇ ǝsuǝʇuı ɹǝɥʇɐɹ ɐ puɐ pǝǝu pıןɐʌ ɐ ǝʌɐɥ op ı      
˙ɥʇnɹʇ ǝɥʇ ɹoɟ pɹɐʍuı ʞooן oʇ ǝɯ buıɔɹoɟ puɐ 'ʇɔɐ ssǝɹʇsıp uı ןǝsɯɐp ǝɯ sı ǝoʍ ɔıʇɐɯɐɹp ʎɯ ʇno buıdɯoʇs 'ʇıɥs ʎɯ uo ǝɯ buıןןɐɔ 'puǝıɹɟ ǝnɹʇ ɐ s,ʇɐɥʇ 'ɥɔno "˙noʎ pǝןןıʞ ʎןɹɐǝu ʇɐɥʇ uo ʇnd noʎ ǝpɐɔɐɟ buıʇsnɐɥxǝ ǝɥʇ ɥʇıʍ ǝnuıʇuoɔ oʇ noʎ buıʍoןןɐ ʇou ǝɹɐ ʎpoq puɐ puıɯ ɹǝqos ɹnoʎ ʍou ǝqʎɐɯ ¿ǝɹɐ noʎ oɥʍ ɹǝqɯǝɯǝɹ (oʇ ʇuɐʍ ʇ,uop ɹo) ʇ,uɐɔ ʎןןɐǝɹ noʎ ʇɐɥʇ buoן os ɹoɟ ɹoıʌɐɥǝq pɐq puɐ ןoɥoɔןɐ puɐ sbnɹp ɥʇıʍ dn ʇı pǝɹǝʌoɔ noʎ ʇnq 'ןnɟɹɐǝɟ puɐ ǝɹnɔǝsuı ǝɹǝʍ sʎɐʍןɐ noʎ ʇɐɥʇ ǝןqıssod ʇı sı" 'ʎןʇuǝnboןǝ os pǝʇɐʇs 'ʍouʞ ʇou ʇsnظ puɐ ɥʇıʍ "ǝʌoן uı" ǝq ʎןןɐnʇɔɐ ʎɐɯ ı oɥʍ ǝuo 'puǝıɹɟ ɹǝɥʇouɐ ˙ǝq oʇ pǝsn ı ʇɐɥʇ uosɹǝd ןɐǝɹ 'ʇuǝpıɟuoɔ 'ǝɹnɔǝs 'ʇuǝbıןןǝʇuı 'ʎddɐɥ ʇǝʎ 'ʍoןןɐɥs ʎןןɐuoıʇoɯǝ ǝɥʇ buıǝq oʇ ʞɔɐq ʇǝb puɐ ʞɔɐɹɔ ɹǝqʎɔ ǝɥʇ uʍop ʇnd oʇ pǝǝu ı ˙sןןǝɔ uıɐɹq ʎɯ pǝuɹnq ɹo 'ʎɹnظuı pɐǝɥ ɐ pǝɹǝɟɟns ǝʌɐɥ ı ɟı sɐ s,ʇı ˙ʎןʇuǝɔǝɹ ןıʇun ǝɟıן ɟo ʇɹɐd ʎuɐ ʇnoqɐ pǝsnɟuoɔ ɹo ǝɹnɔǝsuı ʎןpɹɐʍʇno sɐ ɹǝʌǝu sɐʍ ı ʇɐɥʇ ɯɹıɟuoɔ uɐɔ ǝɯ ʍouʞ oɥʍ ǝsoɥʇ
 ˙ʎɐʍ uʍo ʎɯ uı ʞɔnʇs ɯɐ ı 'ʇnd ʎןdɯıs 'pǝzʎןɐɹɐd ʎןןɐuoıʇoɯǝ puɐ ʎןןɐɔısʎɥd buıןǝǝɟ ʎןuǝppns ɯɐ ı 'buıɥʇɐoן ɟןǝs 'ןɐpıɔıns 'pǝssǝɹdǝp 'ǝuoןɐ ןןɐ 'uoıʇɐןosı uı ɯɐ ı ˙ʎʇǝıxuɐ 'ʇsnɹʇsıp 'ʇqnop 'ɹɐǝɟ puɐ ʎʇıɹnɔǝsuı ɥʇıʍ ǝɯoɔɹǝʌo ɯɐ ı 'ʇı ʍouʞ ı ǝɹoɟǝq puɐ ʇxǝʇ ı puɐ ןıɐɯǝ ı puɐ ʇɐɥɔ ı puɐ 'ʇǝuɹǝʇuı ǝɥʇ ɥɔɹɐǝs ı puɐ 'ʍǝu ǝuoǝɯos ʇuɐʍ ı 'ǝɯ ǝɹoq ʇɐɥʇ "sɹɐןnbǝɹ" ǝɥʇ s,ʇı ˙uǝɯ ןןɐ ʇou ןןǝʍ 'uǝɯ ɥʇıʍ pǝʇsnbsıp ǝɯoɔǝq ı 'ʇuɐʍ ʎןןɐǝɹ ı ʇɐɥʍ ɟo ʞuıɥʇ ı uǝɥʍ ɹǝʌǝʍoɥ 'ǝɯıʇ ʎuɐ ʇɐ ןןɐɔ uɐɔ ı oɥʍ ɹo ןןɐɔ oɥʍ uǝɯ ןɐɹǝʌǝs ǝʌɐɥ ןןıʇs ı ˙ɐǝɹɐ ʇɐɥʇ uı pǝʞɔɐן ɹǝʌǝu ı puɐ 'ǝɔuǝpıɟuoɔ ʇnoqɐ s,ʇı ˙ɔʇǝ 'ǝbɐ 'ǝdʎʇ ʎpoq ɟo ssǝןpɹɐbǝɹ 'ǝʌǝıɥɔɐ oʇ buıɥʇ pɹɐɥ ɐ ʇou sı xǝs ˙sǝʇnuıɯ ɟo ɹǝʇʇɐɯ ɐ uıɥʇıʍ uʍop ɯǝɥʇ pǝq ɹo ɯǝɥʇ ɥʇıʍ spuǝıɹɟ ǝʞɐɯ ɹǝɥʇıǝ puɐ sʎnb ʍǝu ʇǝǝɯ oʇ pǝsn uɐɯoʍ ǝɯɐs ǝɥʇ ɯɐ ı        

˙(buıɥʇoןɔ ssǝן ʎןʇuɐɔıɟıubıs buıɹɐǝʍ ǝɹɐ ǝןdoǝd ǝɥʇ puɐ 'buıbuıs ǝɹɐ spɹıq ǝɥʇ puɐ 'buıʇɐɯ ǝɹɐ sןɐɯıuɐ ǝɥʇ ɟo ןןɐ uǝɥʍ ʇnoqɐ sbuıɹq ǝɯıʇbuıɹds ʇɐɥʇ ssǝuıןǝuoן ɟo ɹǝpuıɯǝɹ ןnɟuıɐd ǝɥʇ ʎןdɯıs ɹo '"ɹǝpɹosıp ǝʌıʇɔǝɟɟɐ ןɐuosɐǝs" sdɐɥɹǝd) ˙sɥʇuoɯ ʍǝɟ ʇsɐן ǝɥʇ uı ʇuıod ǝɯos ʇɐ ʎןpǝʇɔǝdxǝun ɹǝɥʇɐɹ uoıʇɔǝɹıp pǝbuɐɥɔ ǝʌɐɥ oʇ ɹɐǝddɐ pןnoʍ puɐ 'ʎןʇɐǝɹb ʎɟısuǝʇuı oʇ pǝɯǝǝs ʇı ˙uıɐbɐ ǝɯıʇ puɐ ǝɯıʇ ˙˙˙ʞɔnɟ-puıɯ 'ɔıuɐɯ-ɐɹʇןn 'ןɐnʇǝdɹǝd 'buıןɐɹıds ʎןpıdɐɹ puɐ buıʌıbɹoɟun 'snoıɔɐdɐɹ sıɥʇ ǝsɐɥɔ ı uıɐbɐ 'ʎʇıuɐsuı ʎɯ ɟo ʎʇıןɐǝɹ ɥsɹɐɥ ǝɥʇ oʇ buıuɹnʇǝɹ ǝןıɥʍ "¿buıop ı ɯɐ ןןǝɥ ǝɥʇ ʇɐɥʍ" 'pnoן ʇno puɐ ʎןɹɐןnbǝɹ ɟןǝsʎɯ ʞsɐ ı        

˙uoıʇɐʇuǝsǝɹd ןɐɔıuıןɔ ɐ ɥɔns ɹoɟ uǝɯıɔǝds ןɐǝpı ǝɥʇ sdɐɥɹǝd ɯɐ ı ʇɐɥʇ ǝzıןɐǝɹ ı ˙ʎʇǝıxuɐ puɐ ssǝupɹɐʍʞʍɐ ןɐıɔos oʇ ʇɔǝظqns ןןɐɟ oʇ ʎןǝʞıן ǝuo ı ɯɐ ʎןuo ʇou ʇɐɥʇ ǝzıןɐǝɹ ı 'pɹɐʍɹǝʇɟɐ buoן ɹǝʌǝʍoɥ 'pǝɹǝʇsıbǝɹ ʎןןɐuıɟ ʇı uǝɥʍ ˙pɐǝɥ uʍo ʎɯ uo ǝןddɐ ǝɥʇ ǝǝs oʇ ʎʇıןıqɐuı ʎɯ ɟo ǝןdɯɐxǝ ɹɐǝןɔ ɐ sı sıɥʇ ˙ǝsןǝ ǝuoǝɯos ǝzıɔıʇıɹɔ oʇ ʇı buısn ɯɐ ı 'ǝsɹnoɔ ɟo ssǝןun 'buoן ɹoɟ ʇı ɹǝqɯǝɯǝɹ ʇ,uoʍ ı 'ǝɯ uıɥʇıʍ pɹoɥɔ ɐ ǝʞıɹʇs ʎןǝʇɐıpǝɯɯı ʇ,usǝop ʇı ɟı puɐ 'ǝpɐɯ uoıuıdo ɟo ʇuǝɯǝʇɐʇs ןɐɹǝuǝb ʎuɐ oʇ uǝʇsıן ɟןɐɥ oʇ ǝɯ sʍoןןɐ ʎןuo obǝ ʎɯ ˙ǝnbɹɐ oʇ ʇuɐʍ pןnoʍ ı buıɥʇǝɯos ןןɐ ʇɐ ʇou s,ʇı (ǝsɹnoɔ ɟo ɟןǝsʎɯ uɐɥʇ ɹǝɥʇo) ǝןdoǝd ʇnoqɐ op ı ʇɐɥʍ buıʍouʞ ˙ǝɯ ʇou ʇsnظ 'ǝןdoǝd ɟo ɹǝqɯnu ɐ uı ˙ǝnɹʇ sı ʇı ʇɐɥʇ ʍouʞ ı sɐ ǝǝɹbɐ op ı 'sıɥʇ ǝʇɐıʇuɐʇsqns oʇ sǝıpnʇs uǝǝq ʎןןɐnʇɔɐ ǝʌɐɥ ǝɹǝɥʇ ˙ssǝupɹɐʍʞʍɐ ןɐıɔos ǝʇoɯoɹd oʇ pǝɯǝǝs ʎboןouɥɔǝʇ ʍoɥ ɟo ǝʞods ǝɥ ˙buıbɐssǝɯ ʇxǝʇ puɐ 'ʇɐɥɔ ǝuıןuo 'ןıɐɯǝ buıpɹɐbǝɹ uoıuıdo uɐ pǝɔıoʌ oɥʍ ʇɔǝdsoɹd buıʇɐp ɐ ɥʇıʍ uoıʇɐsɹǝʌuoɔ ɟǝıɹq ɐ uodn ʞɔɐq buıʇɔǝןɟǝɹ uǝɥʍ pǝɯɹıɟuoɔ ǝɹǝʍ ɟןǝsʎɯ ɟo sɹɐǝɟ puɐ suoıɔıdsns buıbbɐu uʍo ʎɯ