intuition not my words Intuition [n. 1 immediate apprehension by the mind without reasoning. 2 immediate apprehension by a sense. 3 immediate insight. (Intuitionalism. Philos. The belief that primary truths and principles esp. of ethics and metaphysics are known directly by intuition.] Intuition. The ability to see any event, any object from a viewpoint of the cosmic whole, from it's culmination - the seed, the flower, the fruit in relation to the whole. The knowing of something without prior knowledge or the use of reason. All stands revealed the hearts, the motives, the causes of all events. All is open to the person. Intuition can be said to be a comprehensive grip of the principles of universality. A person who develops intuition can know anything, without the barriers of time, space and any other obstructions. The intuitive type: Creative people, people with hunches whose chief concern is with future possibilities. They are able to sense the invisible and the impalatable. They perceive wholes and compress much into a flash. Poets and prophets are often intuitive. 020607 ... lulie Intuition.... waiting with dread for a phone call you know you'll be receiving. 020607 ... sarpedon i ask myself: this time, was it spot on? i'm just hoping for once it rings true to my life 020608 ... CrAzYpInKmOnKeY something i wish i didnt have cuz its wrong when the situation is important 020608 ... spoons makes cool greeting cards with witty sayings like "just a little card to make you smile or piss you off." : ) 020825 ... Jarec my dad kind of has it. he never said anything about it, but my mom did once. it's kind of weird because i can FEEL when something is wrong or something is going to go really wrong within the next few days. it is just weird. mom said that's how it is with dad, but she never said anything again after that and my dad never really talks about it. it's weird, i dont know.... 021103 ... no reason i think i may know what's wrong and how to fix it all but i'm not positive which is why i haven't been demanding they're reluctant to help taking all of these steps first which i'm not sure are necessary, or at least they change the focal point but my mind keeps going back to the focal point while getting into arguments that others know more than i do but i'm not sure they do and maybe i don't either but even if i don't it just makes sense it's just intution that's all i can say 080919 ... not intution. intuition. (what a word to mess up) 080919 ... hsg more valid than our society allows. 100504 ... PeeT To me, a story can be both concrete and abstract, or a concrete story can hold abstractions. And abstractions are things that really can’t be said so well with words. They’re intuited. They’re understood in a different way. 120126 ... tender_square i’d never ask for his key again. not after what happened the first time. i had gotten possession of my first apartment, but my bed wouldn’t be moved in for a couple of days; dad had wrangled a friend with a pickup truck to help me. i had planned to spend most of that evening cleaning and building bookshelves, figuring i’d end late, and i didn't want to resort to sleeping on my floor. he was going to be working barback that night, i knew that, and i didn’t want to have to go to the club after, didn’t want wait that long to go to bed, didn’t want to drive across town to get back to my parent’s place when i was tired, when he and i could be together. he reluctantly spiraled the key off his ring and handed it over, made it clear this was a one-time thing because of extenuating circumstances. when i arrived at his place, it was around one am and i went straight to bed, figuring he’d be home in a couple of hours. but when he wasn’t there by four, i wondered what the hell was keeping him. he rolled in at five, gave me some slurred excuse about hanging back with his boss and his boss’s girlfriend after to shoot the shit. he had been avoiding coming home to me. even though we’d been together only a couple of months, we had a tradition of going to greasy spoons on the weekend, and i’d pick up the check because he was a broke grad school student whereas i was making a good living for someone my age, someone seven years his junior. that morning i waited in the dim light of his bedroom, lying on his floor-top mattress, watching hours tick by, my stomach eating itself. by eleven, it was clear we wouldn’t be going anywhere, and that waiting only served to make a fool of me. so i left. i got dressed and grabbed my purse and snuck out the door without saying goodbye. i drove to a tim horton’s up the road and ate breakfast by myself while i read a book. and as i filled my belly with an egg biscuit, a tension swirled about with this shift in our relationship, and i knew we would not last much longer; grateful then, that i’d left that morning, standing up for myself and what i wanted for once, instead of hanging around to see if he’d choose me. as i left the coffee shop and unlocked my car, i heard my name being called. i turned around and it was him, on his bicycle, and he ran up to me and hugged me with all of his life, as if he hadn’t looked at me groggily in bed an hour before, rolling over to avoid seeing me. in my confusion, i was limp armed. “how did you know i was here?” i asked. “i didn’t.” and i remembered thinking how strange it was to be noticed by him minutes after i’d been sipping coffee and realizing that i didn’t need him anymore, how his outpouring of want seemed proportional to the new distance he felt between us. i should’ve left him then. instead i allowed his embrace to seduce with a false promise. he dumped me, two weeks later, after avoiding me for a week, after i confronted him at one of his shows, and he said he was in a bad place with his drinking, which felt like an indictment when we always drank together, and he reasoned this in the midst of wrapping cables and packing up his guitar instead of having the decency to take me outside to talk things over with a smoke in private, and he continued to tell it to me this way even as his boss interrupted our tense conversation, until i spun away from him and stormed out the door, more angry at myself than at him for not trusting what i’d known but tried to deny. 211214 what's it to you? who go blather from