RULES
1. a 2 player writing game in which the first player writes 50 words.
2. the second player replaces (from the first 50) 10 words and adds 50
making a total of 100 words. the second player cannot rearrange words
in the piece. nor can they replace existing words in another part of
the piece so it appears to be rearranging words.
3. the first player then replaces 10 words and adds 50. making a total
of 150. this game continues until 500 words are reached.
4. once 500 words are reached a player will take away 50 words and
replace 10 leaving a total of 450 words. this continues until 50 words
are reached and the game is over.
5. the player can change any 10 words in the piece. they can be
different one to two word strings or completely sentences. it is up to
the player. a player can delete 10 words from the beginning and add
10 words at the end. this is possible.
50
sea. black. caspian. dead.
this body swimming in water.
where the sentence meets the point. what a disappointment it must feel to be at the end.
to know how to end. stop. or slowdown, take a pause,
Dubai is not exotic, it's a dump. would never known that. if stopped.
100
sea. black. caspian. pulsating.
this body sinking in water.
feet kicking. lungs holding.
where the sentence meets the point. what a disappointment it must feel
to be at the end.
New Sentence; Question: Where will it go to learn how to stop, or
slowdown, take a pause?
Observation: Answers have grown two heads, one is constantly laughing.
What’s so funny about Dubai not being exotic? A dump? Like Detroit?
If stopped, stillness.
If paused, a poor player.
Talking of Michelangelo.
If meaning exists only at the end, there wouldn’t be any further books
on recorded history. Everything would be over.
150
sea. black. caspian. pulsating. recreating the forgotten stories.
this body sinking in water.
feet kicking. lungs holding.
where the sentence comes to a point. What a letdown it must feel to be at the end. What a blow.
what happens why. Where will it go to learn how to stop, or slowdown, take a pause?
There is no way to know what makes one thing happen and not another. What leads to what. What destroys what. Two heads, one is constantly laughing.
What’s so funny about Dubai not being exotic? It's a dump? Like Detroit?
If stopped, stillness. Loss.
If paused, a poor player.
Talking of Michelangelo.
If meaning exists only at the end, there wouldn’t be any further books on
recorded history. b and m and r and l would not wakeup in the morning and give life a fair shot. If end mattered everything would be over. now.
200
sea. black. caspian. pulsating.
recreating fragments into forgotten parables.
this body sinking in water.
feet kicking. lungs holding.
let it drown.
where the sentence comes to a point. what a let down it must feel to be at the end. what a blow to the verb.
what happens why. why couldn’t sleep. went out under the moon to smoke. to pace. to think. where will it go to learn how to stop, to slowdown, share a pause?
there is no way to know what makes one thing happen and not another. what leads to what. what turns on what. what destroys what. two heads, one is constantly laughing.
what’s so funny about shit and stone not being exotic? a dump. like detroit, the industrial wasteland. is that why we do? where are we going?
If stopped, stillness.
If paused, a poor player.
Talking of Michelangelo.
brief candle, avoid mirrors.
if reflection glimpsed, tears will fall.
if meaning doesn’t exists, there wouldn’t be any need for further books on recorded history. b and m and r and l would not wakeup in the morning, brush teeth, and give life a fair shot. if end mattered everything would be over. now.
250
sea. black. caspian. pulsating.
recreating fragments from forgotten parables.
the beaches with rocks. fuck sand.
this body floating in water.
feet kicking. lungs holding.
let this body drown. let this mind rest.
but every time sentence comes to a point what a let down it must feel to be at the end. what a blow to the continuity. no is not an option.
what happens why. why couldn’t he sleep. went out over the moon to smoke. to sit. to think. where will it go to learn how to stop, to slowdown, share a pause?
there is no way to know what makes one thing happen and not another. what leads to what. what turns on what. what destroys what. two heads, one is endlessly laughing. the other one is lonely.
what’s so funny about shit and stone not being exotic? a dump. like detroit, the industrial wasteland. is that why we do? where are you going?
If stopped, stillness.
If paused, a poor player.
Talking of Michelangelo.
brief candle, brief walk, faint color on a rooftop, on you face.
avoid mirrors.
if reflection glimpsed, tears will fall. it is better this way.
if meaning doesn’t exists, there wouldn’t be any need for further books on recorded history. no need for long conversations around the kitchen table. tea. balcony. b and m and r and l would not wakeup in the morning, brush teeth, and give life a fair shot. if end actually mattered everything would be over. now.
300
sea. black. caspian. pulsating.
recreating fragments from forgotten parables.
the beaches with rocks. sand. goodbye land.
this body floating in water.
feet kicking. lungs holding.
let this body drown. let this mind rest.
even the sun knows when to set.
but every time the sentence comes to a point what a let down it must feel to be at the end. what a blow to the continuity. no is the only option unexplored.
what happens why. why couldn’t sleep, went out over the moon to smoke. to sit. to think. to lit another. where will it go to learn how to stop, to slowdown, share a pause?
there is no way to know what makes one thing happen and not another. what leads to what. what turns on what. what destroys what. two heads, one is endlessly laughing. the other is lonely.
what’s so funny about shit and stone not being exotic? a dump. like detroit, the industrial wasteland. is that why we do?
why are you going?
if stopped, stillness.
if paused, a poor player.
talking of Michelangelo.
if meaning exists, why has to be answered. there must be something that Death can’t take. maybe these few pages of symphony?
brief candle, brief walk, faint color on a rooftop,
avoid mirrors.
if reflection glimpsed, tears will fall. it is better this way.
to create beauty so that others can discuss it, misinterpret it, or devour it, and ask for more. what for?
if meaning doesn’t exist, there wouldn’t be any need for further books on recorded history. no need for long conversations around the kitchen table. tea. balcony. b and m and r and l would not wakeup in the morning, brush teeth, and give life a fair shot. if end actually mattered everything would be over. now.
350
sea. black. caspian. pulsating.
recreating fragments and forgotten parables.
the beaches with rocks. no sand.
black rocks under my towel, my elbow, my naked breast, my head.
goodbye land. your land?
what does that mean anyway?
this body floating in water.
feet kicking. lungs holding.
it is same to me whether you are present or absent.
let this body drown. let this mind sink.
even the moon knows when to rise. but every time the sentence comes to a point what a let down it must feel to be at the end. what a blow to random order that is. no is the only option unexplored. what happens why. why couldn’t I sleep, went out over the moon to smoke. to sit. to think. to touch another. where will it go to learn how to stop, to slowdown, share a pause? there is no way to know what makes one thing happen and not another. what leads to what. what turns on what. what destroys what. two souls, one is endlessly laughing. the other is lonely. you don’t need one another to love.
what’s so funny about shit and stone not being exotic? a dump. a sweating, hot, oily dump. like detroit, the industrial wasteland. is that how we do? that is how.
we pretend.
why are you staying?
if stopped, stillness.
if paused, a poor player.
talking of Michelangelo.
if meaning exists, why has to be answered. there must be something that Death can’t take. maybe these few pages of symphony?
brief candle, brief walk, faint color on a rooftop,
avoid mirrors. if reflection glimpsed, tears will fall. it is better this way. to create beauty so that others can discuss it, misinterpret it, or devour it, and ask for more. what for?
if meaning doesn’t exist, there wouldn’t be any need for further books on recorded history. no need for long conversations around the kitchen table. tea. balcony. b and m and r and l would not wakeup in the morning, brush teeth, and give life a fair shot. if end actually mattered everything would be over. now.
400
sea. black. caspian. pulsating.
recreating fragments and
forgotten beaches with
black rocks under my towel, my elbow, my naked breast, my
head. goodbye.
what does that mean anyway?
this body floating in water.
feet kicking. lungs holding.
it is same to me whether you are present or absent.
let this body
drown. let this mind sink.
even the moon knows when to rise. but every time the sentence comes to a point what a let down it must feel to be at The End. what a blow to random order that Is. no is the only option unexplored. what happens why. why couldn’t i sleep. i went out, under the moonlight, to smoke. to sit. to think. to be touch. so this is where i will go to learn how to stop, to slowdown, share a pause. there is no way to know why i want, or what makes one thing happen and not another. what leads to what. what turns into what. what destroys what. constructed philosophies stand empty. our souls remain. one is endlessly laughing. the other is lonely. you don’t need one another to be love. but i am a liar. it’s too painful to be real. so i ask again: what’s so funny about shit and stone not being exotic? a dump. a sweating, hot, oily dump? like detroit, the industrial wasteland. is that how we do? that is how.
we pretend.
why are you staying silent?
if stopped, stillness.
if paused, a poor player.
talking of Michelangelo.
if meaning exists, why has to be answered. there must be something that the moonlight can’t hide, that Death can’t take. maybe these few sheets of “a lifetime spent to touch you”?
brief candle, brief walk, faint color on a rooftop,
avoid mirrors. if reflection glimpsed, tears will fall like autumn leaves. it is better this way. to create beauty so that others can discuss it, misinterpret it, or devour it, and ask for more. observe the breeze blow them leaves away.
what for am i?
if meaning doesn’t exist, there wouldn’t be any need for further books on recorded history. no need for long conversations around the kitchen table. tea. balcony. b and m and r and l would not wakeup in the morning, brush teeth, and give life a fair shot. if end actually mattered everything would be over. now.
but the pines, jellyfish, ocean, milkyway.
450
sea.
black. caspian. pulsating.
recreating fragments and forgotten beaches
with black rocks under my towel, my elbow, my naked breast, my
head. goodbye.
what does that feel like anyway?
this body floating in water.
feet kicking. lungs holding.
it is same to me whether you are present or absent.
let this body
wonder. let this mind
sink.
every night moon knows how to rise. yet every time the sentence comes to a point what a let down it must feel to be at The End. what a blow to random order that Is. no is the only option unexplored. what happens why. why couldn’t i sleep. i went out, under the moonlight, to smoke. to sit. to think. to allow touch. unfulfilled dreams is where i will go to learn how to stop, to slowdown, share a pause. there is no way to know why i want, or what makes one thing happen and not another. what leads to what. what turns into what. what destroys what. constructed philosophies stand empty. our hypothesis remain. one is endlessly laughing. the other is lonely. you don’t need one another to be love. but i am a liar, just like you. it’s too painful to be real. To represent reality. so i ask again and again: what’s so funny about shit and stone not being exotic? Because you have never seen a dump. a sweating, hot, oily dump. You have no idea. just like detroit, the beauty in discise! the industrial wasteland! is that how we do? that is how.
we pretend.
why are you staying silent? Is that why my conversations with you have been replaced with repetitious monologues and quick goodbyes?
if stopped, stillness.
if paused, a poor player.
talking of Michelangelo.
if meaning exists, ‘why’ has to be answered. there must be something that the moonlight can’t hide, that Death can’t take. maybe these few sheets of Prokofiev and few moments of “a lifetime spent to touch you”?
brief candle, brief walk, faint color on a rooftop,
avoid mirrors. if reflection glimpsed, tears will fall like autumn leaves in Vermont. it is better this way. to create beauty so that others can discuss it, misinterpret it, or devour it, and ask for more. observe the breeze blow them leaves away. They too will dissapear.
what for am i?
if meaning doesn’t exist, there wouldn’t be any need for further books on recorded history. no need for long conversations around the kitchen table. tea. balcony. b and m and r and l would not wakeup in the morning, brush teeth, and give life a fair shot. if end actually mattered everything would be over. now.
but the pines, jellyfish, ocean, milkyway.
500
sea.
black. caspian. pulsating.
recreating fragments and forgotten beaches
with black rocks under my towel, my elbow, my naked breast, my
head. goodbye.
what does that feel like anyway?
this body floating in water.
feet kicking. lungs holding.
it is same to me whether you are present or absent.
let this body
wonder. let this mind
sink every night
the moon knows how to rise. yet every time the sentence comes to a point what a let down it must feel. To be at The End. what a blow to random order that Is. no is the only option unexplored. what happens why. why couldn’t i sleep? i went out, under the moonlight, to smoke. to sit. to think. to allow touch. unfulfilled dreams is where i will go to learn how to stop, to slowdown, share a pause. there is no way to know why i want, or what makes one thing happen and not another. what leads to what. what turns into what. what destroys what. constructed philosophies stand empty. uncompleted we remain endlessly laughing. I always thought you didn’t need one another to be love. but i am a liar, just like you. it’s too painful to be real. so i ask again and again: will you be mine forever? and what’s so funny about shit and stone not being exotic? Because you have never seen a dump. a sweating, hot, oily dump. You have no idea. just like detroit, the beauty is disguised! the industrial wasteland! is that how we do? that is how.
we pretend.
why are you staying silent? Is that why my conversations with you have been replaced with repetitious monologues and quick goodbyes?
if stopped, stillness.
if paused, a poor player.
talking of Michelangelo.
if meaning exists, ‘why’ has to be answered. there must be something that the moonlight can’t hide, that Death can’t take. maybe these few sheets of Prokofiev and few moments of “a lifetime spent to touch you”?
brief candle, brief walk, faint color on a rooftop,
avoid mirrors. if reflection glimpsed, tears will fall like autumn leaves in Vermont. it is better this way. to create beauty so that others can discuss it, misinterpret it, or devour it, and ask for more. observe the breeze blow them leaves away. They too will disappear.
I wanted you to want my lips but when you touched them I trembled. at home I felt safe staring through the blinds. I talk too much and live too little. forgive me. I will return to you tomorrow. and tomorrow. until we touch.
what for am i?
if meaning doesn’t exist, there wouldn’t be any need for further books on recorded history. no need for long conversations around the kitchen table. tea. balcony. b and m and r and l would not wakeup in the morning, brush teeth, and give life a fair shot. if end actually mattered everything would be over. now.
but the pines, jellyfish, ocean, milkyway
will not notice they exist without purpose.
450
sea.
black. caspian. pulsating.
fragments.
irregular pulse under my towel,
unzipped dress,
my naked breast,
your gaze.
goodbye.
what is loneliness?
this body floating.
in water feet kicking. lungs holding.
it is same to me whether you are present or absent.
let this mind sink every night.
the moon knows how. the sentence comes to a point. what a let down it must feel To be at The End. what a blow to random order that Is. no is the only option unexplored. what happens why. why couldn’t i sleep? i went out. the moonlight. smoke. sit. think. allow touch.
unfulfilled dreams is where i will go to stop, to slowdown, share a pause. there is no way to know why i want, or what makes one thing happen and not another. what leads to what. what turns into what. what destroys? what constructed philosophies stand empty? uncompleted we remain. I always thought you didn’t need to be love. but i am a liar, just like you. it’s too painful to be real. so i ask again and again: will you be this forever? and what’s so interesting about shit and stone being exotic? just like detroit, the beauty is disguised! is that how we do? that is how: we pretend.
why are you staying silent? my conversations with you have been replaced with repetitious monologues and quick goodbyes.
if stopped, stillness.
if paused, a poor player.
talking of Michelangelo.
if meaning exists, ‘why’ has to be answered. there must be something that the moonlight can’t hide, that Death can’t take. maybe these few sheets of Prokofiev and few moments of “a lifetime spent to touch you”?
brief candle, brief walk, faint color on a rooftop,
avoid mirrors. if reflection glimpsed, tears will fall like autumn leaves in Vermont. it is better this way. to create beauty so that others can discuss it, misinterpret it, or devour it, and ask for more. observe the breeze blow them leaves away. They too will disappear.
I wanted you to want my lips but when you touched them I trembled. at home I felt safe staring through the blinds. I talk too much and live too little. forgive me. I will return to you tomorrow. and tomorrow. until we touch.
what for am i?
if meaning doesn’t exist, there wouldn’t be any need for further books on recorded history. no need for long conversations around the kitchen table. tea. balcony. b and m and r and l would not wakeup in the morning, brush teeth, and give life a fair shot. if end actually mattered everything would be over. now.
but the pines, jellyfish, ocean, milkyway
will not notice they exist without purpose.
400
pulsating fragments.
irregular staccato on the shore,
unzipped dress,
my naked breast, your gaze.
goodbye.
what is loneliness?
this body in water.
feet kicking. lungs …….holding.
it is same to me whether you are present or absent.
let this mind sink every night.
the moon knows how.
the sentence is coming to a point. what it must feel to be at The End. what a smashing blow to random order that Is. no is the only option unexplored. what happens why. why couldn’t i sleep? i beneath the moonlight. smoke. sit. think. allow touch.
unfulfilled dreams is where i will go to stop, to slowdown, share a pause. there is no way to know why i want, or what makes one thing happen and not another. what leads to what. what turns into what. what destroys constructed philosophies.
I thought you didn’t need my love. you’re a liar, just like me. it’s too painful to be real. so i ask again and again: will you be interesting shit and stone exotic detroit beauty in disguise? is that how we do? that is how: we pretend.
why, you have been replaced with repetitious monologues and quick goodbyes!
fine. go. talking of Michelangelo.
if meaning exists, ‘why’ has to be answered. there must be something that the moonlight can’t hide, that Death can’t take. maybe these few sheets of Prokofiev and few moments of “a lifetime spent to touch you”?
brief candle, brief walk, faint color on a rooftop,
avoid mirrors. if reflection glimpsed, tears will fall like autumn leaves in Vermont. it is better this way. to create beauty so that others can discuss it, misinterpret it, or devour it, and ask for more. observe the breeze blow them leaves away. They too disappear.
my lips -you touched them… I trembled. at home I felt safe staring through the blinds. I talk too much and live too little. forgive me. I will return to you tomorrow. and tomorrow. until.
what for am i?
if meaning doesn’t exist, there wouldn’t be any need for further books on recorded history. no need for long conversations around the kitchen table. tea. balcony. b and m and r and l would not wakeup in the morning, brush teeth, and give life a fair shot. if end actually mattered everything would be over. now.
but the pines, jellyfish, ocean, milkyway
will not notice they exist without purpose.
350
pulsating fragments.
irregular staccato on the shore,
unzipped dress,
my naked breast, your gaze.
goodbye.
loneliness.
feet kicking. lungs …….holding.
it is same to me whether you are present or absent.
let this mind sink.
the moon knows knots.
End, Beginning, then Middle. what happens why. why couldn’t I? the moonlight. smoke. sit. think. allow touch.
unfulfilled dreams is where I will find you, share a pause. there is no way to know why i want, or what you think. what turns into why. why destroys constructed philosophies.
I thought you didn’t need love.you’re a liar, just like me. it’s too painful to be real. so i ask again and again: will you be interesting shit and stone exotic detroit beauty in disguise? is that how we do? that is how: we pretend.
why, you have been replaced with repetitious monologues and quick goodbyes!
fine. go. talking of Michelangelo.
if meaning exists, ‘why’ has to be answered. there must be something that the moonlight can’t hide, that Death can’t take. maybe these few sheets of Prokofiev and few moments of “a lifetime spent to touch you”?
brief candle, brief walk, faint color on a rooftop,
avoid mirrors. if reflection glimpsed, tears will fall like autumn leaves in Vermont. it is better this way. to create beauty so that others can discuss it, misinterpret it, or devour it, and ask for more. observe the breeze blow them leaves away. They too disappear.
my lips -you touched them… I trembled. at home I felt safe staring through the blinds. I talk too much and live too little. forgive me. I will return to you tomorrow. and tomorrow. until.
what for am i?
if meaning doesn’t exist, there wouldn’t be any need for further books on recorded history. no need for long conversations around the kitchen table. tea. balcony. b and m and r and l would not wakeup in the morning, brush teeth, and give life a fair shot. if end actually mattered everything would be over. now.
but the pines, jellyfish, ocean, milkyway
will not notice they exist without purpose.
300
pulsating irregular staccato
on the shore,
unzipped dress,
my naked breast, your gaze through sunglasses.
goodbye.
my loneliness.
feet kicking. lungs
holding.
End, Beginning, then Middle. what? why? because
unfulfilled dreams is where I will find you, share a pause. there is no way to know why i want, or what you think. what turns into why. why destroys your promises.
I thought you didn’t need love. you’re a liar, just like me. it’s too painful to be real. so i ask again and again: will you be interesting shit and stone exotic detroit beauty in disguise?
why, you have been replaced with repetitious monologues and quick goodbyes!
fine. go. talking of Michelangelo.
if meaning exists, ‘why’ has to be answered. there must be something that the moonlight can’t hide, that Death can’t take. maybe these few sheets of Prokofiev and few moments of “a lifetime spent to touch you”?
brief candle, brief walk, faint color on a rooftop,
avoid mirrors. reflection glimpsed- tears fall like autumn leaves in Vermont. it is better to create beauty so that others can discuss it, misinterpret it, or devour it. ask for more. observe the breeze blow them leaves away. i disappear.
my lips -you touched them… i trembled. at home. safe. staring. through blinds. I talk too much and live too little. forgive me. I will return to you tomorrow. and tomorrow. until.
what if meaning doesn’t exist? no further books on recorded history. no need for long conversations around the kitchen table. tea. balcony. b and m and r and l would not wakeup in the morning, brush teeth, and give life a fair shot. if end actually mattered everything would be over. now.
but the pines, jellyfish, ocean, milkyway
will continue not to notice they exist without purpose
250
irregular staccato
on the shore,
unzipped dress,
naked breast, your gaze.
sunglasses.
goodbyes.
loneliness.
feet kicking. lungs
holding.
End, Beginning, then Middle. why? why? because
unfulfilled dreams is where I will find you. no way to know why i want, or what you think.
I thought you didn’t need love. you’re a liar, just like me. it’s too painful to be real. exotic detroit beauty in disguise?
I have been replaced with repetitious monologues and quick goodbyes!
go. talking of Michelangelo.
if meaning exists, ‘why’ has to be answered. there must be something that the moonlight can’t hide, Death can’t take. maybe few sheets of Prokofiev and few moments of “a lifetime spent to touch you”?
brief walk, faint color on a rooftop,
stranger. a woman. her tears fall like autumn leaves in Vermont. it is better to create beauty so that others can discuss it, misinterpret it, devour it. ask for more. observe the breeze blow them leaves away. ignore others. then disappear.
my lips -you touched them… i trembled. at home. safe. staring. through blinds. I talk too much and live too little. forgive me. I will return to you tomorrow. and tomorrow. until.
no need for long conversations around the kitchen table. tea. balcony. b and m and r and l wakeup in the morning, brush teeth, and give life a fair shot. if end actually mattered everything would be over. now.
but the pines, jellyfish, ocean, milkyway
will continue not to notice they exist without purpose
200
irregular staccato
on the shore,
unzipped dress,
naked breast, your gaze.
sunglasses.
goodbyes.
loneliness.
feet kicking. lungs
holding.
why? why? because
unfulfilled is where I find you. no way to know why i want, or what you thought. you didn’t need to hold my hand. why? it’s too painful to be real.
why have i been replaced with repetitious monologues and quick goodbyes?
because talking of Michelangelo meaning exists.
you’ve answered something that the moonlight can’t hide, death can’t take. a lifetime spent to touch you.
what a joke.
brief walk, faint color on a rooftop,
stranger. a woman. her tears fall like autumn leaves in Vermont. it is better to create beauty so that others can discuss it, misinterpret it, devour it. ask for more. observe the breeze blow them leaves away. ignore. then disappear.
my lips -you touched them… i trembled. at home. safe. staring. through blinds. I talk much and live little. forgive tomorrow and tomorrow until there is no need for long conversations around the kitchen table. tea. balcony. b and m and r and l wakeup in the morning, brush teeth, and give life a shot. if end actually mattered everything would be over. now.
150
staccato
shore
unzipped dress
naked thighs
gaze
sunglasses
loneliness.
feet kicking. lungs
holding.
unfulfilled is what I find. no way to know why i want, or what you thought. could’ve died. why you held my hand. it’s strange to be.
have i been replaced with repetitious monologues and quick goodbyes?
talking of Michelangelo exists. something to hold. on.
brief walk on a rooftop,
her tears fall like autumn leaves in Vermont. so that others can discuss it, misinterpret it, devour it, ask for more. observe the breeze blow them away. ignore. then disappear.
my lips -you touched … i trembled. at home. safe. staring. blinds. I talk much and live little. tomorrow until there is no need for long conversations around the kitchen table. tea. b and m and r wakeup in the morning, brush teeth, and give life a shot. if end actually mattered everything would be over. now.
100
unfulfilled is what I know. why or what? thought could’ve died. it’s strange to be replaced with repetitious monologues and quick goodbyes. talking. of Michelangelo. something. anything. to hold. on.
brief conversation on rooftop.
tears like autumn leaves in Vermont. others discuss, misinterpret, devour, ask for more. observe the breeze blow them dead dried hopes around. lips touched. we trembled. talk too much, live little. until. there is no need for long conversations around the kitchen table. tea. coffee. eggs. kasha. b, m, and r wakeup, brush teeth, and give life a fair shot. results matter. everything is over. now.
50
I know
it’s strange to be replaced with repetitious monologues and quick goodbyes
x killed y because y belonged..
( observe breeze blow them dead)
… to the wrong group
long conversations around the kitchen table.
kasha.
b, m, and r wakeup, brush teeth, and give life a fair shot.