someone somewhere in my house dug this up – its a massive, thick, bound mass of paper from my first semester of uni. powerpoint notes, tutorial exercises and solutions, tutorial participation exercises and each lecture. yea. so its thick. it pretty much forms the crux of everything that ill learn in “data analysis for Business” at QUT.
Uni isnt for everyone, it can easily be said. how many of us though, were forced into it by (what could mostly be referred to as) “social stigma”. More still, how many of those people spent years, minutes, hours and other values of (precious) time and dollars, francs, dinar, rupee and peso (as well as other variances of currency) finding out that tertiary education simply wasnt the right option.
bit like sheep following sheep following sheep who are following sheep somewhere shit.
…this veritable textbook and its big blue cover were however, completely defaced. across the top of the page in huge block letters read the words: IN CASE OF FIRE THROW THIS IN while id managed to cover the entire front cover with words, weaving them in and out of the text that told me what it was, what it entailed, what faculty it belonged to etc.
its funny how convoluted it is. a power-spew of thoughts, demolishing an entire page of importance. clearly, i wasnt paying attention
“alien crop circles times two without horseradishfoetusparsniproses providing turtlenecksleevelesspinkribboneddenimjockthongarsenuggetskinwarbleaadvark. this will result in nothing that something can do everything about when anything it doesnt do will mean that it hasnt had what it regurgitated in the midst of scraping its car from a papercut. while all this is going on, the brown leaves of the alligator turn on them and cause a power failure without interruption of its concluding sentence or passed-participle-farmerindroughtlookalikebarnyardscarecrow – not! Effecting its what if but mayshouldneverwillprobablydidntoverthat!
too many times has the fork twisted and burrowed so furiously, scorning those that shine with its droplets of melted honey.
once too often will it remember its forgetfullness. dull too.
we now leave, but never touch the hair, sliding our legs into the antechamber and fixing them to the wall, peeling the skin from them to eat them and point ponderously at holes in the cheese. indeed, the razor blade wasnt too sharp and the beard still flourished, wobbling and flaunting itself in seduction of its purple faced noodlestickerbeakphone. no longer able to walk, if is together reaped. fossilized in behind its morbidscarredwreathegg. – arms, legs,14? – it doesnt make any difference that it is different from those that it differs fromdifferently.