texting

As soon as Neil is out of the shower, he texts Peter. You up? he asks.And the reply comes instantly:For anything.

my phone beeped. I took it from my handbag and sawa text message from Dixie.It read: that man is sizzling HOT HOT HOT!!!!truth! I texted back.omg! his accent! his body! im in lurvi noticed!hes a bilfwtf???boss id like 2 fuk! I snorted out loud with laughter.Heller flicked his cold eyes to me.I wrote: norty girl!ooh! does he like norty asian girls? Another involuntary snort from me.__s Chalmers,_ he warned.gotta go. my new daddys strict, I texted.spankz for u 2nite!lolz! only if im lucky! c u soon xx- heller 1

Sometimes I text the "wrong" person ... on purpose. Just to start a conversation.

We had been texting for exactly thirteen minutes, asking random questions, trying to figure out if we knew any of the same people, or if we liked the same kind of music--the usual interview process you go through when you're trying to get the job as boyfriend.

Abstract conversations are my favourite, for they unviel true convictions.

You know when you send a text message to someone and you don't get a response right away, you feel depressed? You send a text message to someone you really like and you get a response right away you feel happy? You feel happy, the body, it creates the chemical dopamine, the dopamine, it goes through your blood and you become addicted to that dopamine rush, and you associate that dopamine rush with the happy feeling of receiving the text, and that's why you got people sending 3,000 fucking text messages a day, right, we're not even paying attention to what we're saying anymore it's just like a, like a morphine drip, right, it's like a dopamine drip! HAPPY BUTTONS! HAPPY BUTTONS! HAPPY BUTTONS! TIME TO PLAY WITH THE HAPPY BUTTONS!

Alford, Massachusetts: Mandy stood there with her old Nikon film camera, snapping photo after photo of the rural landscape. It was difficult to describe the wonderful feeling of there not being a single cell phone in sight; the only modern technology around was the faint blue glow of a cathode ray tube television in the window of a nearby house, and a few cars and trucks parked in crumbling gravel driveways. She was allowed to see this place, one that would likely be ruined by the 21st century as time went on_ places like these were extremely hard to find these days. A world of wood-burning cookstoves and the waxy smell of Paraffin, laundry hung out to dry, rusty steel bridges over streams that reflected the bright blue skies, apple pies left out on windowsills_ a world of hard work with very little to show for it aside from the sunlight beaming down on a proud community. And Mandy wanted to trap it all in her Kodak film rolls and rescue it from the future.

Never presume to know a person based on the one dimensional window of the internet. A soul can__ be defined by critics, enemies or broken ties with family or friends. Neither can it be explained by posts or blogs that lack facial expressions, tone or insight into the person__ personality and intent. Until people __et that_, we will forever be a society that thinks Beautiful Mind was a spy movie and every stranger is really a friend on Facebook.

How promising today's generation is. They can whip out their cellular phones like sheep, instantly take a million digital photos of their cat and then just delete them. But I'd like to see these kids try to artfully use a traditional film camera or make a super 8 home movie. Traditional film takes integrity, nostalgia, effort, patience and imagination - things that the 21st century has very little of. Everything these days, even a superior medium like film photography with an extensively vivid history and an iconic meaning, is becoming disposable in this age.

What__ not so great is that all this technology is destroying our social skills. Not only have we given up on writing letters to each other, we barely even talk to each other. People have become so accustomed to texting that they__e actually startled when the phone rings. It__ like we suddenly all have Batphones. If it rings, there must be danger. Now we answer, __hat happened? Is someone tied up in the old sawmill?___o, it__ Becky. I just called to say hi.___ell you scared me half to death. You can__ just pick up the phone and try to talk to me like that. Don__ the tips of your fingers work?

People who have so much of their personality invested in the Internet can__ really survive as whole individuals without it.

She texted me 'I love you.'I texted back 'I love you too.'She then texted me 'I love you more.'And I smiled reading her message and texted in reply 'No, I love you more.'Then she texted me 'I love you infinity power infinity power infinity into infinity.'I had no words to reply and smiled looking at her text!

I hardly have a typo when I am drunk and texting! But, I will have enough typos when I am emotionally charged with love, lust, poetry and hope, and texting!

My phone buzzed in the center console again."What's happening with this thing?" Dad grabbed it."Dad, really?" I didn't want him to see the texts between Dash and me. Awkward."He says he knew it."The traffic opened up, and I went right on Sunset. "Please don't scroll.""Knew what?""I have no idea, and I'm driving. So forget it for

WHY did she do this? She was a terrible drunk texter. All the things she wanted to say to people during the day came out at night, like a vampire.

1. You left a multipack of Mars Bars on top of your wardrobe. Can I have one? Dad x2. I had three. Hope that's OK. Dad x3. I'm just going to have one more. Dad x4. Harriet, your Dad's made himself sick on an entire multipack of Mars Bars again. Please don't leave sweets where we can find them. A x

Lucas: I wanted to talk to you after class, but you disappeared.Me: I have another class right after. One of those profs who stops talking, stares at you and waits until you get to your seat if you're late.Lucas: I would probably just walk to my seat even slower. ;)

You are the illness I will never cure. You are the poem I will never write. You are the thought I will never finish. You are the text I will never read.