Girl Alarm ClockGirl Alarm Clock12 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the sun sets unasked
and rises again without the
But I do not
girl alarm clock
timed in the heat of dreams
that make moan and flutter
quiver of over-warm flesh
smooth inseam of thigh
wake me in the morning
she just barely breathes
pull at her eye strings
make short lashes quiver
a back that reaches for me
while fingers fetal curl
towards the face
and her lips twitch
on hot mornings
I watch her naked sleep
Isnt that a little sillyIsnt that a little silly12 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
It\'s all I ever see anymore; hate hate hate. \"I hate furries and anime.\" \"I hate people who flame me.\" \"I hate those stupid groups that +fav everything.\" What is this? What is the payoff of this?
\"It\'s my freedom of speech to say that I hate something. I am free to hate whoever I want,\" you say. Well, I disagree. Hatred is not freedom, not at all. To hate is to close our minds, fists and arms. When you hate, you are not allowed to listen to the other side, not allowed to reason, not allowed to think outside of a single-minded thought: I must hate. Indeed you are bound by hatred, not free in any way because of it. What sets you free is to play, to think, to love. One of your favorite hobbies seems to be to make fun of those who leave spelling-impaired comments on an image with one message: I love this.
\"Of course. I hate those people.\" Why? \"They\'re stupid.\" But happy. And as long as they are happy and cause no harm, why spend so much effort to loathe them? Why not, inste
ProbabilityProbability9 years ago in General More Like This
The professor held out his hand, in which rested a single silver coin.
"Now," he said, "If I flip this coin one thousand times—flip, flip, flip—and every time I come up tails, what do the rules of probability say my chances of getting heads will be on the next flip?"
A girl raised her hand.
"Very good!" the professor said, bouncing the coin in his palm. "Who's to say that the next attempt won't come up heads; or the next thousand, for that matter?"
A boy raised his hand.
"But what if probability can't factor in? What if there's actually something wrong with the coin that makes it keep ending up that way?"
"Ah," the professor said, closing his palm. "You never question the coin. Math can't fix the coin."
BurnBurn12 years ago in Other More Like This
Distilled kiss wishes drip from my tongue,
a sad saline-free guarantee;
I've been panting too long.
Post-modern pop at low volume
strains to exhibit depression.
Lonely, I critique its heat:
"It's too blank to burn yet
too empty to freeze;
lukewarm--not without you."
Tenor solo track now, air conditioned,
"A dehydrated display of pacifist sorrow."
I quench with thoughts of your humidity
and a futile frozen frappe; gospel kicks in
as I softly speak flames, saving graces:
"I'll step in the water with you soon."