Listening is calibrating to another’s matrices
as they rotate spaces within their own novel, pulsing seas
In-formation lingualized, meant to in process realize
that through these turns and in these eyes
language implies another
Would you take a bullet for what you believe in?
Would you kill, or be killed?
Would you fight back against someone that is forcing you to fight back?
Or would you allow yourself to die, and fall into the embrace of a loving God?
Benefit of the Meta-Doubt
The Novelty of the Unintended
I'm Sorry to Notice
The Burden of Empathy
The Burden of Apathy
Entirely Impractical Mad Wizard Shit
Exist, Subsist, Persist
Paid Off and Comfortable
Averages and Absolutes
Denihilize (Denial Lies)
The Walls Should Be Thicker Here
Mostly Muscle Memory
Evidence of Intention
Christian with a Gun
A Fool's Devotion
Ridiculon Capital Fuckery, Inc.
We were thrown into an ocean of emotion. It never quite managed to convince us it was worth it, but it wasn't trying to. We kept pushing on. Our curiosity was morbid.
We knew there was the potential for more, despite our constraints. We knew there was something better we could build with what it gave us. But the world kept coming down around us. Our tools were weathered and destroyed. All we had left was the ability to gaze into each other's eyes. We cried into each other. We asked that silent, rhetorical 'Why.' We couldn't stop.
But we did. The shudders stopped anyway. The tears refused to come any longer. The light was different. The wind
I'm Galactic Prime, number-ornate,
dust-woven thermodynamicism incarnate.
Bathed in radiation and wrapped up in garments.
I see the nest of the hornet and wonder what God meant.
Words come out of my brain seemingly pre-ordained,
a matrix of matter combining matters
that make the rain feel phatter
and fatten the lessons that implode anyway
as each new day I am forced to realign my ideals
with the actual, factual mess of this consciousness.
Energy spires into wells, conspires into cells,
feels its way through the dark
until the parts of it that survive
the cannon-fodding of its own hapless nodding
manage to thrive.
It's doing all
(A collaborative short story by Tyler Jones and Cody Thomsen.)
No one could have guessed.
Our accrued body of geological knowledge had made some pretty safe assumptions about the Earth's core. We were right about some things -- that molten metal and rock was at the center of our planet, driving tectonic activity. It seemed entirely logical to assume that a swirling mass of magnetic metal was generating the gigantic and measurable magnetic field surrounding the planet. But as we sometimes learn in science, even the most plausible of assumptions can be wrong, and what we are left with are implications based on evidence we can pu
"Do you ever want to get out here?"
"You know there isn't a way out of here. This is all the here there is."
"But do you ever want to?"
"Everything is too easy, don't you think?"
"Isn't that what humanity has been striving for since the beginning? To invent, to make things easier?"
"We took it too far. We removed the work entirely. It seems like removing the work should motivate us even more, but it doesn't feel that way. Nothing feels motivating anymore."
"Not even love?"
He fell silent. He didn't know how to answer. It was true, though, he'd been mulling this over for awhile. Even love felt dull. He could be nothing
There was something unmanagingly deep about the way my dog sighed. The way he gave me a sidelong glance before doing so. The way he seemed to contemplate as I talked on the phone, knowing that he’d never understand. The way he perked and heaved himself up and bumbled over to me anyway when called, unquestioning in his trust.
That trust was total. It was earned by witnessing me – something so obviously, staggeringly capable – choosing to be gentle. That sigh communicated a distance between us vaster than the stars.
"Hydrogen is a light, odorless gas which, given enough time, turns into people." - Edward R Harrison
We are pieces in an unbroken chain that goes back to a scattered cloud of hydrogen, and the unthinkable amount of solar generations hence, each one a dice roll that peeked at our inevitability. For as sure as we exist to say so, we were in fact inevitable. It was only a matter of time.
And even before hydrogen. The quarks, the gluons. The tethers of energetic forces piecing themselves together from a voidless void perpetually filling itself with the only patterns capable of being patterns at all. An infinitude of pure potentiality.