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And sometimes time flies
like a hummingbird
beating like mad
just to hover in place

Yes time flies—
and time fleas
like the sugar in its blood
til it’s drained to vacant saltiness

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Rock

You were my rock, in that I felt you poking around between my toes longer than I could ignore, so I had to take you out.

You were my rock that I kept kicking down the road, until I got bored.

You were my rock, in that I was silly enough to think I could just paint a smiling face on you and call you my pet.

You were my rock, and I wanted a collection.

You were my rock, in that I looked at you and saw the work of art you would be once I chipped away the extra parts.

You were my rock, but I wasn’t much of a sculptor.

 

7 Fun Alternative Facts of the Day

  1. The term “WiFi” is actually an abbreviation for “wildfire,” a nod to the original form of wireless communication, smoke signals.
  2. It is estimated that 5-10% of tomatoes are actually fruits, while the rest are merely vegetables.
  3. Technically, a doctorate in philosophy certifies you to prescribe certain psychedelic drugs.
  4. Elvis actually died of old age. He was lying about his age on his resume throughout his career, and moisturized frequently.
  5. Feminism isn’t actually about burning bras anymore. They stopped that practice in 1990 due to concerns about greenhouse gas emissions, and switched over to bra recycling.
  6. The Greek mathematicians Pythagoras and Isosceles, both known for their work on triangles, had a brief and tumultuous love affair in 550 BC–the little known origin of the term “love triangle.”
  7. There is no Nobel Prize for Attendance, because Alfred Nobel’s wife cheated on him with a guy who always showed up.

Kill Time.

I’m just here to kill time, I say,
So just kill time with me.
Help me strangle it before it strangles us.
We need to stop its ticking pulse,
So we can play off the beat.

There were futures, but I said kill time with me now.
We’ll twist up its forward and back.
It won’t be easy, but when we’ve made it,
We’ll feel its grip grow limp, its gaze grow vacant,
Its march stumble to stop in the path.

I wanna kill time with you,
And bury it deep in the sand.
They might dig up the fossils one day, I guess,
And think up who did it, they’ll know, more or less,
But we’ve got timeless space ’til then.

So why not murder time together?

Philosophy Majors Run Tech Support (Part 1)

Customer: My computer has started running way too slow and I don’t know why.

Tech Support: How does one know what is “too slow?”

C: Well, when I tried to open my email client the other day, it stalled for–

TS: How can you be sure that it is the computer? Perhaps it is your expectations that are running too fast. Or your subjective perception of time that is running too slow.

And, of course, what defines the limits of appropriate speed? Perhaps this circumstance is an exercise in patience. Because what is true patience but the willingness to accept any arrangement of events in time as it appears, without pre-attachment to one possible arrangement over another?


C: I think I’ve been hacked, and I’m concerned about having my identity stolen. The other day when I was checking my bank–

TS: Identity theft? Do you see where you’ve been mistaken?

C: Um, well sometimes I use non-secure wi-fi, and–

TS: You believed that your identity was yours to take. That it was something fixed and distinct that you could outline and contain, never infliltrated by the other voices that cross it, never molding to its present surroundings, always distinguishable from the environment in which it grew.

Some say that property is theft. By that standard, the very act of claiming your identity as your property can only described as identity theft, stealing that persona away from the surrounding world which continuously recreates and reabsorbs it in the everyday microdynamics of social exchange.


C: I’ve heard this isn’t regular tech support, so I thought I’d ask: What’s the meaning of life?

TS: Um . . . *Checks manual* Have you tried turning it off and then on aga–wait, wrong page.