“That night when you kissed me I left a poem in your mouth. You can hear some of the lines every time you breathe out. And it’s not the best thing I’ve written. I’m still working on my rhythm. My tongue gets tied sometimes, my throat gets dry, my hands start trembling. Honestly? The only thing I’ve mastered is how to write a really good ending. But I’m getting pretty tired of finish lines. So this morning I bought a needle and thread and started stitching you a sunrise. And the seams are tattered and torn cause I got the cloth from an old shirt I was wearing the first time this world started tearing me open, and I’ve been choking for my breath since then. Have you ever spent a whole year hoping the morning wouldn’t come? I’ve had a bandaid in one hand, and the other a gun. Something’s been screaming fire, kid, but something’s still screaming live. So baby, write me a bridge away from the storm”—(via doesitoffendyouu)
You want a physicist to speak at your funeral. You want the physicist to talk to your grieving family about the conservation of energy, so they will understand that your energy has not died. You want the physicist to remind your sobbing mother about the first law of thermodynamics; that no energy gets created in the universe, and none is destroyed. You want your mother to know that all your energy, every vibration, every Btu of heat, every wave of every particle that was her beloved child remains with her in this world. You want the physicist to tell your weeping father that amid energies of the cosmos, you gave as good as you got.
And at one point you’d hope that the physicist would step down from the pulpit and walk to your brokenhearted spouse there in the pew and tell him that all the photons that ever bounced off your face, all the particles whose paths were interrupted by your smile, by the touch of your hair, hundreds of trillions of particles, have raced off like children, their ways forever changed by you. And as your widow rocks in the arms of a loving family, may the physicist let her know that all the photons that bounced from you were gathered in the particle detectors that are her eyes, that those photons created within her constellations of electromagnetically charged neurons whose energy will go on forever.
And the physicist will remind the congregation of how much of all our energy is given off as heat. There may be a few fanning themselves with their programs as he says it. And he will tell them that the warmth that flowed through you in life is still here, still part of all that we are, even as we who mourn continue the heat of our own lives.
And you’ll want the physicist to explain to those who loved you that they need not have faith; indeed, they should not have faith. Let them know that they can measure, that scientists have measured precisely the conservation of energy and found it accurate, verifiable and consistent across space and time. You can hope your family will examine the evidence and satisfy themselves that the science is sound and that they’ll be comforted to know your energy’s still around. According to the law of the conservation of energy, not a bit of you is gone; you’re just less orderly. Amen.
Palestinians:We deserve the Gaza Strip, it is an important landmark to our people and we have lived here since the 1920's after spending years fighting for it. The UN has no right to make us leave.
Israelis:The UN awarded us the land, we lived here from before the Palestinians invaded in the 1900's and we had no safe place to live in Europe. We can be trusted better than Palestine to control the water and also the Holy Land, Jerusalem.
“It’s one thing to think it. It’s another to actually blog it. TOO CREEPY.”—Sometimes the gremlins in my brain pop up at a useful time and stop me from making an ass of myself on the internet. Keep it up, guys. (via pygmypuffs)