Just because I have
moved on does not mean that I’ve
gotten over you
"It is hard to be human."
It’s hard to want to kiss you. You are pliable in all the best ways and strong in ways you can’t even see. Your mouth is small, and you taste like the air around the place where I was born and will die. You are lovely. I know that I have not always treated your skin with respect, but it is precious and cosmic and smells just sweetly.
It’s hard to want to hold you. I can remember what it’s like to sleep next to you and how perfectly we fit together, even though you wouldn’t think. I can feel my arm around you and your breathing. I want to touch you so you know that you are loved. No one will ever love you the way that I love you because I love you on every imaginable plane of existence. Even though sometimes it is hard to love you on this particular one, and I have not always done it with the reverence you deserve. That’s just because I can’t quite get the hang of being human.
It’s hard to know you are the best thing I will ever know. It makes my hands shake in the night when I am lying awake and wondering if you know how pretty are you, if you are feeling it as insistently as I am. It makes me cry to think that someday’s world will never know how soft you are or what it is to love you. I can’t imagine a life without you in it. I can’t imagine beauty without you as the essence of it. There is nothing else like you.
It’s hard to want you to be happy. If every moment of your life were filled with joy and love and oneness, it would be less than you deserve. You are Good. I want your every cell to vibrate with the knowledge of your own radiance. You give off so much, so much. Sometimes, I know, it is hard to be you. I worry that you will take in too much of the hurt of this world. I want to shield you from that, but I also want you to feel it. I want to feel it filtered through you, to feel everything filtered through you. It is a selfish want; life and pain and love and nothingness are so impossibly beautiful when they are filtered through you, and I want nothing more than to feel that always, everyday, forever. It’s hard to think that I may not be the Right Thing to make you happy.
It is hard to even know you. It’s hard to remember you, naked and stretching above our shared bed in freedom with the sun shining, and I swear I saw it sparkling on your skin when it recognized you were its very own child. I swear I heard the daylight laughing in your curls when it saw the way you came together. It’s hard to remember holding your shaking body in its pleasure and its tragedy, falling apart even as you secure the connections. It’s hard to know what I can bring to life in you.
It’s hard when you are far. Having human interactions with you is the problem. You are both the hive and the honey dripping. You are everything. When everything is far away from you, it’s hard. In the moonlight riding bikes, in the sunshine in the sand, in the mountains, in the forest, the way you can find something when anyone else would have found nothing, the bright of your eyes, the wanting. There is a whole world to experience, and you make me so acutely need to experience it with you.
It’s hard to be human, but oh— you make it easy.
Oh my god my favorite kind of tumblr personality. Instafollow.
people who complain about no jobs are people who are too lazy to get off the couch, put the bong down and go wait in the unemployment line.
I don’t even have WORDS for how stupid this chick is.
I keep trying to sugarcoat my acid tongue.
i say things like
"i can’t help but think that if i’d tried to love you
something very different might have bloomed,”
and he laughs bemusedly to appease me
but i guess everyone
to kiss someone else on the mouth sometime—
and that’s just fine.
I will keep my tongue intact. You are at home fostering ideas of trying to get yourself to hate me again. (I am ridiculous.)
Okay, wait. I still remember when you were sitting on the back porch, drunk. “I’m sure you know,” you said, “that I’m quite fond of you.” (I didn’t know. I never know.) There is loving someone, and then there is having a connection, then there is having a relationship, and there are many other things as well. I still remember when on a deflated mattress, it was the last time.
Interaction and proper ventilation. You will never find a more wretched specimen. It is not a toy.
I don’t know very much about the vibrations of anything. I don’t know much about consciousness or normal neural firings or fascination. I know about aborted plans and pregnant doubt. I know that I have spent more than half of my post-pubescent life wanting you. I am iridescent, but I will keep my tongue intact.
I’m not going to hold any illusions or anyone’s breath. I can’t help but wonder if some people are just like that, consistent. I’m not. There’s nothing on the other side of that door.
Negative buoyancy is a terrifying concept, for example. My understanding evolves, but it doesn’t necessarily grow. I don’t want to argue with anyone, ever. I can’t help that my voice gets louder when I am saying what I mean.
But your voice gets louder when you’re not quite sure. When you’re not quite behind what you are saying, you are putting up this front of volume to try to fool us into thinking there is meaning when there isn’t. I can’t stand the sound of my own voice, even when I am trying to be something else.
I am underwhelmed by so much and overwhelmed by so much. It’s a difference in volume, I think. If I were leaving, I would leave quietly.
Critiquing Bill Nye in the Creation debate was a pleasure, because it involved looking at how a guy who has his viewpoint figured out could’ve argued for that viewpoint a bit better.
Going after Ken Ham, though? That’s a whole different story. His arguments in the debate were so obtuse, so categorically illogical, that I actually found it painful to strain myself to pay attention to them. It’s much easier to tune out nonsense than it is to actually focus on it, pick it apart, and figure out why it’s wrong. The things that Ken Ham said in that debate weren’t arguments; they were the logical equivalent of line noise, something that the brain futilely tries to fit a pattern to despite there never having been a realistic ordering to it in the first place.
I’m getting a headache just writing the introduction.
In my piece about Bill Nye, I focused on reasons that his participation in, and arguments during, the debate were counterproductive and did not effectively advocate his cause. I did this with arguments from philosophy of science and from the goals of scientific education.
As we saw the night of the debate, Ken Ham is immune to the philosophy of science because he challenges one of its central principles: the assumption that inferred observations in the present are indicative of universal states in the past. I will explain why he is wrong about that, but the fact that he rejects this principle means I can’t validly engage the flaws in his argument from a purely philosophy of science standpoint.
Instead, I have to prove that he’s wrong using my knowledge of theology, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.
And you know what? He made it easy.
you come across my dash flexin n shit
and ima openly hate on you and your overly buff ass
fuck you strong niggas
instrument playing niggas
tattoo having niggas
fuck all yall.