sure was cold last night. good thing we had trash to burn for warmth
The number of “likes” for this feminist’s book-burning party is astounding.
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How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee for the swish and breeze and chill
My skin can feel, when sun has scorched my will
For the end of Winter and ideal Climes.
I love thee to the level of a thermostat’s
Rock-bottom low, by fans and phase conversion.
I love thee coolly, as men strive for Night;
I love thee calmly, as they turn from Light.
I love thee with a heat, so quickly drowned
In rain’s sweet downpour, and o’er evaporator cores.
I love thee with a love that never burns
With your old vents, —- I love thee for the leap,
Of faith in winds that give me life! —- and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after sleep.
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A few days ago I woke up in the ICU at the hospital. My eyes opened to the cold, white ceiling constructed of projecting geometric shapes. And my first thought was that I wanted to go home.
The first thought I remember ever having was that I wanted to go home.
The problem is that home doesn’t exist unless you create it, or unless someone creates one for you, and I’ve never had that experience. It is as abstract a concept as infinity or eternity. Or death. Yet it is still my first thought and my last: I just want to go home.
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You held the key to an invisible box;
You did not know it, perhaps?
What was inside, I cannot tell you;
I did not know it, perhaps?
You threw it away without caring;
But I felt it when you did.
The pain was unexpected;
Your power, you felt it then.
I was unsure how to react;
And then I remembered… that I know how to forget.
It’s been a long time since I’ve been me.
Best coffee table ever.
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I have become a hollow shell,
A body where a being used to dwell.
Things that seemed real just months ago,
Are now mere shadows on the snow.
No room for passion or delight,
Just boredom, apathy and fright.
The die is cast, the pattern set,
But I’ll no longer take the bet.
From human eyes I always hide,
A random pixel cast aside.
BODIES & SKULLS
The New Cruelty is a unique creative production agency based in New York. - “A series of still-life images featuring preserved human skulls, bodies and various internal organs.”
The Oujia Board Slide Guitar by Nicholas Holcomb. A perfect blend of the idiotic and the artistic.
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