this is a more or less actual dialogue

which took place in my office about that website where people can sign up to go living in Mars.

- Naaaa, I’m not going anywhere where cyanobacteria haven’t been yet.  So, first we send the girls up there and they go all like “photosynthesis! photosynthesis!” and then we can go.

- Why girls and not guys?

- Because girls are more efficient.

- Yeah, if we send cyanobacteria guys they’ll all be like “hey, let’s fight” instead of working to create an oxidized atmosphere.

- True.

- And then we get to Mars and choke and can’t grow vegetables.

- True.

 

I don’t even know where to start.

uneven odds

As the years move on
These questions they will shape
Are you getting stronger
Or is time shifting weight
No one expects you to understand
Just to live what little life
Your mended heart can

(Sleeping at Last)

springtime morning run

The warmth. The birds. The green. The blossoms.

The epic immunological battles inside my sinuses.

 

“Home is where you start from.”

my PhD in memes – chapter 1

INTRODUCTION

we were emergencies

Guido van der Werve - I’m sorry, but not surprised about the skylight. © roofvogel

We can stick anything into the fog
and make it look like a ghost
but tonight
let us not become tragedies.
We are not funeral homes
with propane tanks in our windows,
lookin’ like cemeteries.
Cemeteries are just the Earth’s way of not letting go.
Let go.

Tonight
let’s turn our silly wrists so far backwards
the razor blades in our pencil tips
can’t get a good angle on all that beauty inside.
Step into this
with your airplane parts.
Move forward
and repeat after me with your heart:

“I no longer need you to fuck me as hard as I hated myself.”

Make love to me
like you know I am better
than the worst thing I ever did.
Go slow.
I’m new to this.
But I have seen nearly every city from a rooftop
without jumping.
I have realized

that the moon
did not have to be full for us to love it,
that we are not tragedies
stranded here beneath it,
that if my heart
really broke
every time I fell from love
I’d be able to offer you confetti by now.

But hearts don’t break,
y’all,
they bruise and get better.
We were never tragedies.
We were emergencies.
You call 9 – 1 – 1.
Tell them I’m having a fantastic time.

This might as well be one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever read. Written by Buddy Wakefield, American slam poet. Figures: it really makes me wanna stage it out loud.

things I wasn’t supposed to tell myself so often

• What are you, 12?!
• Don’t laugh, don’t laugh, don’t laugh…
• I can’t do this. I can’t do this. I can’t do this…
• What would Han Solo do?
• Would my mom scoff or glare?
• I better check Disney Wiki for this.
• I forgot I wasn’t wearing sunglasses.
• Woman up!
• Was that flirting?
• Was that an innuendo?
• Maybe I was humming Backstreet Boys again.
• Look smug, they won’t figure.
• Did I already add salt?
• People are so dumb.
• People are so much cooler than me.
• I’ll remember this, no need to write it down.
• Dammit, how was it again?!

random unicorns

found one in Luxembourg:

 

primavera, finalmente

the EU competitiveness gap

The creators of the Maastricht Treaty made no provision for balance sheet recessions when drawing up the document, and  today’s “competitiveness problem” is solely attributable to the Treaty’s 3% cap on fiscal deficits, which placed unreasonable demands on ECB monetary policy during this type of recessions.

(Excerpt from here.)

Pois, foi o que eu disse.