Unrequited

I LIED !!!! GET PRANKED

POST BELOW ME GET FUCKING WET

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.

From ancient to abstract, this one sure got around.

Goodbye to  All That “When I first saw New York some instinct, programmed by all the movies I had ever seen and all the songs I had ever heard about New York, informed me that things would never be quite the same again.”

On Keeping a Notebook A beautiful meditation on keeping notes that explores the heart of the writing process. 

Why I Write Exploring the art of writing, and what it means to the author.

Holy Water “Some of us who live in arid parts of the world think about water with a reverence others might find excessive.“ 

After Life In the aftermath of her husband’s death, Didion meditates on the fickle fragility of life.

Fixed Opinions, or The Hinge of History A startlingly insightful account of the ideological aftermath of 9/11.

The Women’s Movement “To those of us who remained committed mainly to the exploration of moral distinctions and ambiguities, the feminist analysis seemed a particularly narrow and cracked determinism.”

The Santa Ana “ There is something uneasy in the Los Angeles air this afternoon, some unnatural stillness, some tension. What it means is that tonight a Santa Ana will begin to blow…”

On Self Respect “Once, in a dry season, I wrote in large letters across two pages of a notebook that innocence ends when one is stripped of the delusion that one likes oneself…" 

Some Dreamers of the Golden Dream The dark side of the American Dream. 

To: America

From: Republicans

SUBJECT: Fuck you.

Dear America,

Per our previous email.

Signed,