our sun will decay in a coda while the concert pianist breaks his hand onstage

if i were a piece of salt i wouldn't have to go home this christmas

“the wind slowly shakes things that cast fluttering shadows...they don't know they're from shirts, and they impalpably flutter in hushed harmony with everything else. At death, the thing that casts the shadow withdraws, and metabolism ceases. Material form breaks down; it ceases to be a dissipative structure in a very localized area, sustained against entropy by cycling material in, extracting energy, and expelling waste. But the form that ordered it is not affected."