Lie: content without accuracy.
Tautology: accuracy without content.

XP: do not feed to Cyclops

My laptop has an uncanny ability to detect the onset of nice days on which to stop working, probably to try to force me to go outside, unaware that (a) it’s a laptop so I could take it outside if it were working and (b) I then have to spend time inside dealing with tech support.

"Come take a look…"
Go and seek.
"…Don't really care who ends up getting hurt…"
Desperate.
"…Judgment versus instinct…"
Think I should. Feel I should.
"…Answer me this / Yes, all I have is questions…"
How?
"…Can't slip away and hide behind a false truth…"
Tried both twice.
"…Still standing here now…"
Standing still.
"…Did I see you laughing / Yeah, funny, it's not me…"
Tried both twice.
"…A sign that I'm still me / I'm still breathing…"
Standing, still.

What goes around comes around to Mudd MPR at 9pm freely tonight.

Nonfiction : indicative :: fiction : subjunctive

“Marching into the syncopated…”

The world is getting colder.

“…It’s all we know…”

Sleep schedule.

Fitfully and agonizingly hunting for a voyage.

“Like the ravenous Cyclops, snark sees with one eye. And then it complains that other people lack dimensions.”

“American Gods” portrays immigration as culture, religion as deception, but also fate as manipulation. Its narrative failings complement its philosophical heights, but also vice versa. For both religion and literature require some degree of suspension of disbelief; the intersection is appropriately mythology.

“Things I’ve Learned from Women Who’ve Dumped Me” is 4 parts comedy, 1 part wisdom. That doesn’t factor in the fraction of the essays which unfortunately fail, nor the percentage discount for purchasing it.

Breakup breakdown.

I would have given her Sims2 if I loved or hated her more, to either present her something she wanted or to ruin her life. But instead, I just didn’t care.

Categorical imperative.

How about, no one gets put in concentration camps?

When I think about the future I live in the past.
When I don’t think about the future I live in the present.

Making lists of over 64 things.

I was going to put ‘Tell the truth’ but I didn’t have enough space in that column.
Probably for the best.

Rec over.

A full blueberry pie sat in a tin next to a white saucer holding a crumbled last slice of apple, like a postsecret whose caption would read, “I don’t actually want to be a lawyer.”.

Having had convenient excuses for why I haven’t any of the past years, I finally attend inventory, capping a long day with a session of taking stock, correcting counts, and free pizza.

All productions of Hamlet differ because all depend on the portrayal and the perception of madness.

“Can you take a 15 minute break to help me bring some dead plants into the Hotchner?”
What? I can’t hear you.
“Are you at the bookstore? Can you bring some dead plants into the Hotchner?”
Bring some what?
“Dead plants into the Hotchner. Nevermind.”
No, wait, I can help- I just can’t hear what you’re saying. It sounds like dead plants.
“I am.”
Ah. I’ll be right out. Where are you?
“Chicago.”

“Hello, darkness…”

Silence is a form of communication.

“…The sound of silence…”

“Brother and sister, together we'll make it through…”

Blindsided at 4pm on some idle Tuesday.

“…They are the best link to your past and the people most likely to stick with you in the future…”