sam
@samuelheard
@samueIheard
"..when you assemble a number of men to have the advantage of their joint wisdom, you inevitably assemble with those men, all their prejudices, their passions, their errors of opinion, their local interests, and their selfish views." - Ben Franklin youtu.be/PJy8vTu66tE
an such time which we indicated unto the deity a thing which called is the 'chimichanga of doom' it was given us also with frozen stackes of water and we stayed there among the stones left in this mountain by those of the before times who live among the sea
my talk is about remembering seeing the moon in the daytime for the first time & being every bit of wtf dad this is some shit right here his laughter miles of water shifting lines the things i seek are out looking for me there are no boundaries etc how much darkness is there?
Mimi, do you think things will be better next year? Honey, remember the Little House on the Prairie episode where Mary's glasses fell off in the wagon wreck and focused the sun's rays on some dry grass and everything went up in flames?
We are spiraling through a place where knowing who to blame has become more popular than understanding what to do. But a great and comforting salvation, the SMART THING, is that non-action - literally doing nothing - is the only sensible action. The logic: facebook.com/717360143/post…
ABOUT THE FALLING: YOU MUST EMPTY THE PRODUCT OF HOURS Manytimes you thought you have tightened it full enough but actually not.
You lift the warm phone from its encasement. An encumbrance lifting from your shoulders; your hands and fingers go numb. A rushing wind engulfs the antechamber as the pressure inside your array equalizes. The ringing in your ears tunes down into silence. The black glass flickers.
when the Islay hits you like a bite of roast beef that you fished out of a margarita with toasted mesquite chopsticks dipped in spirulina powder
If you can get your kids to listen to an album front to back you’re doing a better job than we are. 2 songs in, skip to something else, check phone, take selfies, change to another record. I have failed. All is lost. I will now drink myself to sleep.
When the leaf blower a quarter of a mile away sounds like a lifetime of regret and crippling anxiety.
Galaxies are the fossil records of as many quantum blankets. Some hang in the loom. Others lay flattened; worn out carpets, each star threadbare and dying. You remember watching light shift from the ceiling to the wall. How it bent the corner. And you listened for a door to open.