everything out of belgium is sweet
little known fact:
I’m an expert at the art of subtle rejection. It’s actually one of the few things I’m proud of that relates to being a filthy liar.
There are maybe eight new things to learn. Really.
* Corners: bottom left corner is still Start, it’s just fullscreen and more adjustable now; top left is your recent app, top right makes the charms pop out, and bottom right shows the desktop (if your on the desktop; otherwise, it does the same thing the top right does).
* Edges: move your mouse down from the top left or up from the bottom left to get the multitasking sidebar (which is just a list of recent Metro applications); move your mouse down from the top right or up from the bottom right to get the charms sidebar.
* Charms: Search is universal search throughout your computer, Share is for sending data between apps (or rather, utilizing other apps in context) Start is self-explanatory, Devices is for sending information to devices (or managing devices, basically), and Settings is for figuring out how your computer works.
* Manipulating Metro apps by dragging from the top of them or grabbing them from the multitasking menu on the left.
* Snapping Metro apps (grab the top and pull the app to the left or right; you can pull Metro apps from the multitasking sidebar).
* Closing Metro apps works by grabbing the top and pulling the app to the bottom of the screen.
* Right click to show a contextual menu in a Metro app.
* If you have a touchscreen, you can swipe in from the edges to accomplish much of this (swipe from top to manipulate an app, swipe from left to get the multitasking sidebar, swipe from right to get the charms, swipe from the bottom to get the contextual menu).
Everything else isn’t wildly new; there are foibles, but these are the main bits. Took me like an hour to become comfortable with it all.
And hey, look at the shiny new things we’re getting because Microsoft adopted this new model! Universal apps, right? The opportunity for true desktop reinvention/improvement (graphical improvements, multiple desktops on monitors, maybe better font rendering, all the little things people have been asking for)?
identifying someone solely by race is dumb because: a) the racial stereotype does not exist and cannot function as a wholly descriptive example of a human and b) if it did exist as a single human, then identifying someone else as another one would be as flawed as asserting somebody *is* somebody else.
it is smothering blanket terminology that applies wholly to no individual.
it is ineffectual except by metaphor; identification of piecemeal-shared characteristics between this hypothetical model and a real person is possible, but it is never restrictive (you can do the same thing with rocks and people: “he was granite; resolute and unyielding” does not imply one is wholly granite). there is always more to a human than their race.
reading some of my old poems
I used to be such a sweetheart
A little sexier and I can’t help her
A little sexier and put her in the dresser
Cut her into pieces for her categorization
For once in her life, settle down to the basement
Throw a little honey in the fan, baby
Do not do this lightly or safe
Open the wires, return what is concave
Haven’t showered in days, cut corners
Bases replaced with the feeling of walking by graves
Throw a little milk in the fan, baby
I tucked my bed’s blanket in perpendicular,
Small mistakes leave me colder, unable
To cover myself fully while reclaiming
The little of me there is to recycle for
Another sun-tinged noon and late breakfast
With unwashed utensils, on half-outlined stencils
Held contraceptive to prose written in too-
Readily admitted better moments.
If I am to be fossilized
You are to be fossilized
And paleontologists are to find us
They will take an incorrect model
Of a 21st century human
From our jumbled remains
I can’t imagine they’d come away
From even a perfect preservation
Of us in bed without thinking
We were a mutant hybrid
Unified two in one octopus mess
A trick of nature’s inner fish
Sleeping the ages away.
good band name:
Vending machines that serve up pot have existed for some time, but up until now have only lived behind counters at medical marijuana dispensaries. Now, the very first weed vending machine that…
WE LIVE IN THE BEST OF ALL POSSIBLE WORLDS!
come to chicago pls
I am not a “numbers guy”
in the sense that someone
who is hunted by assassins
isn’t a “murderer aficionado”.
Numbers lurk in every archway
and they seem to have something
one two three four
A girl with the number thirty-
two tattooed on her jawline
winked at me across liquor bottles
the fourth time I bought a 6.25%
by volume alcoholic beverage and
several million bubbles with it. And I
tried to count them all as I pretended
this was just soda for mildly depressed
people in my room, but they always
blinked away just when I counted
on them to be there. I have done
this four times (and counting).
five six seven eight
I have been utterly convinced that
everything is comprised of numbers
so small they are secret and distant
ever since I began reading things
like “Eight people went with the
grace of God when a man who is
quantifiably not God took — for the
last time — the rifle he obsessively
disassembled and glued together with
hate to the street that felt most like a
firing range; this time he turned it on
a new type of target because his wife left
him six months ago and took the two kids.”
nine ten eleven twelve
The violence of this place seems to be made
of numbers born howling just as surely as
love is digits held together by a single force
of will, alone yet together, present in either a
parent and child walking home from the kid’s
first victory in soccer, or two newlyweds on one
of Havana’s numerous beaches, just like how
two is present in thirty two and twelve,
or how one is there in everything
(lonely as it may be). I see these figures
as inscrutable calculations that never work
out quite as expected, like the numbers you get
if you put a scorpion in a calculator instead of
a battery, because there’s always
a one you forget to carry: a brother you
argue with instead of comforting, a girl you
hug instead of kiss, a friend who brings up,
every chance he can get, the fact that
starvation is actually the best way to go
because of the fleet of endorphins your
body will release when it senses you’re
trying to opt out of doing the math.
thirteen fourteen fifteen
At sixteen, I wouldn’t have known what
to do with a girl’s number. At twenty one,
I don’t know what to do with a girl’s number.
At thirty-two, I might not know what to do with
a girl’s number. But the girl I inexplicably want
is the one you can’t add two lesser girls to get,
the one who won’t be another fucking blank
out of ten to remember. I wanna meet a girl
who doesn’t come to mind simply when I think
of eleven sigils in sequence. I’m thinking there’s
a girl like tau out there. Somewhere. She’s probably
drunk and brilliant and can kick my ass, which is
no mean feat. I hope she can help me out with
all this fuckin’ math homework.
It was hot and we took our clothes off
Sunlight glinting off lash marks
A fresh one is making its way
Down from heaven.
Your hair done up like a Hepburn,
Charming clicks and guttural squawks
Your patience eroding beneath
My unending assault.
Small worry in Topeka.
Bigger worry in your belly.
Turnstiles outside the district.
I check again for my ticket,
And I check again for my ticket
Both hands rooting through pockets,
If I trip, I will certainly fall.
Signs and I got waylaid, put away to dusk
Tucked in tight, I think I smell some must.
Cracks along the ceiling, naphthalene and choice
Built into the pipes with strychnine voice.
Man, we are not welcome;
The house, it heaves and hails.
Chips of plaster fall into the grails.
Smashed a cuckoo clock upon my last five meals
And wept like some train station widow in the era.
To watch the timeless chug from me
I don’t shower no more.
It took a couple minutes, but new smells gathered up,
Lifted their skirts and let me have enough.