I have this theory that men have a miner's instincts. A miner does his job, goes home, then the next day goes to the end of the mineshaft and keeps digging. Goes home, comes back, goes to the end of the mineshaft, and keeps digging, every day going farther and farther. Likewise, when it comes to women men tend to get as far as they can, go home, come back, go to where they left off and keep pressing farther. It's a terrible habit, because women instinctually...
To be a good guitar hero, it's important to understand how the game works. For instance, do you know how the game decides how many stars you get on a song? It actually has very little to do with your accuracy--it has to do with your multiplier. When you go to "more stats" after playing a song, you will notice that it gives you an "average multiplier." If this number is below 2.0, you'll get three stars. If it's over 2.8, you'll get five stars. Anything in betw...
Dear Friends, Thanks to "X-Men," "Heroes," and other sci-fi works that have worked their way into popular culture, the potential of genetic variation is practically a mainstream idea. I acknowledge this, and also that this e-mail is going out to a group of intelligent individuals. Having said that, please bear with me as I describe the concept briefly to set the backdrop for this e-mail. DNA, the "blueprint of life," is a little unstable. Because instructions...
I always thought you were immune to that question. Wasn't it enough, looking into your eyes as I did? But here is your answer, if you must have it: What is beauty? Is it pure sexual attraction? Because I swear there is no alluring stranger, no old flame, no celebrity crush that I desire as I desire you. Is it some arbitrarily magical combination of features? Because since I have known you, you have been the measure by which all works of art are measured. ...
Written by Quin Browne They kill the sweet baby cows before their eyes turn brown, you know. Pale fleshed, silly creatures, blindly trusting, going into the dark place with the filtered light, the muffled voices, growing complacent, coaxed by soft hands that touch with gentle movements, moving forward from one place to the other, no stress, content with the attention received. Little innocents, who walk into a room to see what is there, sensing no danger, held down, forced into an uncomfor...
It must be the music, shaping my soul like the river carves the canyon. The melody to bait my passion, drawing out longing and desire, stoking my hidden fires until my surface warms and flickers. The harmony to obscure the two-dimensionality of fervor, to breathe life into monosyllables, to calm the scattered remnant of my rational mind. The chord progressions an all-to-literal analogy for the cycles of my error; there is no progress, only repetition, for I find myself willing to face old ...
I stood over her body, rage and terror stealing the breath from my lungs. Her clothes were caked with mud, her cheeks mascara-streaked with tears of panic, the small crimson blotch too insignificant to be the cause of death. A single bullet guided by fate, front to back with the briefest rendezvous at the heart. Her face paled as blood trickled onto the railroad tie and down the gravel embankment. “They probably just meant to scare her.” Alex was standing behind me, grief etching lines...
Ideas never come to me fully formed. I'm a comedian that only remembers the punchline, a musician that only remembers the final chord. That's all I've ever had: conclusions. For me, writing isn't really about expression. It's about connecting the dots between where I am and what I've already concluded. And, in case you were wondering: yes, that's what I'm doing right now. This entire e-mail is based off a single thought that flashed through my head: "conclusions are all I have." It's...
According to my brand of existentialism... There is no such thing as reality or illusion. That which has been perceived has reached the height of reality. There are other people besides me, but they are no more "real" than chimeras. However, I acknowledge that those people significantly impact the reality that I perceive, and so I ascribe to them especial importance among the things I perceive. "Reality" is in fact a set of perceptions shared by myself and other perceptions of mine: th...
Right. Wrong. The words that taught me that I'm an idealist at heart. I am a poet, well-associated with shades of gray; but even so, I find that moral assessments force me to place every action into one of those two categories: Right. Wrong. Around midnight I was struck with that frantic energy that I have decided is a symptom of hug deficiency. I got up and filled a cup with ice, and faced a very simply decision. Water. Orange soda. I'm twenty years old--this should not be an issu...
This one goes out to all the articles I began but never finished. Sometimes you give it all you've got but it just isn't enough. This one goes out to all the loves that almost happened. They're spread across the nation and the world by now, and (but maybe this is a coincidence) so am I. This one goes out to everybody still looking for their place in the world. "Lost" may not be the best place to be, but it's certainly not the loneliest. This one goes out to the tears that dropped ...
It's about time. She's been my best friend for years; I trust her absolutely, and I weight her opinions more heavily than my own. A week ago tonight, I told her that I wanted more than friendship. I told her to think and pray about it for as long as she needed, and to call me when she had an answer. I guessed it would take six days. I was off by two days. When friends lay down big ultimatums like this, it's an unspoken rule that the two have to be incommunicado for the duration of the...
"Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.." "By faith we are saved." I guess it's common knowledge that faith is a big deal among Christians. But I have dear friends who are atheists and agnostics, and I truly believe that unless they are on the path to Hell. When they ask me, "how can you know that there is a God?," how can I possibly explain faith? And why didn't God, who (I assume) knew that there would be people that work mostly logically, offer ...
Some things just stick with me. Words and phrases strike with such force that they compress the stuff of my mind around them. Others are simply received, as if I was born with a crater just the size and shape of that idea. Usually it is serious. I remember being very young and very furious with my mother. She had done something to offend me, and she was apologizing. In self-righteous fury, I turned to her and said, "sometimes sorry just isn't good enough." She replied, "sorry will always...
Like any young philosophy buff, I've been confecting definitions of "love" since I was twelve. I've run the gamut of cliché pedantry and have even landed myself in the unenviable position of feeling enlightened by those arrogant tidbits of sophistry that masquerade oversimplification as epiphany. “Love is a verb,” I read; “Love is an action.” A couple years later, I label that idea twenty-five percent correct. Sure, love is an action; but it’s more than that. It’s a lifestyle. Love is...