the hunted look, the haunted grace

To bed, to bed
Though the night is young.
As I lay down my head,
What dreams may come
To my turbulent mind 
In the gossamer night?
As my thoughts unwind
Mockingbirds take flight.
Their songs fill my ears
And I drift off to sleep
Quieted are my fears
In the Delphian deep.

Spent the weekend in Joshua Tree with my soulmate. Couldn’t help but reimagine my longtime fantasy of walking into the desert in a random direction…just walking and walking and walking…forever.

Spent the weekend in Joshua Tree with my soulmate. Couldn’t help but reimagine my longtime fantasy of walking into the desert in a random direction…just walking and walking and walking…forever.

Reflection

Rattlesnake Canyon

Thought about putting on a little makeup today. Looked in the mirror: two new wrinkles, right on each side of the bridge of my nose. Seriously?!

Bare-faced it is. Why bother?

Like the edge of a cliff

I’m on the verge of tears all the time - I could cry over anything and everything. The only reason I don’t is because there’s nothing in my life worth the effort or trouble of crying over.

(Source: browse.deviantart.com)

Why…

…is it the hardest thing in the fucking world to not compare yourself to other people?

I feel like this every day, all day.

I feel like this every day, all day.

"

You want a physicist to speak at your funeral. You want the physicist to talk to your grieving family about the conservation of energy, so they will understand that your energy has not died. You want the physicist to remind your sobbing mother about the first law of thermodynamics; that no energy gets created in the universe, and none is destroyed. You want your mother to know that all your energy, every vibration, every Btu of heat, every wave of every particle that was her beloved child remains with her in this world. You want the physicist to tell your weeping father that amid energies of the cosmos, you gave as good as you got.

And at one point you’d hope that the physicist would step down from the pulpit and walk to your brokenhearted spouse there in the pew and tell him that all the photons that ever bounced off your face, all the particles whose paths were interrupted by your smile, by the touch of your hair, hundreds of trillions of particles, have raced off like children, their ways forever changed by you. And as your widow rocks in the arms of a loving family, may the physicist let her know that all the photons that bounced from you were gathered in the particle detectors that are her eyes, that those photons created within her constellations of electromagnetically charged neurons whose energy will go on forever.

And the physicist will remind the congregation of how much of all our energy is given off as heat. There may be a few fanning themselves with their programs as he says it. And he will tell them that the warmth that flowed through you in life is still here, still part of all that we are, even as we who mourn continue the heat of our own lives.

And you’ll want the physicist to explain to those who loved you that they need not have faith; indeed, they should not have faith. Let them know that they can measure, that scientists have measured precisely the conservation of energy and found it accurate, verifiable and consistent across space and time. You can hope your family will examine the evidence and satisfy themselves that the science is sound and that they’ll be comforted to know your energy’s still around. According to the law of the conservation of energy, not a bit of you is gone; you’re just less orderly. Amen.

"

Reblogged from alyson-noele

Aaron Freeman, You Want A Physicist To Speak at your Funeral (via partyprofessor)

(Source: pratfall)

Quandaries of an ugly girl

Spend time doing my hair, putting on makeup, wearing cute outfits so I can look like an ugly girl who does all that…

OR

Skip the makeup, pretty hair and cute outfits and find something better to do with my time…