Thursday, March 7, 2013

In Which I Am Happy

Sometimes I sit in class and take notes on basic threats to internal validity in psychological testing and their solutions and only think about beauty because how am I supposed to think of anything else when the sun is just on the other side of this cinderblock?
(Sunlight always births run-on sentences.)

Weeds are flowers, too, once you get to know them. 
- A. A. Milne

Extremes almost always, in terms of probability, regress to the mean.  Weeds are flowers, flowers are weeds, and both are beautiful.  People think beauty is an outlier, but I think it's the mean.

I'm humming some song by Vampire Weekend and the girl in zipped-up boots with decorative laces sitting next to me is trying to ignore me and I should be stressing about inferential statistics but it's Winds-day and I'm going to go home and drink honey in my tea.

Friday, January 25, 2013


My mind has
Fallen in love
With the crazy and
Beautiful idea of
A perfect infinity

Doesn’t matter
Because every way
My feet fall my eyes are
Cast up and finding the stars.

The sky
And the stars
Are infinite
In scope and number
Then wouldn’t the heavens
Be ablaze with burning gas?

Darkness spell
“Ex nihilo”
When light is always
Sparked with verdant effort
And tracked down by moths and souls?

My mind flies
Up and on and
Out my body aches
And sinks and falls down stairs.
I’m stuck with lurpy foal feet.

Can my
Finite self
Be infinite?”
Is a problem for
I’m distracted by dark skies.

All I mean
To say is that
I’m wishing I could
Giraffe my neck closer
To the star-fire blazing sky.