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the truth

millennial falcons went extinct from the wild in 2010. mainstream media ignored this. the only remaining millennial falcons are being held in captivity. wake up sheeple.

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an average paradox

an average paradox references the possibility for an average of a set to represent nothing in the set.

the set of [1,1,1,2,2,3,7,7,7,9] has ten numbers with a sum of 40 - an average of 4 which isn't seen in the set, if a number had to equal the average none would be average.

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ancient memes

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tree work

an average tree will filter around 260 pounds of carbon dioxide into oxygen each year.

i'm standing at the base of a pine tree in a three acre wooded lot on the shores of Lake Tahoe. for the past four weeks I've been working with an arborist and camping by the lake. a lit cigarette absentmindedly hangs from my lips as I wait for the sawyer to cut down our first tree of the day.

he pull-starts the gasoline powered chainsaw and revs the machine to warm it up. bar oil lubricates the chain and drips onto the soil as he plans his first move. once ready he raises the saw to the trunk and as the chain touches the tree - saw dust fills the air like snowflakes in a storm. a thirty degree wedge is removed from the tree about three feet up from the base. I take a step to the side as he begins the back-cut that will fall the tree forward.

just like every other tree this season the pine makes a light swishing sound before slamming into the ground. branches break from the trunk as dirt and flakes of pine needles rise to meet the saw dust in the air

in a practiced order we disassemble the grounded tree into manageable pieces and stack it by our wood chipper. earphones muffle the noise of the chipper's diesel engine as we load stacks of wood into the feed box. a metal disc not unlike a cheese grater turns the organic air filter into chips of wood roughly the size of a quarter and spreads them evenly across the lot. dust and debris float above the newly made layer of ground cover and sticks to the sweat on exposed skin.

as we finish with the first tree of the day and move on to the next my co worker confronts me:

"don't smoke on the job - I don't want to breathe bad air"

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a fable

a father tells his child over the morning table "tonight i will explain the birds and the bees, because you are old enough and every child should know such things." while the father works the curious child sets out to learn first hand about birds and bees to impress the father that night.

the child aproaches a bee hive by the river and calls out "may i ask what is important about you and also birds?" The bees were busy with work but the queen emerged from her nest to respond "bees work hard, make great hives and sweet honey. because of us flowers can spread their pollen and make seeds. without us there would be no flowers or sweet things in the world. birds eat bees and attack our nests. they are the worst thing for the world" at this the queen proudly retreated into the hive.

while considering what the queen said the child climbed an oak tree until reaching the crows nest. once there asking the crow "what makes birds and bees important"

the crow laughed and cocked it's head to the side several times before answering. "birds travel long distances and see many things. birds eat berries and fruits and spread seeds. without us there would be no plants or fun in the world. if you get close to a bee they will sting you. they are the worst thing in the world." then the crow flapped his wings and took off.

the child wondered how birds and bees could bring so much good yet be considered the worst by each other. as the sunsets the child sits waiting for father to return from work. greeting him first chance. the child tells his father of everything learned that day listening to the birds and bees. he guesses that we need both birds and bees but wonders why they are so different.

this upsets the father who had put much though into what he would say to the child. losing his temper the father yells at the child "if birds and bees are so smart why don't they raise you" with that he banishes the child from family ground.

in the rain that night the child cries to the sky "Why could I not let good things come with time?"

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lauren was tired and nervous. She hated confession and had always avoided it. it felt like her last words had stolen the life and energy from her as they left her lips. somehow she felt better though - as if she had cleaned a wound that would begin the healing process finally. still, she anxiously fidgeted in her seat knowing it was the priest's turn to talk. afraid of what he might say she fixed her gaze on a small ceramic figure located towards the front of his desk.

"we all have our faults. no one is perfect." the priest warmly replied, then after a pause and with a bit more distance he added, "i've been working my way through a bit of a temper problem lately. no one escapes sin"

Lauren didn't know how to respond - although she knew he was trying to comfort her so she smiled weakly waiting for him to continue.

leaning forward across the desk the priest had a sharper tone to his voice. not loud, just sharp. pronouncing everything in a particularly short way. "just the other week - i was invited to a BBQ at one of our member's houses. i won't say which one as I don't want to speak ill of a fellow follower. either way, they had hamburgers but no buns. just white bread to use for buns. regular bread. can you believe that?"

lauren wasn't sure if she was meant to answer or if this was a parable of sorts. After a moments hesitation she offered, "it's the same thing really - still as good. buns are just a name they give some bread."

the priest slamed his hand on the desk hard enough to rattle the ceramic statue that held Laurens gaze earlier. "they are not the same" the priest erupted. His next words came slower. "a bun is made specifically for a hamburger - a piece of bread is just a flat piece of bread. how can anyone say they are the same thing."

lauren was still tired and feeling exposed from her confession - now she was confused and uncomfortable over the response. she didn't have an idea what to say so she quietly asks "if that's all father - i should return to my family."

the priest pauses with an undeniable look of disgust on his face. "im sorry" he says finally. "i should not have lost my temper, may we both work towards lessening the burden of our sins. have a nice evening Lauren"

as a shaken lauren closes the door the priest fixes the ceramic statue on his desk mumbling "bread is for sandwiches."

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poetry reading

a man takes to the podium slowly. his black pants melt into his black shoes and then into the black clothes of everyone in the audience. all six people in the audience - dressed mostly in black. they're gathered in a coffee shop for open mic spoken word.

finally the speaker is ready. just as the murmur of small talk over the last poet fades this new one begins:

"don't have a picnic anywhere around me.
i chatter box about everything I see
i get all my food for free from a tree.
this might be the worlds first...
squirrel poetry."

the man pauses and leans away from the podium. he shuffles his feet nervously on stage for a moment, maybe as part of the act - it's hard to tell.

slowly the listeners begin snapping their fingers, quickening the pace until it sounds like rain falling on a tin roof. as their fingers grow raw and ache they find the words to agree quietly amongst each other about how pleasant their ears feel. the poet takes a hint and pulls himself back into the microphone to oblige his new friends with an encore.

after clearing his throat.

"i like bitches and I like butts.
i dig holes when I'm stuck in a rut.
greedy eater everything makes the cut.
perhaps the worlds first..."

"poetic mutt."

the audience - already bruised from their first reaction merely weep in their chairs. the beauty overwhelms some and turns into agony as they realize they might never feel this good again. before the listeners can react further the man walks briskly off stage.

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Inside of a large corporate warehouse a man, his supervisor and their boss handle business


man: i've an idea.

supervisor: isn't that above your pay grade?

man: maybe you could have it for me?

supervisor: Is it a racist idea?

man: What? No, Why would it?

supervisor: When people aren't racist they say it.

man: I don't understand.

supervisor: Before you say something you need to say that you don't judge a person by their skin-color, race or religion.

man: I'm not rascist. I don't judge people by their skin-color, race or religion, but i've an idea.

supervisor: That's better but I still think it is above your pay grade.

man: I don't judge anyone by their skin-color, race or religion but maybe you could have it for me?

supervisor: You only need to say it once, calm down. Also I don't want to be the one who makes that decision. I'll ask the boss and see what he thinks.


supervisor: Hello sir. I don't judge any person by their skin-color , race or religion - but we have an employee who was thinking about having an idea and i wanted to know what you thought.

boss: Isn't that above his paygrade?

supervisor: It is, and thats why he wants me to ask you.

boss: Well, what is he thinking about thinking about?

supervisor: I'm not sure sir. I wanted to check with you first.

boss: Is the idea rascist?

supervisor: He said he wasn't rascist before he said anything else sir.

boss: That's smart. You can never be too safe. That's why I'm worried about this idea though. I wish we knew more about it. It seems risky to hear something we know so little about. Maybe ask him to solidify his idea a little better before we consider it.

supervisor: That seems best sir.

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let's talk about a scientist, we'll call him a neurologist. with his brain he studies brains in an attempt to make some sense of it. he perceives what he sees, and writes papers for all to read. let's say he declares his vantage as a definitive reality and institutionalizes his papers as ultimate authority. did he describe the way it is - or just what it could be?

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dream website

old money wrote me a check on a scroll of papyrus, exavatted by holy knights from the temple of iris so many zeros i unrolled five feet just to sign it. delivered by a forign mute on the back of a lion, sealed with gold melted down from the purse of orion.

this address is the intersection of utter shit and pure mathematics. authored from a digital pyramid hidden in ye olde internet. crafted using bits of data transcribed from ancient summerian texts. bound by code blocks both unfathomably long and impossibly complex. the event-horizon of any logic or comprehendible context.

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