culture is such a cool thing to think about
we take our surroundings and the people we associate with and we create mannerisms and art that are unique to our own communities and we just build off of each other and everything around the world has ended up so different but equally fascinating
we are really unique creatures
The person you love is 72.8% water by Teagan White.
Everybody’s born with some different thing at the core of their existence. And that thing, whatever it is, becomes like a heat source that runs each person from the inside. I have one too, of course. Like everybody else. But sometimes it gets out of hand. It swells or shrinks inside me, and it shakes me up. What I’d really like to do is find a way to communicate that feeling to another person. But I can’t seem to do it. They just don’t get it. Of course, the problem could be that I’m not explaining it very well, but I think it’s because they’re not listening very well. They pretend to be listening, but they’re not, really. So I get worked up sometimes, and I do some crazy things.
Haruki Murakami (via planb-becomeapirate)
See, I was loving this, until the end bit. You can’t just declare that all your problems are because all other people aren’t listening to you correctly.
But I love the rest of it. I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately, actually — all the different things people have at their core(s).
No lie, I’m thinking about this more because it’s getting warmer, and warm weather makes me anxious.
See? Absurdly strange.
While drinking and philosophizing, I stumbled upon an idea that I had written up years ago in my physics classes. The proposition is just absurd enough to make sense. I believe that our universe is controlled by very well defined laws, many of which we don’t yet know, but the laws of thermodynamics seem pretty well tested. In my opinion, you can apply these laws to everything from macrophysics to human behavior (I must preface that my physics understanding stems from PHYS I & II. Please, budding young physicists, don’t school me too bad).
The second law of thermodynamics, stated in a simple way, says that entropy in a closed system will always increase. Entropy, also simply defined, describes disorder or randomness. For example, given time, particles tend to move away from one another. This explains molecular diffusion.
Let’s apply this to humans. In a closed system, like Earth for example, humans tend to spread out and move apart. This also seems common in relationships. Humans, like particles, interact for a short period of time and go on their way leading to an increase in entropy and bringing the system closer to equilibrium.
But, I postulate, that there is one exception. Systems also favor the lowest energy state possible. In a physics sense, this is because they lose energy to their environment, but that is beyond the scope of my drunken ramblings. Let’s just assume that the exception to the rule of increasing entropy is decreasing energy. We know that molecules do interact and stay together, because they present an overall lower energy state for all atoms involved
This is what I propose explains love. When two people are at a lower energy state together rather than apart, they will withstand other forces governing the universe. I think this is true love. You don’t have to try as hard; you don’t have to force it. It just is. Like two oxygens sharing electrons, true love creates bonds that withstand the universe’s attempts at disorder.
And just to confirm, we pitched my theory to a Magic 8 Ball and asked if this were true. It’s reply: Yes, definitely.
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"The Empathic Civilization"
This is wonderful. (I mean, whole “X-Eve” and “Y-Adam” DNA studies are a bit sketchy, but that doesn’t change the message.)
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If we believe that all humans are both intrinsically valuable and intrinsically fallible, then we are compelled to be tolerant of others in recognition of their worth and dignity and of our own humble and partial and likely flawed perspective.
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I call it an out-of-normality episode.
It’s like, I’m doing whatever, driving home from work, and suddenly the veil of familiarity over everything disintegrates like mist in a sunbeam and it occurs to me that holy shit, I’m hurtling along flat ribbons in a little tin can propelled by a process of controlled, continuous explosion, and that explosion is fueled by the remains of gigantic dinosaurs and it waited deep under the earth for several hundred million years until someone — probably at great cost of money and life — pumped it up and transferred it to the inside of my car, and there are direct linear descendants of those dinosaurs that now perch on power lines and defecate on this car, and the whole history of life on earth appears to me stretching out in both directions, flat time like an endless desert, and that’s only one planet! Above me are a couple of miles of air and conscious signalling and beyond that is the WHOLE UNIVERSE, full of spinning comets and nebulae and vaccuum and it doesn’t even matter what I think about the universe because every mental image and conception I can come with cannot equal the equivalence of one atom compared to the breadth and scale of the universe, and if I go home and make a sandwich or whatever then it’s very likely that at that precise moment when I’m making a sandwich, some massive ball of burning hydrogen is going supernova, the light of its dying flare setting out on a billion-year journey to reach possibly the only spot where some conscious creature will maybe see it and remark upon it and that spot is here, and my stupid coworkers and classmates and political opponents might be the only example of life anywhere, ever, at all, and why the everlasting fuck does no one talk about this?
Thankfully, like other forms of vertigo, this dizzying shock of reality wears off after a few minutes, and I go have lunch.
I am obsessed with the thing that makes somebody hurt somebody else. It’s something that I will never be able to resolve, and it upsets me to the point where it’s bad for my life sometimes. I don’t understand the drive to be hurt; I don’t understand the drive to hurt. And it’s everywhere.
For as long as there been humans we have searched for our place in the cosmos. Where are we? Who are we? We find that we live on an insignificant planet of a hum-drum star lost in a galaxy tucked away in some forgotten corner of a universe in which there are far more galaxies than people. This perspective is a courageous continuation of our penchant for constructing and testing mental models of the skies; the Sun as a red-hot stone, the stars as a celestial flame, the Galaxy as the backbone of night.