!!! CONTROVERSIAL OPINION INCOMING … WATCH OUT !!!
There could be trees on the moon and we just can’t see them with our telescopes. After all, how many telescopes were designed to look at trees?
Our eyes are very good at seeing trees, and I’ve seen the moon many times. Where would they be?
OK, maybe your eyes are good at seeing trees that you’ve seen, but the moon probably has trees that you haven’t seen. I mean, think about it. All the trees you’ve ever seen in your life are trees that you have seen… for all you know, you could be completely blind to trees that you haven’t seen
the fucking motion blur on this is killing me
Why were you looking up bread though
i like reading wikipedia articles about bread fucking sue me
guess what today is everyone! it is my SECOND 4-hour-minimum skype meeting that starts (“starts”) at 7PM
like– meetings go long sometimes, ok. meetings have to happen at weird times and be teleconferences, sure, that’s what it means to do work that involves international collaborators
but somehow it all just feels so avoidable. we’re having this meeting so that we can sit through each fellowship participant’s 10-minute research proposal presentation and then ask them questions about it, and it just– it really feels like there’s a better way. i don’t know what precisely it would’ve been, but there definitely is one
(that’s a lie, i do know what it would’ve been. just send everyone a packet of the 1-pg proposal writeups we all also had to prepare, and let us have these conversations in our two hours of dedicated meeting time in like two weeks when they’re all HERE, it’s not like our input actually matters for this bc all of their actual project content will be decided with their PIs anyway so it really doesn’t need to be happening before we’re all, yk, in the same time zone)
i spend a lot of time thinking about this poem by joseph ceravolo i think its one of the most beautiful things ive ever read
The Way One Animal Trusts Another | Carl Phillips
“The Way One Animal Trusts Another”
Carl PhillipsSomewhere between what it feels like, to be at
one with the sea, and to understand the sea as
mere context for the boat whose engine refuses
finally to turn over: yeah, I know the place—
stumbled into it myself, once; twice, almost. All
around and in between the two trees that
grow there, tree of compassion and—much taller—
tree of pity, its bark more bronze, the snow
settled as if an openness of any kind meant, as well,
a woundedness that, by filling it, the snow
might heal…You know what I think? I think if we’re
lost, you should know exactly where, by now; I’ve
watched you stare long and hard enough at the map
already…I’m beginning to think I may never
not be undecided, about all sorts of things: whether
snow really does resemble the broken laughter
of the long-abandoned when what left comes back
big-time; whether gratitude’s just a haunted
space like any other. This place sounds daily
more like a theater of war, each time I listen to it—
loss, surprise, victory, being only three of the countless
fates, if you want to call them that, that we don’t
so much live with, it seems, as live for now among. If as
close as we’re ever likely to get, you and I, is this—this close—
must a sport be entertaining to watch? 