Last night, I took off Emily Dickinson's clothes.

Discurso de Ernesto Guevara a la ONU, 1964.

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"Yo no quiero morir, por favor no me dejen morir."

Palabras últimas de Hugo Chavez, el 5 de marzo, 2013

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fuckyeahfluiddynamics:

Many fish swim in close proximity to one another in large schools, causing scientists to wonder if this behavior is motivated primarily by defense against predators or whether fish derive some hydrodynamic advantages from schooling. Examining the fluid dynamics of an entire school of fish is rather impractical, so researchers approximate two neighboring swimmers using flapping hydrofoils. The images above show flow visualizations of the wakes of these two mechanical swimmers. When the two hydrofoils flap in-phase with one another (top image), one oscillation period produces a complicated pattern of many vortices zig-zagging behind the foils. This configuration produces more efficient propulsion than a single hydrofoil, meaning that more of the energy in the wake is used to produce thrust. The cost, however, is reduced thrust overall. The bottom image shows the wake pattern for hydrofoils flapping out-of-phase. This behavior enhanced thrust without reducing propulsive efficiency. The results suggest that schooling fish might choose different swimming strategies depending on the situation.   (Image credits: P. Dewey et al.

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Forensics

Last night, at an intersection of two streets
that my grandparents have always found hard to pronounce,
a man was shot and bled from his wounds until triumphant death
making it fair to say that he was shot and killed where two
high-numbered, well-manicured streets bifurcate themselves
after so many miles of running cool and perpendicular
across the gentle hills and sloping valleys
that allowed this city to be founded in the first place,

a city on its hands and knees, scratching like some fucking alleycat
at the same hard bite of earth, scratching to find no secrets,
only the aerosol hiss of escaping screams and flames.

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Seat 4B and the Persistent Fear of Death

Okay so look, here’s the thing
I was some odd thousand miles
high way up high in the air,
airplane high, wingroom and turbulence
were the order of the day

and as I’m sure you’re aware
the windows the plastic frosty windows
blue over oceans and green over
whatever it is beneath us
that are not oceans—I’ve yet to decide—

do not open, clearly, for reasons
known and excellent reasons
of the well-being of the crew and
the passengers, good people
all things considered just nervous
because flying is tenuous

anyway despite this limitation
I had the whole row to myself,
stretch seating so to speak
and yes, I did lay out and yes,
it was fantastic quite unlike
any other flight I had taken before

so there was nobody next to me
to chatter and frown when I
kicked out the plastic window
next to me at the end of the empty row
and dove out headfirst, eyes wide and
stinging, spinning like a maple seed
in the violent currents of air and dust
that varnish our planet into livability.

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Yeah, gee, I guess this is my favorite movie.

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(Source: newsweek)

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Balcony by MCE (1949)

Balcony by MCE (1949)

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3/4 all the way to the moon.

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Leaves on Afton Down, 2/12/85 by Andy freakin’ Goldsworthy

Leaves on Afton Down, 2/12/85 by Andy freakin’ Goldsworthy

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cower from the click of the crickets on the slick patch of the greasy grey grass: but to cower from the click of the crickets is fine:

don’t worry, it never lasts.

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"Keep cool but care."

V. by Thomas Pynchon

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(untitled)

I put my
good felt hat
on the peg
just as soon
as I came
in the door,
making it
the only thing
that didn’t fall
when I walked
down our
small hallway
and into
the kitchen
and saw
what you did
to our children.

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Owl Anatomy

We wear rubber gloves and those paper-filter
masks, the kind the evening news tells you to buy

in bulk. This is for the dust and parasites, they say.
Birds in the wild lead admittedly barbaric lives.

Two neat incisions, no bigger than pennies,
parallel on opposites sides of the aerodynamic

body, right underneath and at the base of
those wide and beautiful wings,

show us a lattice of bones and spaces between the
bones, lattice work to make a spider jealous

just to imagine the slightest tug southeast, south-
southeast, curving the animal into a higher current

frozen in place in the air
above my mind’s eye

while the head is tilted back and held in place
by a machine-cut square of double-sided

tape, holding the skull neck and collar bone
academically exposed to the gaslight glow

of the white room’s humming halogen lights,
the kind that can be plainly heard from outside,
even when the door is closed.

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Gomorrah, Like Sodom.

Don’t stack the sand like that,

end on tiny end:

you’ll never reach Heaven that way.

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