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sherryberry

@sherryberry-blog / sherryberry-blog.tumblr.com

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nicholas-clement
This will be my last confession. “I love you” never felt like any blessing; whispering like it’s a secret only to condemn the one who hears it… …with a heavy heart.
Source: Spotify
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bookoisseur
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mysharona1987
If your head tells you one thing and your heart tells you another, before you do anything, you should first decide whether you have a better head or a better heart.

Marilyn vos Savant. (via bookoisseur)

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wilwheaton
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reddingtton-blog

i don’t understand why people don’t instantly respond to “what would your dream superpower be” with the ability to manipulate probability. think about it. what’s the chance someone will drop 1mil in front of me? 0%? let’s make that 100%. what’s the probability i’ll wake up tomorrow and be X gender? 100%. what’s the probability my bathtub is filled with mac and cheese? 100%.

as a casino employee I can confirm this would be terrifying as fuck

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misanthropemom

I still like teleport, no error, whether I’ve ever been there or not.

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ralfmaximus

The superpower of probability is terrifying for other reasons. 

what’s the probability my bathtub is filled with mac and cheese? 100%.

Consider all the unlikely things that must occur in just the proper sequence for this to happen. It’s not just wishing 50 gallons of mac & cheese into existence – that’d be a different superpower. 

No, we’re talking about some serious reality bending here.

Like maybe: an 18-wheeler hauling a load of instant Kraft macaroni & cheese collides with a tanker truck filled with water outside your home. Both vehicles erupt into flame, which cooks the combined noodles & cheese mixture within a small non-nuclear mushroom cloud of an explosion.

The cooked mixture of mac & cheese (and burning fuel!) rises into the air on thermals a hundred feet above your house, exactly above your bathroom. 

At just the right moment, as the starchy cloud of cheesy noodles reaches the apex of its hideous arc, a freak storm causes a lightning bolt to crash down out of  the blue, blasting a hole in your roof above the bathtub. 

Shingles and plywood explode away from the roof and are diverted to the side by sudden 50 mph crosswinds… which, because of freak weather conditions, are perfectly timed to whisk away the roof debris but stop just as suddenly before the descending cloud of mac & cheese can be blown aside.

Four seconds later there is a moist mighty THLUPPPP noise as ~50 gallons of half-cooked, badly mixed mac & cheese & diesel fuel land in a soggy mess within your bathtub. 

Ding! Your bathtub full of mac & cheese? Probability 100%.

Also: two dead truck drivers, untold collateral damage from the explosion, a wrecked roof, dangerous storms trashing the neighborhood, and a disgusting inedible mess in your bathroom.

Oh wait, you wanted it perfectly cooked, ready to eat?  Too bad… you didn’t specify that. And if you had, imagine the FURTHER ridiculous unlikely events required to make that happen.

Because you’re not just wishing shit into existence. You’re shifting realities. 

Which, if you’re selecting for a very improbable circumstance means moving a LOT of existing reality out of the way – which takes energy. Because reality has inertia & momentum just like a river does, and does not want to be diverted.

This might be the most terrifying super power ever, just from its side effects.

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bobbycaputo
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Image

Margaret Atwood, from Power Politics, 1971

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bostonpoetryslam
Trevor the hunter. Trevor the carnivore, the redneck, not a pansy, shotgunner, sharpshooter, not fruit or fairy. Trevor the meateater but not veal. Never veal. Fuck that, never again after his daddy told him the story when he was seven, at the table, veal roasted with rosemary. How they were made. How the difference between veal & beef is the children. The veal are the children of cows, are calves. They are locked in boxes the size of themselves. A body-box, like a coffin, but alive, like a home. The children, the veal, they stand very still because tenderness depends on how little the world touches you. To stay tender, the weight of your life cannot lean on your bones.We love eatin what’s soft, his father said, looking dead into Trevor’s eyes. Trevor who would never eat a child.

Ocean Vuong, “Trevor,” published in Buzzfeed’s Reader (via bostonpoetryslam)

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penamerican

"We work in the dark - we do what we can - we give what we have. Our doubt is our passion and our passion is our task. The rest is the madness of art." ― Henry James, born on this day in 1843

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