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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required 11/29/2015 Idioma There is a man with a gun. His finger taut, tensed and still, the intention obvious, no reason instilled. Because guns kill people. Or do people kill people? I can never remember. Let's take a look at entropy. A molecule hits a molecule hits a molecule and BOOM - a bomb. Thousands dead. More on the way. But of course that's a bit clumsy, seeing that entropy's remorse only marginally taps the frayed edges of something, Atomic. So what stops it? Science might tell us Energy. That’s a bit broad though. Come back to the man with the gun. Naturally he's drunk, and not a man, an adolescent. Waving the gun - the weapon in your face. He points it at you. So what do you do? What can you do? One might pray and hope his hand is stayed, for in the land of entropy learned helplessness breeds Power. And the masses will pray and cower. Some might fight, or fly, in instinctual flurry. But these options are few and far too crude for more, sophisticated tastes. So this sophistication leads us... Ah, but sophistication sounds so posh. Let's instead call this Order. And so you order, Yell, or speak, rather; yelling is so harsh. You speak, maybe even whisper. You don't want to antagonize this kid willing to put a hole in you - you in a hole - covered by the thoughtlessly certain curtain of uneasy infinity. So you, oh so subdued, whisper, Please. But a simple please has never gotten anyone anywhere worth being, so you follow up with a more firm Stop. And in his inebriation, the most powerful being in your world stumbles upon a moment of lucidity. His finger slips, sending a .45 caliber bullet - lead some might call it, but this is grossly anachronistic - into your frontal lobe and out your cerebral cortex. Enter. Exit. An open system. Because in an entropic world, Language languishes in its ephemeral rags and is wasted away by greater things.
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