u/Azula_In_The_AMX

You won something beautiful, it hurts, and that's part of the prize. Forgive me as I thought of you during the earthquake, and your head on a gimbal. With the lord having his mercy where had I not said anything at all, I stand on the quiet blimp of history, an era never given to piety nor a lounge tomorrow. And the lulls burst in anything stalled with wonders early on the scripts. And then to war as my bystander, I saw amongst the secret: A tragedy; where the chords slowly recovered and the companies were perfect and endless to dynasty, quarreling away quests. I was astonished that such giants could have doors. But I've slowly understood why they too cost us our lives, and the rock zen in its elimination. For the heart is red at sea, and umber with the pain coated ingenious on the premise's dive, nor could be said is the question to be or not to be, thus in whim my consciousness bloats in asking why the infancy a phantom, I lisped and asked instead, "Tell me Lucifer—why do I catch myself?" Again I see, on this road, something similar to inception, curled and slammed in body aching a twig, for the sorts like reception.

Maybe your always asked to re-explain yourself, giving up your advantage.

Or have an awkward portrayal because other people exhaust your social reasoning and they intentionally get nervous and weird around your "drives." Less escape, right?

They'll act like your meaning is buried but if your attractive, they should at least know there's some extra inspection that comes along with an attractive friend.

To be honest, I have yet to seen anonymity look good on tall people. Like, since when did a tower have anonymity? I just honestly don't think evolution goth that far unless your the opposite sex.

Realistically, if they wanted to "care" for you, whomever they be, then they'd have items or a bathroom just for you.

They don't teach beauty in school. And there's a whole another gender to stop any flashpoint for attraction that comes their way. The thing is, as an attractive person, your attraction is only going to show up in flashpoint, and as someone studying economics who cares about privacy, I can literally say that there's been too many breaks in the economy of someone's standard of living to consider as casually taken without a conscious self-correction.

Now you may be thinking, well at least they're not getting my flashpoint or that they have to keep up with the memory of themselves. That's paranoia. They have a whole system built for them to wait. After all the crushes you've brought in as an idea generation, they will never replicate a touchstone. Start with dreams. Those are the real arches.

Definitely a Gen Z and former Tumblr so I used to live seeing a trends thoughtfulness behind a montage. I am going to be going on school break soon so I am looking for topic recommendations on what shorts y'all would like to see. Right now I am guessing his Sneako cameos, Plato's allegory of the cave, or even a daily Jiang would be cool. You know, a reward for putting up with fake Jiang accounts. Sometimes I get scared I'm going to miss a video because the other content creators haven't really gotten the "thumbnail" yet. Is there already a discord? I honestly think people would be up to rewatch his videos a number of times.

There's a popular road up the mangrove

where the bedside has joined the manor,

And the sun howls into cursive signature

winces in a taboo room—seeing its nature

played in piano, though with all of its keys

it only enlightens an escape artist,

Not knowing if the syndrome is Sherlock

Or Stockholm's, through which the water bleeds,

though blood its amulet, it can't be heard

its signature is lured to new scene

And the safari takes front and center

Bowling pity at the pitcher

A lash escaped off the harvest, though not the teem

There's a river up the horizon though no one ever makes it. Perched in the distance its often swept off tall tales. Seen where the meridian curls and the mining cart can be seen hurling about. With rain as its cover, but truly its a lovely blossom when a moral character expresses the candor behind it. Who we are to past seasons may be first to streams in rivers.

I could hear the wind chimes of tunnels howling as the Earth rotated to figure out its chords. It was daunting but not beautiful music. More like music I've never heard before. And as new life brought up past me, generational characters expressed the river behind it. Not a lapse in the river a current had to exit the stream.

Soon enough, the characters would ponder in observation of their crowd wisdom. Some fell in love with towers and others took the next train across seasons. Those who gave secretly to the pooling of resources found out the secrets hidden in musical notes. Why they must be kept warm, prayed over, and following remittance. For a lapse could exist in people to listen to the sound of worship without pushing on the stove's a cappella. As the clips flown in from shudders, so did the floor from underneath. No one truly gives wisdom for standing, but we just do it because we want to see the pitcher. And when that lapse between the tunnels and rivers, the chords can be seen for its hurdling. And the music grays, the hair and hurdling too, while the mining cart stays a secret to the stream. There's a river up the horizon though no one ever makes it; all too often, the contour is scarcely seen, and wisdom is caught outside its jump—having seasons pass.

I'm a grad student who gained 80 lbs in two months from a medication change. Trying to rebuild a running habit, and I think I accidentally gave mixed signals to a woman who runs near my place — I took a longer route past her usual spot because my neighborhood has too many turns for a straight run. I live with my parents, she's in the area, and I genuinely can't tell if there was ever anything there or if I'm misremembering.

My real priority: I'm two weeks from passing a class I was failing, and I need to focus on schoolwork. I don't want drama, Title IX issues, or awkwardness. I just want to run my route, keep my garage open for studying, and not make things weird.

What would a normal, respectful adult do here? Say nothing and keep my head down? Brief acknowledgment if paths cross? I'm not looking for a "move" — just to not be that guy. She has a longer running history than me so its possible maybe her route got crowded or she just wanted to see a new route. I'm looking for suggestions to keep our history separate. She had the audacity to smile at me the full length of the window pane before. I'm just lower class and I still see education as a way out.

Tell me about the weather

and how you've dreamed of its colors

how it keeps your diary, let alone

Dire needs—sprawling hints through storm

With the size like cables, and it's mow–

pulled against bystanding bowls of green,

where the ocean keeps its chords

And shakes in disagreement, quest for more

Southern breeze, and the nighttime,

Packs an equator, shows up on porches

tells of tall tales and hair whipped—inseam

kissed with peak-end rules and the chin asleep.

Sometimes I remember I was never really a writer—

Only wanting to be someone admis of all the tragedy,

I've just experienced tragedy and learned the few things it carries,

I have war as my bystander, costing lives, tallying it's debt,

With the lord having his mercy where had I not said anything at all,

Here rises endlessly for dynasty, a quest bezel to the march,

Flailed as the rock thrown into a carriage, and then tempting softness only after bursting into marauders,

Here stands an endless quest under piety, company flawless in scripts

and the hoops lunged to dungeons and sprawl

Does anyone not wait for the lounge tomorrow?

Every night, there's these little black books fluttering

And there I stand wandering admis the hollows of turning point, every corner a little less learned

In only the break of silence, a burning reprieve

If my card was set, would I see it over the skies?

I could tell just from the flash of brewing the torso had turned around. All its power behind a soft gaze. And then a window within the cabinet, an odd place perhaps, but it was splendid in milking the clash. Watching me sweat in its upheaval. Too curious to turn away from the suspicion of leaks or floods, the head almost became damning. But not pushed back far enough.

Such towering myriads. Had it known it already won, it would have willingly flee. But there was something about this meridian over me finally positioned like a corridor. Like personality. Intertwined breaths and crawls, refusing to walk; each moment purposely severed. Perhaps the game that is fond of civil craftsmanship was not settled enough. Then it must be true for me too.

The overtures had not won me over. They arched of an invisible cannon fodder; an invisible vein, bouldering the pregnancy of the situation. I started to shake the ice collected. Parachuting my lips to take in the hovering air as runners would break on blocks. The situation was good, all I needed was one pick and I could climb this mountain leaning into the avalanche. The mountain—being the dam had broke—and I was being observed. Bystanders had ceased. They were just people. I could almost see the minotaur grasp around the corner for its global entrance.

We were both outside the flock. Doing what one does when edges of combat join. Had I known this flock was headless I would have never willingly took the shoe. But I had my pick. All I had to do was prove I am the labyrinth. And whom against me stand was the minotaur. Never squealing on the collapses. Because it was not the walls that closed. But the flocking. And this minotaur was as careless as the hump of a barrier. With one dial, I whistled the glaring heat away and pointed sternly at my overtures wobbling within an elliptical machine. That the sirens were well and alive of its blaring button, with the minotaur sunken from its pose. With grace for one more bystander, I blew heralding the phantom's menace on how the shovel had disappeared. How careful a candidate is to disappear.

I’m trying to think about heightism through a Fermi Paradox-style frame.

The basic Fermi Paradox asks: if intelligent alien life should be common, then where is everybody? Applied socially, my question is: if tall men receive a major social advantage, why isn’t that advantage always directly visible to shorter men in every interaction?

Maybe the answer is a kind of “blocking order” between heightism and observation. Heightism may operate first, before the shorter man even gets to see the outcome. The tall person may be selected earlier, noticed earlier, trusted earlier, approached earlier, or forgiven earlier. By the time the shorter man observes the social field, the advantage has already happened upstream.

That creates a paradox. The effect is real, but the evidence is often missing from direct view. You do not always see the opportunities you were filtered out of. You do not see the dating matches that never appeared, the respect that was never offered, the first impression that quietly ranked you lower, or the assumptions made before you spoke.

So the “Fermi” part is not “where are the tall men?” They are obviously here. The question is: where is the visible proof of the advantage, if the advantage is supposed to be so common?

The answer may be that heightism is not always expressed as open hostility. It may work as silent selection. It is less like someone saying, “You are short, so you lose,” and more like a background ranking system that changes who gets attention, patience, attraction, and authority.

In that sense, heightism blocks its own evidence. The mechanism happens before the victim can easily document it. Like the Fermi Paradox, the absence of obvious evidence does not necessarily mean absence of the phenomenon. It may mean the phenomenon operates at a scale or stage that ordinary observation misses.

That is the part I’m trying to discuss: whether height advantage is most powerful precisely because it happens before it becomes visible.

I wrote this with AI. My only contribution was the title. New normal. But Tall people and Women-In-Men-Clothing getting excited about average life just doesn't seem to tip a new normal, but flops, hahaha. Loved to hear your thoughts? 5'6 here.

It was yesterday my shadows finally caught a glide on the wind and saw red in humor. Earlier I had revealed to the world I was afraid to be poked. Turbines with manifest destiny, and a glow shudder to flames bespeeched where a famine timid and shortly stood upright, I saw what I assumed to be the beginning of another sky but the likes of the dessert bowl of dust howling sweeped me; it was the blinds being crisscrossed. Blinds which a shadow knew to avoid.

I skipped dangling with my head on my shoulders, watching baphomet exited of cards, remaining holistered, doing his iconic jump, and the grimmer smiles zooing on the horizon, with bad poetry not a care to flip on its side. And my eyes rotated in the mind before any recommendation of reality would have me know it. Spewing like a bulb with six legs, a bezel worth its three bodies, its grace for two antennas, and a monstrous skeleton, no matter the sporting tan. Anthropomorphizing it to know what was the matter, it only wanted to shrug, and stand on wires, where all the rotation were like calluses.

But there was a hatch, at the top of it all: A globe too fond of clapping its tenets. Observantly ordinary. Haunting specifically this side of history. Brazen, and a breath for the edge of blunt awakening hoarded in on a rainy night, one where the beach could easily build sand castles if it had ants, I saw the fawning of my blade, and the cut of curtains. Had my shadow parachuted?

I'm afraid they'll let me have world domination for not including oxygen

Looking at you,

I never knew where to sip

When sucking on nectar

I need

love, love, love

baby, I'll feed you love

baby, I'll give you love

baby, I'll hold your love

I need your—

love, love, love

baby, I'll hold you back for love

baby, I'll squeeze you for love

baby, I'll give back your love

Can't hurry love,

change you out for love

The only sound I hear is love

Nobody knows what I'm falling through

pierced together, nuanced between flipped lips

galloping on the universal treadmill, hurried much

Systems arching a caste, and the molds free to shrug

nor would they—as they were free to rings around in belt,

Glimpses in which the rumor milled, fiending over a pass

blade works

like a phantom limb

Never had I seen your dribble swerve,

where to spread thin

slots the sheath

Proudly stands on glass ceilings,

for whom the bell tolls

tugs away in globes

Idols bear in bold—cuts!

and the scissors shoot

the air peels away

Steering countries on the side of its hut;

verbatim of a lived evil

Stuttered in minutes, like ricochets upheaval

capes a hypnosis guard

an organism–a dart,

Wearing chalk, trudes

on an empty spell

an invisible moniker,

A farm away holds

The Earth has no tilt — I do.

Earthly stars glittered, dyed in fame;

steers of thought like antlers close

witnessing the elephant's head.

Montage married to harkening, the safari

divides its logic evenly.

Is Eden a flicker? Is Eve a dangle?

I pillow Christmas in July, no clause.

Purposely single, to do what those cannot:

let life pass by with abridged elasticity —

my words are already spoken.

I am sandface; the mirror is yours.

Never had I heard a squeal

about the secret of the moon

how its true purpose

is to wash away the blood pouring

and cusped within the cylinder

knowing we'd live together,

-

The iron switch, lobbied

"on"

The beliefs swoop

"off"

The turbulence swoop,

the thrill of a curtain

hiding away a looming figure

Every footstep perfect

Done knowingly,

-

Then again, its jestering to see needles float

Soon enough, my corners wisp

and my plateaus get buried, hurling

And the avalanche no longer platonic

Just a hue.

There isn't a switch to turn on the melody

just a body,

God trusts me

though I'm usually sunk into atheism—

without the mention of "God"

I never let the city get to me,

I woke up to the preacher-man

Outside the city skirts

Playing piano

While the sun beams on the church's steps

meandering the window

Only to say hello,

Chords similar to the ring that he holds

Kissed and chunk into chellos

—Lovely hands

I'll get to you

Soon enough–around the pizzeria,

I'm a dog eater

with no journal,

chirped away on silent hills,

Where I can untie the meridian

And all of his glory

And all of his name

And all of his purposes

And all of his—came,

blissed and unfolded away from caverns

That before prophets, there were those blessed

Charged onto the theatre—not limbs.

Just a little up the tide
Sags of that tongue when you talk to me,
breathing like a fox in a burial
With all its pride,
i got soul taken
hidden in the deep south
dinged from that breeze,
don’t nobody find me.

you're constantly looking down
I want to cough you up.
In ways which a pint bellows a compass needle,
enough pathologically begged and rationed by the guillotine
Little and read of the flock
sure enough, it was a wasp.

You're a programmer’s daughter
waiting on Odysseus’ adventure
—chin to a slow, painful look—
Sisyphus wrestles, like a maverick
feistily scripting away, and then put into orbit