The Candle Problem

A Story by ZackOfBridge

Just dickering around

To the man of the sort, who walks hard on the soles of his shoes with his chest raised like the cage of a beating balloon.

To the man, he is lost amongst the chatter ~~you~~ cannot control.

Intelligence is measured. This is the psychological chatter like the burps of stars in the vacuum of space; a Dyson.

Composition

Think Composition.

Extrapolate. Would you?

“Be ready. Don’t blink on this. Think.” She said from the pit of his eyes, upside down and flipped round right again. Her hair was throwing the wavelengths of a good time; high frequency.

Ill-Defined. Goals.

Where am I?

Where do I want to be?

How am I going to get there?”

“Its all missing.”

“What is?”

The middle. The interest. The f*****g story!

“Where is it?”

Ill-defined problem Ask questions.

Well-defined problem Get information

“I think its in my cabinet. Its all unsorted. I need a stapler.”

“I don’t have a screwdriver.”

The candle problem.

“The what?”

“Oh I don’t know, some psychological problem.”

“Sounds like a fire hazard.”

“Yes it surely is.”

Where am I?

“Where do you need to be?”

Solve the problem for me.

“I cannot guarantee the right answer.”

I don’t need a correct answer. I need a place to stay for the night.

A Racing Accident Avoided.

Maybe that would work.

“The little guy is in the sandbox. He wants to shove mud in his sister’s ear.”

“Yes, but I want my dog to sit.”

“Have you tried operant conditioning?”

“I am more the classical type.”

During this time they have been walking, and so have been mindful of the pitfalls_

_at the bottom lies the tendency to confirm one’s beliefs.

He was wearing his lucky scientist shirt counting 1,2,3,4 times the shirt brought luck upon. They came to a pitfall and the conversation was solid. To keep consistency and soundness for an untampered stroll, he took his lucky shirt from his body and with gentlemanly gusto laid it over the pitfall. She stepped over and he walked the rest of the stroll alone with bare n*****s.

The Point: to begin with

Fluid intelligence leaks with passing time but the drips crystallize into daggers on the floor.

And so to the man of the sort, the man who walks hard on the soles of his shoes�"

Watch out. Pitfalls. Daggers on the floor.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!