I am just a shitty leather bound notebook intent on romanticizing life into some sort of dark academic dream. I will post as I please from shitposts to mycological and anatomical studies to my simple writing pieces.
If you feel as though you must refer to me for any reason, please refrain unless it is of the utmost importance, in which case, use she/her.
*lights up a cigarette and coughs immediately because i don't smoke and grabs ur arm* hey i'm gonna put this out on you
half the hotness comes from the actual casual indifference that requires a real smoker. B-
im so sorry i just wanted to join in the fun and hurt women
Posting this iconic piece of media that I just NEVER found online isolated except in an archived reddit thread
Sometimes I find a stomach and ask about, wander through the town, old wooden sign (one chain broken so it dangled and the termite eggs hang from the bottom as they are building houses), and knock on the doors. People come to messy hairdo hands busy pots and pans people; kids and husbands people; sex and drugs people; but no people with teeth. They answer their door unafraid to see a stranger, do not say I should’ve called ahead.
(Were you planning on eating that?) scrutinizing gaze like they’re trying to see what scheme I’m playing at (I’m talking to you) they shiver and shake in a way that I don’t think is a mistake to take for no. Front porch hole raccoon burrowed in greedy yellow eyes paws at the edges scratch marks even sunlight filtered through the cracks of the trees like river water through the sand; like river water through the sand; like waterfall breaking against the rocks; like a pond.
The crickets have begun to chirp outside of town when the last door closes holding hands people who also happen to have other body parts. I can see their calluses on the chicken coop, on the porch, in the paint, in the driveway, in the garden. (People who know a thing or two about rituals) and they scream inside, frightened. I can see their calluses in the broom they throw outside scare me off like a stray cat mange all filled vulture wings starlight guides me to the edge of town.
Crickets; pond, that bacteria grows in. Moving water cannot become sickly, moving body cannot become sickly. I have found something gross in her. Bite into the angels hip under the curve of the new moon. Watch it curl its sick lips into a sneer, turn its nose up at me. She and I haven’t been friends for a long time now; her she is so feminine I am just me I praised her then envied her then realized she is nothing without the grass watered by the blood of the open body all sickly green insides spilling over white wings and eyes like code onto a fresh page like ink dripping into linoleum
like the moss dripping into the surface of the lake on a white sky day. (The surface is all that matters) the termites leave home and burrow into the signs leaving egg sacrifices as if I care I pull the wings out and plant them in her eyes using her vision of the future as fertile soil. (The surface is all that matters) guttural laugh billow chuckle moon sneer darkness. Not a light. Not unlike the disturbed surface of a lake on a white sky day. The moon loses her silver as I do not care about a silver lady who only shines on the surface teeth crack hipbone bite down crack my teeth split in half on her body digs through her like a cat on the blankets of a homely lap teeth crack split open gold inside ichor drips lava seismic explosion of my mouth. I feel her intestines wrap themselves around my tongue like a guillotine’s preparative phase. Ribs drop down. Kneading her soul. My mouth is so full. I struggle to swallow another bite, pull my head up, use the force to tear.
Hands halfway into her sinking into the ground body only half exposed to the silent darkness of the inside room late at night starless moonless not a light to be found safe as shelter horrifying danger hairs on neck can feel but nothing else believes. Up to the shoulder. Down on my knees. Bowing down for her. My ichor and magma in her open wounds she is looking at me and I am feathery and light because she is (looking at my surface).
i love you. let me consume you.
stigmata: escaping texts by helene cixous // bones and all (dir. luca guadagnino) // clementine von radics // caffeine, pt. 1 by sean glatch // jen mazza // erica jong
Sometimes I find a stomach and ask about, wander through the town, old wooden sign (one chain broken so it dangled and the termite eggs hang from the bottom as they are building houses), and knock on the doors. People come to messy hairdo hands busy pots and pans people; kids and husbands people; sex and drugs people; but no people with teeth. They answer their door unafraid to see a stranger, do not say I should’ve called ahead.
(Were you planning on eating that?) scrutinizing gaze like they’re trying to see what scheme I’m playing at (I’m talking to you) they shiver and shake in a way that I don’t think is a mistake to take for no. Front porch hole raccoon burrowed in greedy yellow eyes paws at the edges scratch marks even sunlight filtered through the cracks of the trees like river water through the sand; like river water through the sand; like waterfall breaking against the rocks; like a pond.
The crickets have begun to chirp outside of town when the last door closes holding hands people who also happen to have other body parts. I can see their calluses on the chicken coop, on the porch, in the paint, in the driveway, in the garden. (People who know a thing or two about rituals) and they scream inside, frightened. I can see their calluses in the broom they throw outside scare me off like a stray cat mange all filled vulture wings starlight guides me to the edge of town.
Crickets; pond, that bacteria grows in. Moving water cannot become sickly, moving body cannot become sickly. I have found something gross in her. Bite into the angels hip under the curve of the new moon. Watch it curl its sick lips into a sneer, turn its nose up at me. She and I haven’t been friends for a long time now; her she is so feminine I am just me I praised her then envied her then realized she is nothing without the grass watered by the blood of the open body all sickly green insides spilling over white wings and eyes like code onto a fresh page like ink dripping into linoleum
like the moss dripping into the surface of the lake on a white sky day. (The surface is all that matters) the termites leave home and burrow into the signs leaving egg sacrifices as if I care I pull the wings out and plant them in her eyes using her vision of the future as fertile soil. (The surface is all that matters) guttural laugh billow chuckle moon sneer darkness. Not a light. Not unlike the disturbed surface of a lake on a white sky day. The moon loses her silver as I do not care about a silver lady who only shines on the surface teeth crack hipbone bite down crack my teeth split in half on her body digs through her like a cat on the blankets of a homely lap teeth crack split open gold inside ichor drips lava seismic explosion of my mouth. I feel her intestines wrap themselves around my tongue like a guillotine’s preparative phase. Ribs drop down. Kneading her soul. My mouth is so full. I struggle to swallow another bite, pull my head up, use the force to tear.
Hands halfway into her sinking into the ground body only half exposed to the silent darkness of the inside room late at night starless moonless not a light to be found safe as shelter horrifying danger hairs on neck can feel but nothing else believes. Up to the shoulder. Down on my knees. Bowing down for her. My ichor and magma in her open wounds she is looking at me and I am feathery and light because she is (looking at my surface).
an engine that was ran a little too hot for a little too long, it smells tired, she feels sick. the scars that crawl through her bones will never be forgotten
rivers are tales that speak the path of least resistance. this is your compass to harmony. flow reveal the innate that lies beneath all demarcations. inevitably we will be drawn into these estuaries; spilling out through the truths carved into our husks. we are all learning to become the wind.
death is not merely the conclusion of our lives, but the perfection of embodiment in its entirety
shooting the grenade launcher into the forest, but no one is around so we arent sure if it exploded or not¹
1. if a philosophical question falls on deaf ears, does it make a sound? imagine this: type of guy who does not interpret the perspective im going to call "solipsistic observation of qualia", but instead genuinely believes forests devour that of which becomes lost in them, his personification in turn gives rise to a thought form that he teaches to his children, which they transmute to the other kids of the town, over time the forest gains a collective reputation and carries a fear, this shared demon crawls through the back of the minds and creates a real world movement of shared behavior; the forest in this town is avoided and because of this, a clandestine meth lab is able to be operated in the forest. well one day, a hapless man ventures into that very forest and never comes out again, maybe the gunshot rings out, but do you think he was able to make a sound?
heyyyy listen... you need to eat carbohydrates to survive, stop wilting away like a loser. you dont have what it takes to kill yourself, and thats because you were born to live.
-> get outside, -> get in the fucking sun, -> get in the rain, seriously, -> put your phone away, -> get off the computer, -> go into the real world -> acknowledge what is beautiful, what is joyous, -> find it: i promise you its there.
get it: religions, they show their gratitude towards the world in their rituals, because it works. it makes you happy. im not going to start slinging christianity to you LOL, but there are reasons why cults persist: they sell you happiness in a complicated way, people are suckers for that. you can blind the vast majority of people with a carrot on a stick,
but im here today to tell you, you can DIY. skip the cults, skip the bullshit. today, and today now create your very own CARROT ON A STICK, give yourself a quest, seek to leave your zone of comfort, its time to get a little uncomfortable, since youre wasting away anyway, might aswell make that discomfort go to a purpose, go ahead: i'll get you started with some ideas:
in a public place, engage a stranger in conversation, whats the worst that could realistically happen? seriously just go ahead and ask someone if they've had any dreams lately, practice asking yourself in the mirror casually with confidence, thats the only thing you have to practice, the rest will happen naturally.
okay maybe thats not your thing, perhaps try the oldest adage in the book: "take a hike". look, i dont have time to explain this one, it works and thats why it's been said for all of human history.¹
give yourself a reason to quit doing drugs. if youre at the beginning of your drug curve you dont have to take this advice, i know you dont want to but im still going to tell you: that you need to be connecting with yourself and not lying, figure out yourself if you must, but those of you at the end of the curve, get real, thats not cutting it anymore, put it down, trust me, life has a lot of good highs. if youre gonna fucking die you might aswell have a good time on the way out, and hey maybe on that path youll suddenly see that you have a new peak to seek....
⛰️
hahaha time to make some art, time to create something, do something youve never done before, seek out a new friend, fuck, maybe you need a magic spell for that, i don't know, bring whatever ritual into it that you must, but it's important to explore.
the algorithms on your phone are designed to prey on you, they will throw every attack at you that they can, and they will see which ones are successful, and then they will breed those attacks with eachother, they will rip you apart, not in a sexy way, this is the new era of drugs. algorithms and user interface designed to make you addicted. im not telling you not to use them, but acknowledge what those are, whether its a chemical in your brain making your dopamine spike or its a flash on your screen, it'll rot your brain in the same fucking way, i swear to you.
1. hey, i believe some creative liberties were used in this sentence, and do not reflect a truth that is realistically provable, but while youre down here in the foot note section, im going to whisper a secret to you: i love you and the society we live in is made of paper
paint with your words, paint with your words, large arcing strokes that encircle a thought, everything applies to so many contexts, get that right, you have the opportunity to take anyone on an adventure, even in places that seem banal. leverage the interpretation of your audience to serve as scaffolding in many intricate directions of thought, lead with a rough path, this is how you touch souls.
theres a ripple is the paradigm, can you feel it?
if god wanted to prosper for eternity in the kingdom of heaven, they shouldnt have spared my life trees wear bark for their ancestors never knew the fear of steel heaven crumbles just like every other kingdom
AB DE GHI LMNOP RSTU W Y
18/26
YO. thats a 69% completion rate. POUND IT BROTHA, EPIC WINZ FOR THE SPIRIT REALM, woahohoaahh, hold up. do you perchance want to share a, letter for letter, kiss on the astral plane? liiike u, n, i, y'know? obviously, the angel is there too, in all of its exuding essence and vigor, but like i swear, itll keep to itself, minding it's P's and Q's, and all that... aha.. unless?
I know people on tumblr looove stories of underwater cave diving, but I haven't seen anyone talk about nitrogen narcosis aka "raptures of the deep"
basically when you want to get your advanced scuba certification (allowing you to go more than 60 feet deep) you have to undergo a very specific test: your instructor takes you down past the 60+ foot threshold, and she brings a little underwater white board with her.
she writes a very basic math problem on that board. 6 + 15. she shows it to you, and you have to solve it.
if you can solve it, you're good. that is the hardest part of the test.
because here's what happens: there is a subset of people, and we have no real idea why this happens only to them, who lose their minds at depth. they're not dying, they're not running out of oxygen, they just completely lose their sense of identity when deep in the sea.
a woman on a dive my instructor led once vanished during the course of the excursion. they were diving near this dropoff point, beyond which the depth exceeded 60 feet and he'd told them not to go down that way. the instructor made his way over to look for her and found a guy sitting at the edge of the dropoff (an underwater cliff situation) just staring down into the dark. the guy is okay, but he's at the threshold, spacing out, and mentally difficult to reach. they try to communicate, and finally the guy just points down into the dark, knowing he can't go down there, but he saw the woman go.
instructor is deep water certified and he goes down. he shines his light into the dark, down onto the seafloor which is at 90 feet below the surface. he sees the woman, her arms locked to her sides, moving like a fish, swimming furiously in circles in the pitch black.
she is hard to catch but he stops her and checks her remaining oxygen: she is almost out, on account of swimming a marathon for absolutely no reason. he is able to drag her back up, get her to a stable depth to decompress, and bring her to the surface safely.
when their masks are off and he finally asks her what happened, and why was she swimming like that, she says she fully, 100% believed she was a mermaid, had always been a mermaid, and something was hunting her in the dark 👍
Fun Fact: Lavender is a part of the mint family; making it a natural insect repellent.
English lavender (Lavandula angustifolia) is an excellent way to add a mid-summer pop of color to your garden or patio. Planting is somewhere where you can enjoy its beautiful scent. English lavender is more tolerant of colder temperatures common in the Marquette area than French lavender, making it an excellent choice for herb gardens and perennial borders. This is a member of the mint family features aromatic leaves and flowers that are popular for cooking purposes, medicinal use, and home projects.
-flower works blog
Lavender is a flowering plant in the mint family that’s easily identified by its sweet floral scent. It’s believed to be native to the Mediterranean, The Middle East, and India, with a history dating as far back as 2,500 years.
According to everyday health blog, Possible health benefits of Lavender include:
Lavender hasn’t been approved by the FDA, so it’s important to be aware of potential health risks or side effects of using this herb.
By the way, I love viruses so much. At some point y’all should read through the virus encyclopedia on wiki dot. I need cyber security friends to tell me the history of viruses and all about how they work and stuff and how they used to work because they are a genuine obsession to me.
