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how to deal with The Discourse

step 1: admire your adversary from afar––what are they wearing? how did you get into their house? do they have any pets? what do they smell like from thirty paces? these are things you’ll need to remember for the “report” later on.

step 2: find seven large snakes. tie each of them to a red hot air balloon. ensure that they are properly fed before their journey; it’ll be a long one.

step 3: do you remember the first time you ever felt betrayed? was it by a parent? a teacher? a schoolyard chum? sink into that distant but still virile memory of yourself. remember yourself remembering it later that evening, so many years ago. in the cold of night; in the dark. allow yourself to smell and taste the regret, deep and heavy at the back of your parched throat, as you reinvent the world of what trust meant to you sweet child’s mind.

step 4: rent a thoroughbred. discover new things about the world of Hurt™.

step 5: cook a lavish meal with all the right furnishings. invite all of your friends and family. when they arrive, activate the live-wire pad tucked beneath the metal-threaded floorboards of your porch. watch them sing! watch them dance! watch your childhood fear of skeletons come to life before your very eyes. watch yourself, in the reflection of the small, crescent moon-shaped window above your front door; do you see the lazy arc in which that single tear grooves down your face? think back to the first time your uncle Redford took you and your three twin cousins whitewater rafting when you were sixteen. uncle Redford was a ruddy-faced man and he enjoyed a six pack of PBR every once in a hot moon. your cousins were ugly, and they all shared that ugliness between them like a grand dirty secret. you saw a salmon that day; you thought, “ah, to be free, like a fish––to traverse deep waters and die when the dying is good. to feed and be fed upon, to bear the fruits of labor born only to righteous gods and sickle cell peasants.” you tasted ash that night. you sucked the campfire embers nice and heavy and thick. you leaned your head back into rough tree bark and watched the shadows bleed into the stars above, twinkling as they do. you remembered what it was like to be a child again, to trust in trust itself. but now, present day: you watch your tear, free as a salmon and twice as salty, and you remember what it’s like to live and die the whitewater child life. sit down at your kitchen table and weep for the memories of the birthday parties your closest loves will never get a chance to attend. 

step 6: sit down at your computer. crack your knuckles. crack every bone in your body. absently make a joke to yourself, out loud, about calcium. swallow back the fear of a deep ocean of skeleton dramas and sip at the lovely glass of dramamine sour sitting to your immediate left. resume your cracking. don’t stop until your bones rip themselves from the corporeal cage of your sinful flesh and poke through, sucking up the air in greedy little mouthfuls. 

step 10: wake up.

step 8: remember who you are, where you, but never why you are. you are not. 

step out of the mental prison you’ve built for yourself on the backs of people far greater than you could ever be. feel the air around you; is it thick? stick your tongue out. lap against it like a friendly dog lapping water at its new owner’s house. is it pregnant with anticipation? free it

steps 7 & 9: finish cracking your knuckles. you are ready. you are in The Discourse. you should have noticed it by now. it’s ready for you. repent. repent. repeat. repent. get as close to your computer screen as you possibly can. hold your eyes open until they dry out completely––so dry, you could snap them in half in a harsh northern wind. place your eyes directly on the post which led you into The Discourse in the first place. rub your dry eyes on the computer screen until the air is static, your house is static, your very essence is static. sing, aloud, the handle of the user who initiated The Discourse, and keep singing until your sing turns to scream turns to blood in your lungs and mouth, flecking the empty spots between your teeth and coating the finer linings of your gums. scream until you become an absolute, a pirouetting fountain of fantastic blood; you fill the room, you fill the emptiness. 

keep going until you fill all of the emptiness. 

So I can’t be the only one who noticed right? Dan being smol in baking vids 😉

Do not repost. Reblogs are appreciated.

Continuing my Adventure Zone art shenanigans, because you all had such a lovely response to my Taako design!  I know I said I was going to draw Angus next, but when I sat down to sketch last night I had a song in my heart.  And that song was the Fantasy Costco theme, so ya’ll are getting Garfield instead. Haha! I am absolutely one of the people who can’t help but see Garfield as a cat, but as much as the “necromancer lasagna cat” makes me laugh, I wanted to actually design a specific character for him.  Because I am terribly fascinated by Garfield’s character and ngl every time he comes around I laugh so much.  Good good weird creepy cat wizard man.