Felt-tip fealty
Stolen obscenities
Mistake a meme for a movement
Relace the seam with dissolvable stitches
Rebuild atop a crumbling foundation
Division as salvation
Rebrand sickness as entertainment
Zero sum inversion
Decaying recursion
Garbage in, garbage out
Beat that drum
Run back to what you knew
For four long years you’ve wanted to
I’ll choke down all that might have been
And spit out what you’re accustomed to
When you realize the most accurate measurement of intelligence is taken while the subject is interpreting, not while they are projecting, things within the shared reality.
Seems to be snowing on #MorningJoe this morning, so many snowflakes.
When you’re choosing between being the asshole that hasn’t bothered checking cross post platforms for the past year to see whether anyone engaged and being the asshole cross posting for the past year without a single engagement.
Donald Trump didn’t do that to this country, we did it to ourselves mister pass the buck.
The youngest children have already died of malnutrition.
I wonder what the split screen would look like for conservatives were it possible to glimpse a world in which the Lincoln Project had pivoted, as I’d posited three years ago, away from the politics-as-usual media op that specializes in gotcha-theater (entirely fruitless within a dual reality democracy) into the Lincoln Party… as a way to, you know, provide representation for all the Earth One conservatives currently sans.
You don’t have to follow me
Only you can set you freeWhen you’re peeved it’s gonna be the new biographical tripe essay (this is what you get for thinking up something clever while driving home and being all, “I could call it Someone Check My Math.” The GD thing will write itself) that draws you back in.
Lizard-locked lemmings
Raise your hand if you toss little four finger waves to the slow/stop stick spinning road repair fellas ‘cause the job has gotta suck and you appreciate somebody doing that shit.
Empty words
I wouldn’t begin to know which would be yin and which yang; but, I fucking hate being out of balance so here goes… having already established you can’t run on a crutch, you can’t run with a fractured fucking foot either. How happily might you lay up your life while your calcium deposits replenish?
When showering is a fucking accomplishment.
When you realize it’s been twenty years or so since you’ve had a friend’s phone number in your phone (or a friend for that matter).
If our bodies are tuning our neural nets each night by applying patches as our cells are repaired, then fuck whoever it was that set me up without version control.
I’ll have to think up some participation game posts to replace my random insecurity checkpoint posts… ‘cause winter done came and no way I haven’t managed to shake at least a handful of the 19 of y’all that checked in last time… but the neediness makes me want to vomit.
Actually, every other platform would be a one way mirror. Micro.blog uses opaque glass both ways.
The problem with this one way mirror shit is that I have an idea in my head who shall read these words. Y’all have ideas of who’s written them. Not one of these ideas is accurate.
If it’s an eye for an eye who the fuck is doing the math.
Life knows how I feel about lemons. Now, he’s just being a dick.
Side note: Alan Turing did formulate chaos.
Pour one out for Alan Turing and that which he took with him because it makes folks uncomfortable when two adult males get randy and life inside a community that has taken your balls isn’t quite conducive for creative thought (and a mind so starved whithers rapidly) and and.
Can one formulate chaos?
It’s beginning to look like I ought update the self portrait from unable to unpersuaded. Take my sit-and-spin stick. You each get a turn.
When the fuck do I get to talk to people instead of explain shit to them?