When, having become utterly smitten by the duality of the phrase “nothing is better than something,” the other half of your own dual brain quietly ponders, “I wonder if humanity’s ability to hold two mutually exclusive posits as equally true might dovetail with the theory of quantum computing.”
When you realize “I suppose I could hold the sale of the house hostage pending her agreement to both see her own psychiatrist and acquire her own couch counselor” are just thoughts you have now, in passing, ∑ background noise
They shackled their minds that they left on the cross
When ignorance reigns, life is lostI wish I could speak with Henry Rollins
When your yum won’t stop getting in the fucking way of her yuck and goddammit she won’t have any of it
Schrodinger’s cat: I want to bask in the knowledge the fucker may still be fine and put off having to check on him indefinitely. You want to freak the fuck out about how the cat is obviously already fucking dead and no we can’t check on him right this second but any goddamn moment now we’ll be obligated to unbox the lifeless husk of our very dear friend so you better fucking brace yourself.
Well, I guess if you never have inventory run out, you’re never forced to go cold turkey and realize on day three that you were definitely on more Mydayis than your body wants you on.
Blink and you might miss the yellow wave of privileged, bleeding hearts abandoning those preyed upon by the best propagandic tool since the advent of print, the bleeders not privileged enough to ride along, and, here’s the kicker, the very folks for whom their hearts have supposedly bled (I can only imagine feeling hopelessly abandoned) just when they most need a promise to mean something.
Wait, if bed-wetters shit the bed, does that constitute irony?
My gut says that was my last time voting for a president.
Guess you shit the bed after all.
Don’t let AI become your creativity the way you let social media become your reality. Let AI empower your creativity (coloring manga by interpreting the work of select panels completed by a flesh and blood colorist comes to mind).
I’m old enough to remember when we were the world. Thank you Quincy.
Bubble merge outreach would do well to include visual pallet cleansers and any other available resource to reset lizard logic centers as they take the wheel (those reaching out shall already need to be immunized against lizard driving, two lizards driving down the same road will always crash).
When your tunnel light turned out to be the after image been burnt into your retina, and it dawns on you that you won’t be able to trust your eyes while they’re adjusting to this sudden darkness.
It’s really f$&king hard to keep pushing this water vat up the goddamn hill for Jack and Jill while feeling over saturated from the effort and while recognizing the strong likelihood that the top of the hill remains deserted on account of that litte fucker always falling down.
I was nesting in the home I loved, comforted by the certainty that construction on the home out my window would eventually cease.
Now I simply live in temporary housing that is made unlivable between the hours of 8am and 5pm.
When you don’t want to go anywhere without your dog because you don’t want to be alone.
When you realize you talk to spiders
Progress is subjective. As is conservation.
When you realize nobody with an honest interest in understanding you shall ever be around you in your life again long enough to be capable of doing so.
Fuck your excavator beeps. They aren’t warning anyone. What they are is two feet from my fence, thirty five feet from my studio, fifty feet from my couch, loud as fuck, with me all goddamn day, and unfucking capturable by Apple’s Airpods Pro Max noise cancellation
Reintroduce the word at to illuminate the hidden data within the event line or stop placing the home team’s name after vs. It fucking bugs me that you have to be familiar with how we used to speak in order to understand that the event’s location is coded into the listing.