A world dragon fed by futility

Billy had it right. The world is a vampire. Coagulate or bleed out.

My head is an ecosystem

I want to live in a world where Grazer’s cub lives. I don’t really want to live in this one.

Thank you, episode 1071, for validating the watching of the previous 1070 (minus fillers) and then some.

When you remember that never being apart from your dog isn’t usually a thing for people.

Incapable of owning the unpleasant, project upon another and point

I wonder where my upside went

When you’ve correctly assessed that any text message you choose to begin with “*** probably an overshare, but” must die on the vine.

Also, if you read this on purpose, send me an email

Let the one that sees the farthest guide the conversation.

Text me back when you get this.

Everyone should kill by their own rules.

Side note: everyone kills.

There is no quiet inside the mind.

Not sure which nose it was… but grade school ☾𐂂 would walk around on one wearing a shirt just like this.

Still not really sure how to handle one party 100% regretting and one party 95% not regretting purchasing a home since month two (the generous estimate).

Malproducing world logic unit verity example deux: it is okay that everything is not okay.

When you wonder whether you don’t feel like producing or you don’t feel like sharing.

Not quite sure where God’s world building concept went off the rails… my guess is the search ought begin near the logic unit designed to produce verities like it’s funny that it’s not funny.

When we had it in the bag.

Now I kinda want to pen an autobiography that not a one of you could possibly understand and call it My Ungrokkable Self

Perhaps I ought condition myself to give everyone the performance they’re looking for, like yesterday… and this morning. My ungrokkable self is tired of caring and a performance is the quickest way to pat them on the back and send them out smiling.

The formula for how quick you are to dismiss that which runs contrary contains a fitness factor correlating to the current state of your imagination.

Score an assassination attempt for the post-debate bed wetters, I guess, who still think we’re polling reality and have panicked some patriotically painted person into thinking our Tree of Liberty needed refreshing when there is already someone manning the sprinklers they keep telling to go home.