I bet the transients were costing me a small fortune.

Bee tee dubs, the question was easier to grok on Twitter since I've had that sh$t pinned for ages now.

Well, so far I'm just adding sh$t … and it didn't take long for the bizarre tone I struck writing those READMEs to make an appearance. Here, see for yourself … the first four paragraphs as they currently appear in la feuille d'Ulysse:

On Dragon Weaving

Honesty, I haven't a clue why, in February of last year, I found myself pondering the web of dragon mythology that so ensnares the imagination of man. Of how the machinations of my mind materialized the path it would then travel, I've an even clumsier grasp. I believe there is something significant to be found within the folds of fumbled expression held by the essay I had composed. Now, a year later (finding myself in possession of more diversely and formidably equipped faculties), I shall recompose its art and prose, hoping to attain a composition that more capably communicates that which I have to say. It shall be begin with a declaration.

I find them fascinating, the common threads with which disconnected hubs of humanity weave their native narratives. The similitude with which humanity engineers itself by independent means astounds. It warrants remark, in this digitally polarized age of humanity where tribal gutturals dissemble themselves as discourse, the resemblance that runs through the clutch of reflections caught by the collective looking glass.

Such abstraction, dear reader, may satisfy my selfish need to soliloquize; however, it achieves very little in the way of conceptual connection. We need something concrete, an example exhibiting qualities consistent with the previous prose. What though? Which player shall I pluck from the troupe?

Of course it's f$&kin' dragons. I named this f$&kin' thing On Dragon Weaving, how the f$&k would I ever work this f$&ker into an essay befitting of the name were I not, inevitably, about to begin talking about dragons? I mean … I name dropped the little f$&kers in what I believe we've settled upon calling this essay's preamble. Let's hop f$&kin' to it, shall we?

Current read-this/read-this-and-that-essay tallies:
Micro.blog   7/1
Twitter   2/2

We should a start pool for guessing the followers count bleed out now that the promotions have ceased.

My gut says we'll bottom out around 5,246.

So I need a new living arrangement and I'm kinda torn between an apartment and an RV.

Ten points to he … she … they? … whosoever can remind me of the movie that gifted me the pinot noir fixation.

We all agree that dogs and cats are cute AF. If we ever realize we can work from there, perhaps civilization has a shot.

Side note: last time I felt like this I deleted my Twitter account, globally disconnected crossposting, and took up digital art.

Not quite sure where this trip is taking me, but I'm making myself a book … not sure who to will it to for posthumous discovery.

⑶²

I also take it personally … but … I mean … the first rule of this grand social media age is "fuck your feelings" … so taking it personally is kind of on me.

⑵²

That which lay at my core is the best of me, received with reciprocity, tithings of attention unlock inimitability entirely unknowable to the surface dweller unwilling to forego the bite size for something substantive.

⑴²

To reiterate, I have many facets. You are, of course, free to enjoy all of, none of, or some combination of that which these faces offer.

The … what do we call this … the rewritten essay's preamble?

Honesty, I haven't a clue why, in February of last year, I found myself pondering the web of dragon mythology that so ensnares the imagination of man. Of how the machinations of my mind materialized the path it would then travel, I've an even clumsier grasp. I believe there is something significant to be found within the folds of fumbled expression held by the essay I had composed. Now, a year later (finding myself in possession of more diversely and formidably equipped faculties), I shall recompose its art and prose, hoping to attain a composition that more capably communicates that which I have to say.

Another essay I ought write: A F$&king Defense of Fauxfanity.

.@chloemcgill nailing what I oughta B doing but have avoided since the time I tried with the essay 4 which I just generated 27 pieces of art & that I'm rewriting to compete with my current fav:

Glad to see the Micro.blog participation. Y'all don't be shy about just leaving the 👀 … I can only think of one person that may have bothered with it … and I'm not sure the flagship essay was the one that he read.

Let's do a head count.

If you're reading this on Micro.blog or Mastodon (I'll put this in a poll for the Twitter peeps), toss me a 👀.

If you've also read On the American Upside Down, toss in a 📖.

Y'all have no idea how futile it feels, dropping the link for some next level content into a social media post.

Wicked sociopolitical analysis ☑︎
Original artwork ☑︎
Uniquely written ☑︎

The value of my offering against the percent willing to receive it … kinda fucked.

Bee tee dubs … if you're reading this … and you've not read that which lives at the other end of the link below … you've been watching with the sound on mute … and me with so much to say.

Guess we're freezing at 8K. The unseen hand says promotions gotta stop. F$&k it. I make it for myself. May as well keep it to myself.

Question @elonmusk, shall we be infusing Twitter's platform with ISIS recruiters as well or shall "freedom of speech" be a perk exclusive to modern white nationalism?

*Correction* Dividith and ye (of great wealth) shall conquer. Motivation for buying and privatizing a platform. @elonmusk pedals freedom-of-speech peanuts not passionately, but selfishly, to ensure the devolutionary elephant sitting in every GD room remains well fed.

Notes on the Bifurcated Information Ecosystem and the Dual Reality …

A gathering place for what might become a digestible representation of that which lay within my mind on the subject

7:54 PM • Sep 26, 2021reading time 2 minutes

Congrats to whichever writer(s) are responsible for the ridiculousness that is Kate in this final season of #ThisIsUs. I'm sure Chumbawamba and the Backstreet Boys perfectly encapsulate your 90's experience. I'd be skipping Kate episodes entirely were it not for Jenn's evil eye.

All ye that doth bag the feculence of thine own canine companion only to forswear thy creation where it didst enter this orb, man the f$&k up and carry thy sh$t.

When you're rewriting your essay in your head on the way to a golf lesson.