Picking up from yesterday's hypothetical poetic fart, a hypothetical second verse:

Will the smile
Last awhile
When I go

Unfollowing in Twitter oughta include an exit poll. It feels so f$&king random.

Attempt number one at transitioning from the Piasa Bird to Quetzalcoatl.

Where I entertaining poetic farts today, it's highly likely one would be titled When I Go and it would start out all:

Will the crows
Eat my toes
When I go?

Oh, and it has pictures.

And if you're not familiar with Station Eleven, it kinda helps folks rebuild civilization following its pandemic-based devolution into a tribal shitshow.

I suppose even if I'm just hand rolling one for myself with the chops that remain from my little bookbinding phase … I oughta make two copies and send her one like it was a copy of Station Eleven.

I just realized that if I manage to get this book printed, it oughta have a dedication to the counselor that kept me from burning it all down.

It's unsettling to have such a ginormous amount of philosociopolitical illustrated literature in my head that I want to push out without knowing where to f$&king push it or whether it'll ever be consumed by more than the handful of fully appreciated readers I can currently count.

I enjoyed writing it. Jenn didn't enjoy reading it. I believe we're the only two that know what it says.

Bee tee dubs, I totally crush the hammer and nail metaphor in this reply text I composed after receiving the text from #TeamGavin:

Shout out to @MoltonSulfur for the shared sentiment (highlighted below) in a post I came across while researching the Piasa Bird for the bit of the essay I filled in today.

The section on American dragons as it presently sits (worth it for the latest pronounciation gimic alone (which I am, admittedly, beating to death … we'll see how many manage to remain)) …

Dragons flourished all across the pre-Columbian Americas; however, getting to know them is a f$&king challenge. Genocide and forced assimilation kinda tend to disappear the afflicted culture. Consider the case of the Piasa Bird found in Alton, Illinois.

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When you get distracted by Ben's text on behalf of #TeamGavin and @GavinNewsom:

Hi, Ben. I'm kinda done investing in politics-as-usual politicians incapable of seeing the forest through the trees, unwilling to digest the requisite perspective for grokking the rot out of which our little dual reality democracy hath sprung, choosing instead to squint their eyes 'til the screw looks enough like a nail.

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When open with a buzzkill…

Dragons flourished all across the pre-Columbian Americas; however, getting to know them is a f$&king challenge. Genocide and forced assimilation kinda tend to disappear the afflicted culture.

Think I better make some additional Native American dragon art. The Piasa on its own already felt thin. That the only documented legend behind what absolutely was a real cliff painting (quarried by the white man) was admittedly fabricated by the white man kinda kills the mood.

Reminder @elonmusk … if you bring back @realDonaldTrump … and you do not bring back @moondeer … Imma turn this account suspension shitshow into a class action lawsuit. Ask the 18K dropped on wonder-what-would-happen tweet promotions whether I fear the smell of burning bills.

When Murphy's got you playing ruh roh roulette with all the laps she's doin' and the time of her last deposit totally unknown.

Wish I could setup Twitter's Super Follows with the monthly subscription price set to zero. Seems like a good way to filter for the handful of folks that are actually enaged.

Turns out a poem on a square doesn't garner engagement any more than a link to a poem.

I mean…

#Enchroachment

Still a shit ton of dual reality democracy horseshit to sort into visual concepts m0therf$&kers can absorb just by looking at. Tonight I wish I had one showing the inter-bubble bridge Biden can totally build … when the only thing that moves us is a cross-bubble bridge.