Out of art paper. Time to trap farts.

When you catch yourself waiting for patience

To whom it may concern,

More than happy to be the censorship case against Elon.

☾𐂂

Okay… pentameter for five syllables… but WTF was iambic?

I suppose I could paper my walls with my arts
Spend the rest of the day locked away trapping farts

Side note: I get zero email to [email protected] and yet I still think of it as the private messaging arm of Micro.blog

To be more obvious, I made this in about five minutes without AI

True gifts aren’t returnable.

It’s around three deep
That it becomes difficult
To discern the stink

It is that projected cat creates the conditions for self-fulfilling.

I’ll be impressed by your AI once that Sweet ‘n’ Low tastes like sugar.

It takes me longer to explain shit because there is more connective tissue.

Them lovebirds returned

A social media platform’s touch-awareness parameter (Micro.blog at one end of the spectrum and my old Twitter experience the other) would be per person customizable and vastly improved with a simple quantum leap: make everything opt-in with three choices yes | no | whatever and wire up the spectrum

Abstracted I become enigmatic

I bet the gotcha vibes are strong this morning. Good luck stabilizing that dual-reality democracy amidst the tremors. I ceased my attempts at waking the woke some time in June of 2021. Best rebuild them bowling leagues before some silly twat stumbles upon a frequency that really resonates.

A pair of Pretorian Lovebirds

So, is my phone my watch yet?
Or, is my watch my phone?
Now, is it that I’m meant to feel
More
Or less
Alone?

I suppose screens strain eyes because they want to adjust focal depth

A six oughta look like an eight, considering it’s composed of a pair of threes.

Side note: it’s that dead cat y’all lug around giving y’all the yips.

Without desire, no inventory is taken of our current conditions… no subsequent identification of methods for engineering conditions that more favorably persist life. Without wanton adaptation, humanity stunts its own evolution.

The Buddha was born within the belly of desire.

Perhaps the problem don’t lie with desire, but with expectation

Something about this feels relatable to quantum mechanics and having the audacity to start running the numbers (hello modern world) despite how f$&king ridiculous it is for light to be both a particle and a wave.

Hell. I am in the Bay. I suppose all I’d have to do is make a spectacle somewhere.