My gut says that was my last time voting for a president.

Now we find out what the worst possible track feels like in this War of the Bubbles, the Battle of the Bed-Wetters having gone to Earth Two

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.

#NostalgicNuggs

High School ☾𐂂

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.

Hah! Found the playbook.

1. Say something minorly incorrect but worth getting straight to avoid problems down the line.
2. As the person to whom you are speaking tries to stop you from disappearing down a rabbit hole, pretend they aren’t even speaking and quickly rattle off two or three more increasingly inaccurate factums that build upon the initial inaccuracy.
3. Act accosted as the person to whom you’ve been speaking becomes increasingly louder and more animated now that you’ve lit the gas.
4. Begin free form commentary of the utterly unacceptable (and irrational) behavior currently being exhibited by the person to whom you had been speaking.

I wonder how many days one can go without any feelings of accomplishment?

Two month post dump backing up to MB Timeline

If I recorded my voice, would I hear what I said?

I suppose the role I’ve defined for myself has been wearing around her albatross collection in order to preserve her worldview (they abscond into my general visage with a spot of sin-eatting).

A brain cannot grow without changing its pattern.

I wonder what the odds were last March (there are only so many times you can hear this without repeating it), when I said out loud for the very first time in memory, “I’ll just kill myself,” (shocking even myself into pondering whether I really were suicidal (I wasn’t and turns out I never have been)) that the very next thing said to me would be, “Good, nobody wants you here.”

I’m like a horse, pulling gets us nowhere.