lets-be-friends-and-fuck is a specialization of lets-be-friends while touch-me is a specialization of notice-me ∴ there is already a dating app for forging adult friends IRL or humanity has gone all in on the one-way mirror service paradigm (image courtesy the Cali K9 app).

Stop calling me “sir”

The respect isn’t genuine so it makes me want to pull your balls out your mouth.

When you’re hanging out at Cali K9 waiting to be noticed, having arrived late (something you’ve done many times over the last 1 1/2 years you’ve been taking Kota there), when, finally, someone comes over to ask just the right questions. “You meant to be here? This your first class?”

“Nope, last.”

When doves cry Wolfman Jack strawberry fields forever my girls just wanna have fun run Lola runaway training day of the Dead Milkmen

Oh, lord… please don’t let me feel I’m understood

Wait. Do all mammals yawn? Do only mammals yawn? Do we know why?

Who are you if you haven’t anyone to tell?

Seeing familiar faces throughout one’s day/week/month/year is akin to doing whatever TF it is you get up to with your computer on a familiar operating system. Familiar face pools vary in size. Familiar face frequency requirements are adaptable and individually tuned. The crux, then, becomes the reliability of the familiar face pool as it relates to the currently tuned frequency requirement. An unproductive pool feels like sitting down before a virgin OS. A drained pool feels like the OS is language locked to something composed mostly of clicks.

When you realize that wandering about offering to squeeze crush aluminum cans with your hands would be a greater societal contribution than anything you’ve offered for the last 18 years… having just realized that palm pressing the dropped can of Bubbly was about as meaningful as your life gets.

When you realize you’ve aged out of remembering what having friends is like.

I suppose three is the first stable grouping since it adds the ability to keep two while discarding one.

When it takes fourty-whatever-it-is-now years to first wonder whether we are all recycling our saliva.

Raise your hand if you knowingly post shit like “Raise your hand” for what, in the best case scenario, would happen to be the scarce accidental audience with whom you’ve already disengaged.

What does all arithmetic have in common?

Okay, but what about uncountable sets?

Okay, smartass, then finish figuring out the connection that got me here:

destruction-as-specialized-creation-operation + memory-of-logic-circuits-and-arithmetic-op-construction ⟹ ?

If sleep ain’t a human right, then neither is breathing. Though, I am not sure human rights carry the same weight they had in the eighties when I first heard mention of them.

If there are any mentions waiting, don’t take it personally.

A Compendium of Crutches: From Mother Mary to Mary Jane, How Humanity Copes With Its Own Self Awareness

F$&k y’all for not writing this already.

** and, kindaf$&k y’all for seeing the hypothetical contribution of such a book as critical or physical instead of a resource for crutch refinement

Eat a dick, Louisiana.

When you are the only one to remember your conversations.

All but one, actually

When your entire fucking support team practically vanishes overnight.

When the folks you’ve spoken with face-to-face more than once over the last 5 years wouldn’t fill a kindergarten class and not one cognitively clicks to a degree one feels understood (and you wonder how much longer you’ll retain the feeling of a cognitive click for comparison).

When you force her to read nonsense like this in a text because how the fuck else were you going to describe it: “Just sucks I have to rock my bog-sunken tires free from this tractionless hellscape in order to get moving again.”

When you couldn’t give two fucks about anything you’ve ever created.

When you realize you and your dog both freeze up fearing culpability for the sudden burst of expletives now pouring in from the other room (despite its usually being work related).