I know what lies hidden in the woods:
at three-twenty seven am.
It snuck past her closed bedroom door-
as floorboards protested his bulk.
The stench of his drunkenness filled the air,
as all those dirty pennies filled his mouth.
The gloom, shaded copper, was bright and thin
at three-thirty four am.

I did a scary thing. However it plays out, I did the thing and I am proud as hell of Current!Me for doing it.

All I am saying is waiting for a cancer diagnosis in the wake of Andrea Gibson’s passing from ovarian cancer and the death of too many friends is one hell of a mind-fuck.

As a general, non-specific reminder of no particular occasion… Fuck Cancer.

Clutter = 0
Me = 1
My office is clean and tidy. That noise you just heard was, in all liklihood, the seventh trumpet of the Apocalypse.

I absolutely judge folks by how they conduct themselves in common business. The ethics displayed, the commitment to transparency and fairness, these are all factors that must never be ignored. Actions, good or ill, speak more about character and trustworthiness than a million words.

Is the world on fire? Yes.
Am I under a blanket watching Top Gear reruns? Also yes.

Friendly reminder: choosing to not be on a social media platform is a form of privilege. For many, especially the unhoused and disabled, this is their only form of interpersonal connection.

I was, am, and will be deeply amazed at the wonder that is hot tea.
Water? Check.
Hot? Check.
Random dried leaves stuffed in a bag with a string? Check.
Delicious wonderfulness? Checkmate, birches.
#livinglavidadelicioso

Heh. Flashback to that one roommate who, desperate to hide assets from their ex, demanding we all commit bank fraud. Good times, good times.

At the end of the West,
when the one for all
swore off the all for one
We drink to Don Quixote’s name,
Windmills and the Way of the Gun.

I’m trying to be nice tonight but y’all know I can cuss you the fuck out if need be.

Like Dudley Randall said “a poet is not a jukebox.” Asking me to add you to MY starter pack makes me wanna talk bad about your ancestors. Don’t play with me. I’ll talk about you onstage.

It is a very good day to young void. Imaginary things flying around, parents will to be herded back to bed, and all so she can lie in wait for errant ankles. #ladytoothlessthetripod #housemurderpaws

Friendly reminder: the absolute worst thing you can say to an addict in crisis is “You’re too good to abuse.” Don’t be that shithead, okay?

(story not from my own direct experience, but observed in a conversation elsewhere.)

[snarky scream]
[witty, incisive observation]
[despondence]
[entropic despair]
[fin]

As a reminder, I am even more rarely here than I am on Threads, and I am definitely not on that other site now run by neo-con white cryptofascists. I'm not one to wish another harm, but if that man chokes on an emerald-encrusted phallic device, I'll join his daughter in laughing.

Y’all know the “Don’t turn the country back fifty years” thing was rhetorical, yeah? Eight years, fifty years, the past is not progress.

The word of the day is "tortussy". #iykyk