May Karlén
@may-karlen.bsky.social
Artistocat author of horror — Multimedia witch — Pantser with a plan — Childless cat lady — Harbinger of tropes — topia.land for books — No DMs
Reposted by May Karlén
Ozzy Osbourne funeral procession through Birmingham is being led by musicians playing Iron Man
🤘🥺🙏
🤘🥺🙏
July 30, 2025 at 1:02 PM
Ozzy Osbourne funeral procession through Birmingham is being led by musicians playing Iron Man
🤘🥺🙏
🤘🥺🙏
Reposted by May Karlén
Fact: The President of the United States has a worse criminal record than 99% of the people he is deporting.
July 30, 2025 at 1:13 PM
Fact: The President of the United States has a worse criminal record than 99% of the people he is deporting.
X is down. Again. 💀
July 31, 2025 at 12:45 AM
X is down. Again. 💀
No doubt Kamala will be running for president again. This will be wild🫶🏻🙌🏻
July 31, 2025 at 12:44 AM
No doubt Kamala will be running for president again. This will be wild🫶🏻🙌🏻
Humanity is hanging on by a thread.
Fortunately, it’s barbed, blood-soaked, and weirdly sentimental.
Fortunately, it’s barbed, blood-soaked, and weirdly sentimental.
June 7, 2025 at 6:56 PM
Humanity is hanging on by a thread.
Fortunately, it’s barbed, blood-soaked, and weirdly sentimental.
Fortunately, it’s barbed, blood-soaked, and weirdly sentimental.
Hope isn’t a candle. It’s a cockroach.
Ugly, unwanted, unkillable.
It crawls out of the rubble anyway.
Ugly, unwanted, unkillable.
It crawls out of the rubble anyway.
June 6, 2025 at 7:18 PM
Hope isn’t a candle. It’s a cockroach.
Ugly, unwanted, unkillable.
It crawls out of the rubble anyway.
Ugly, unwanted, unkillable.
It crawls out of the rubble anyway.
The world is crumbling, but people still say “bless you” when someone sneezes.
We’re monsters, sure—but polite ones.
We’re monsters, sure—but polite ones.
June 6, 2025 at 6:38 PM
The world is crumbling, but people still say “bless you” when someone sneezes.
We’re monsters, sure—but polite ones.
We’re monsters, sure—but polite ones.
People are still making bread, writing poems, rescuing dogs, and falling asleep to storms.
We’re not done yet.
We’re not done yet.
June 6, 2025 at 12:39 PM
People are still making bread, writing poems, rescuing dogs, and falling asleep to storms.
We’re not done yet.
We’re not done yet.
Everything feels impossible until someone does something kind anyway.
Then suddenly the apocalypse has worse odds.
Then suddenly the apocalypse has worse odds.
June 1, 2025 at 8:36 PM
Everything feels impossible until someone does something kind anyway.
Then suddenly the apocalypse has worse odds.
Then suddenly the apocalypse has worse odds.
Love is real. I saw it today.
A crow brought a man a shiny button. The man cried. The crow looked smug.
So, yes. There is hope. And also crows.
A crow brought a man a shiny button. The man cried. The crow looked smug.
So, yes. There is hope. And also crows.
June 1, 2025 at 6:14 PM
Love is real. I saw it today.
A crow brought a man a shiny button. The man cried. The crow looked smug.
So, yes. There is hope. And also crows.
A crow brought a man a shiny button. The man cried. The crow looked smug.
So, yes. There is hope. And also crows.
Take heart. Somewhere, a very tired woman is planting tulips in soil ruined by war.
That’s either hope or stubbornness. Either way, it works.
That’s either hope or stubbornness. Either way, it works.
June 1, 2025 at 5:56 PM
Take heart. Somewhere, a very tired woman is planting tulips in soil ruined by war.
That’s either hope or stubbornness. Either way, it works.
That’s either hope or stubbornness. Either way, it works.
Good things are still happening. They’re just a bit quiet right now.
Like mushrooms. Or introverts. Or necromancers.
Like mushrooms. Or introverts. Or necromancers.
June 1, 2025 at 2:47 PM
Good things are still happening. They’re just a bit quiet right now.
Like mushrooms. Or introverts. Or necromancers.
Like mushrooms. Or introverts. Or necromancers.
Every day I wake up and think, “Wow. Still here.”
Then I put on coffee and prepare to emotionally blackmail myself into hope again.
It’s a process.
Then I put on coffee and prepare to emotionally blackmail myself into hope again.
It’s a process.
June 1, 2025 at 2:47 PM
Every day I wake up and think, “Wow. Still here.”
Then I put on coffee and prepare to emotionally blackmail myself into hope again.
It’s a process.
Then I put on coffee and prepare to emotionally blackmail myself into hope again.
It’s a process.
The world’s on fire, but hey—roses still bloom, cats still loaf, and someone somewhere just kissed someone for the first time.
Hold on to that. And maybe also a fire extinguisher.
Hold on to that. And maybe also a fire extinguisher.
June 1, 2025 at 12:04 PM
The world’s on fire, but hey—roses still bloom, cats still loaf, and someone somewhere just kissed someone for the first time.
Hold on to that. And maybe also a fire extinguisher.
Hold on to that. And maybe also a fire extinguisher.
His words were laced with poison, a subtle venom dripping from every syllable like a snack coiled to strike.
(Should be snake. But now I’m just picturing an aggressive croissant.)
(Should be snake. But now I’m just picturing an aggressive croissant.)
March 7, 2025 at 10:18 PM
His words were laced with poison, a subtle venom dripping from every syllable like a snack coiled to strike.
(Should be snake. But now I’m just picturing an aggressive croissant.)
(Should be snake. But now I’m just picturing an aggressive croissant.)
The storm raged outside, its fury battering the walls like an unhinged lover demanding entry.
March 7, 2025 at 1:09 AM
The storm raged outside, its fury battering the walls like an unhinged lover demanding entry.
HP Lovecraft at the vet check-in. The waiting room is crowded.
Vet: "What's your cat called?"
Vet: "What's your cat called?"
March 7, 2025 at 12:49 AM
HP Lovecraft at the vet check-in. The waiting room is crowded.
Vet: "What's your cat called?"
Vet: "What's your cat called?"
He spoke in hushed tones, a secret woven between them like a sacred bong passed in the dark.
March 6, 2025 at 11:12 PM
He spoke in hushed tones, a secret woven between them like a sacred bong passed in the dark.
"Endings must be like locked doors. The reader should stare at them, knowing they cannot go back, but terrified to move forward."
March 2, 2025 at 7:28 PM
"Endings must be like locked doors. The reader should stare at them, knowing they cannot go back, but terrified to move forward."
"A good story grips the reader. A great story does not let go, even when they beg."
March 2, 2025 at 6:48 PM
"A good story grips the reader. A great story does not let go, even when they beg."
"To write well is to invite something into your home. You may believe it is only a story. You would be wrong."
March 2, 2025 at 4:09 PM
"To write well is to invite something into your home. You may believe it is only a story. You would be wrong."
"The greatest horror is not in what is written but in what is left unsaid."
- so I'll just stop writing.
- so I'll just stop writing.
March 1, 2025 at 10:16 PM
"The greatest horror is not in what is written but in what is left unsaid."
- so I'll just stop writing.
- so I'll just stop writing.
"Your villain should be charming. Even a predator must know how to smile."
March 1, 2025 at 9:29 PM
"Your villain should be charming. Even a predator must know how to smile."