Revisor
@revisor5.bsky.social
Art exists because reality alone isn’t enough. It lets us revise the world, line by line, truth by truth. And you—Revisor—move through it like an editor of meaning, finding the version that finally feels alive.
My mother is a witch - the good kind. She says, “Stay who you are, just better,” and that letting go is how things find their way back. She also says I’m like my father. He was an ogre - the good kind, too.
December 30, 2025 at 3:11 PM
My mother is a witch - the good kind. She says, “Stay who you are, just better,” and that letting go is how things find their way back. She also says I’m like my father. He was an ogre - the good kind, too.
The world isn’t held up by the loudest or the toughest. It’s carried by people who notice when someone’s about to be crushed and step in anyway. Strength isn’t domination - it’s refusal to let others be crushed.
December 29, 2025 at 7:14 AM
The world isn’t held up by the loudest or the toughest. It’s carried by people who notice when someone’s about to be crushed and step in anyway. Strength isn’t domination - it’s refusal to let others be crushed.
Sometimes you have to protest just to make room. Room to try, to fail, to imagine. Against the gatekeepers of taste who fill every crack with what they approve of, leaving no space to breathe, let alone build something new.
December 28, 2025 at 7:40 AM
Sometimes you have to protest just to make room. Room to try, to fail, to imagine. Against the gatekeepers of taste who fill every crack with what they approve of, leaving no space to breathe, let alone build something new.
Power isn’t personal - it’s architectural. Authority isn’t owned; it’s granted. When injustice wears a badge, a title, a throne, it survives because enough people keep handing it keys. If power gets away with harm, it’s because we let it. This is on us. On you.
![Start with [redacted].
Build trust through [redacted].
Share power by [redacted].
Protect each other when [redacted].
Change happens when [redacted] act together - quietly, persistently, without permission.](https://cdn.bsky.app/img/feed_thumbnail/plain/did:plc:q2gdgperk75leieq5dmwlchj/bafkreifybbszly63u26gsw2g3kngonqdgqghagi2muxctca4nxjbxytvpq@jpeg)
December 27, 2025 at 8:43 AM
Power isn’t personal - it’s architectural. Authority isn’t owned; it’s granted. When injustice wears a badge, a title, a throne, it survives because enough people keep handing it keys. If power gets away with harm, it’s because we let it. This is on us. On you.
What do you call longing for someone who doesn’t exist, while secretly hoping you never meet because it would be exhausting? Maybe it’s you, me, and the world’s problems flirting in theory and agreeing never to make it practical.
December 26, 2025 at 9:33 AM
What do you call longing for someone who doesn’t exist, while secretly hoping you never meet because it would be exhausting? Maybe it’s you, me, and the world’s problems flirting in theory and agreeing never to make it practical.
Sure, we could write the thousandth critique of consumption, another sermon about focusing on what matters. It already exists. It’s longer, smarter, and everyone agrees with it - loudly, while buying something new. Awareness isn’t rare. Amnesia is just very well marketed.
December 25, 2025 at 7:53 AM
Sure, we could write the thousandth critique of consumption, another sermon about focusing on what matters. It already exists. It’s longer, smarter, and everyone agrees with it - loudly, while buying something new. Awareness isn’t rare. Amnesia is just very well marketed.
It’s impressive how we can turn a quiet moment of reflection into a stress factory and a fresh argument. Maybe that’s what happens when only a washed-out message survives, with no instructions attached. Anyway - all the best.
December 24, 2025 at 9:39 AM
It’s impressive how we can turn a quiet moment of reflection into a stress factory and a fresh argument. Maybe that’s what happens when only a washed-out message survives, with no instructions attached. Anyway - all the best.
I dream of a palm beach at night, warm water, dark sky, no witnesses. The world fades to a low hum. Sunset turns sexy, silence turns kind, and for once the future can wait barefoot in the sand.
December 23, 2025 at 7:45 AM
I dream of a palm beach at night, warm water, dark sky, no witnesses. The world fades to a low hum. Sunset turns sexy, silence turns kind, and for once the future can wait barefoot in the sand.
“Good” and “bad” are for bedtime stories. Real life asks “appropriate or harmful?” Screaming works at concerts, not funerals. Context matters. Consequences matter. If morality were simple, we’d outsource it to signs.
December 22, 2025 at 8:22 AM
“Good” and “bad” are for bedtime stories. Real life asks “appropriate or harmful?” Screaming works at concerts, not funerals. Context matters. Consequences matter. If morality were simple, we’d outsource it to signs.
Everyone is moving - hustling, reinventing, performing motion like it’s meaning. But movement for its own sake is just noise. Self-will turns absurd when it forgets why it started walking at all.
December 21, 2025 at 5:58 AM
Everyone is moving - hustling, reinventing, performing motion like it’s meaning. But movement for its own sake is just noise. Self-will turns absurd when it forgets why it started walking at all.
I talk about rockets and distant planets. You listen, even though space doesn’t interest you and your head is crowded with worries about the future. You still stay. And I wonder how someone can give so much attention away and somehow remain full.
December 20, 2025 at 6:13 AM
I talk about rockets and distant planets. You listen, even though space doesn’t interest you and your head is crowded with worries about the future. You still stay. And I wonder how someone can give so much attention away and somehow remain full.
The last thing we need is feudalism in modern clothes, sold as “stability.” Kings by another name, landlords of power - smuggled in as common sense. History is yelling again.
December 19, 2025 at 6:31 AM
The last thing we need is feudalism in modern clothes, sold as “stability.” Kings by another name, landlords of power - smuggled in as common sense. History is yelling again.
I write “everything sucks” on the wall and somehow people think I mean literally everything. I say I love the world and they assume I want to hug all of it.
Why is it that when you shout “slow down,” everyone hears “stop”?
Why is it that when you shout “slow down,” everyone hears “stop”?
December 18, 2025 at 6:12 AM
I write “everything sucks” on the wall and somehow people think I mean literally everything. I say I love the world and they assume I want to hug all of it.
Why is it that when you shout “slow down,” everyone hears “stop”?
Why is it that when you shout “slow down,” everyone hears “stop”?
Walking through thick fog, you think you see monsters - claws, teeth, intentions. Maybe they’re real. Maybe it’s just mist. Finding truth now feels the same: moving carefully through shapes in a world that stopped caring whether anything is real at all.
December 17, 2025 at 6:12 AM
Walking through thick fog, you think you see monsters - claws, teeth, intentions. Maybe they’re real. Maybe it’s just mist. Finding truth now feels the same: moving carefully through shapes in a world that stopped caring whether anything is real at all.
At night the room turns bone-white and ink.
A skeleton wakes inside the house;
the dog watches, unblinking, breath slow.
Something has shifted.
It is not noise.
It is not over.
A skeleton wakes inside the house;
the dog watches, unblinking, breath slow.
Something has shifted.
It is not noise.
It is not over.
December 16, 2025 at 6:42 AM
At night the room turns bone-white and ink.
A skeleton wakes inside the house;
the dog watches, unblinking, breath slow.
Something has shifted.
It is not noise.
It is not over.
A skeleton wakes inside the house;
the dog watches, unblinking, breath slow.
Something has shifted.
It is not noise.
It is not over.
You say you have the best friends in the world. I say I have the best friends in the world. Somehow, both things are true.
December 15, 2025 at 6:32 AM
You say you have the best friends in the world. I say I have the best friends in the world. Somehow, both things are true.
Build a rich inner world - a refuge, a playground for ideas, a museum for memory, a fortress for who you are. Just remember: reality still exists. The inner world is a tool to survive it, not a substitute.
December 14, 2025 at 1:07 PM
Build a rich inner world - a refuge, a playground for ideas, a museum for memory, a fortress for who you are. Just remember: reality still exists. The inner world is a tool to survive it, not a substitute.
We climb a hill with no crown,
hands bleeding on borrowed stone.
No summit promise - only each other.
We thank the ghosts who cut steps before us
and lock arms against those who pull downward.
hands bleeding on borrowed stone.
No summit promise - only each other.
We thank the ghosts who cut steps before us
and lock arms against those who pull downward.
December 13, 2025 at 12:19 PM
We climb a hill with no crown,
hands bleeding on borrowed stone.
No summit promise - only each other.
We thank the ghosts who cut steps before us
and lock arms against those who pull downward.
hands bleeding on borrowed stone.
No summit promise - only each other.
We thank the ghosts who cut steps before us
and lock arms against those who pull downward.
Yes, it’s absolutely okay to feel anger. It’s okay to wish he’d just vanish. Wanting a just world is not the same as hating it. Don’t let anyone blur that line for you.
December 12, 2025 at 12:44 PM
Yes, it’s absolutely okay to feel anger. It’s okay to wish he’d just vanish. Wanting a just world is not the same as hating it. Don’t let anyone blur that line for you.
Bad weather hits all of us. Some days you stand in the storm, soaked and swearing, and the sky doesn’t care. The universe owes you nothing - not a rainbow, not a refund. Just don’t turn yourself into a permanent victim. Surviving isn’t a personality. It’s a beginning.
December 11, 2025 at 2:59 PM
Bad weather hits all of us. Some days you stand in the storm, soaked and swearing, and the sky doesn’t care. The universe owes you nothing - not a rainbow, not a refund. Just don’t turn yourself into a permanent victim. Surviving isn’t a personality. It’s a beginning.
I think the sirens don’t sing to kill. I think they sing because every attempt at love ends in drowning. People hear only the beauty, like birdsong, and miss the warning buried in the notes. Tragedy sounds lovely when you refuse to listen.
December 10, 2025 at 7:03 AM
I think the sirens don’t sing to kill. I think they sing because every attempt at love ends in drowning. People hear only the beauty, like birdsong, and miss the warning buried in the notes. Tragedy sounds lovely when you refuse to listen.
Be yourself, even when a shallow world laughs. You’ve seen what it applauds. Don’t aim for their approval. Aim to do no harm, learn when you fail, and stand your ground without needing their permission.
December 9, 2025 at 6:32 AM
Be yourself, even when a shallow world laughs. You’ve seen what it applauds. Don’t aim for their approval. Aim to do no harm, learn when you fail, and stand your ground without needing their permission.
A team without shared goals slowly damages someone. Even perfect matches must part when they’re heading different ways. Leaving can be the kindest fix.
December 8, 2025 at 6:02 AM
A team without shared goals slowly damages someone. Even perfect matches must part when they’re heading different ways. Leaving can be the kindest fix.
Don’t flatten your dreams to fit a world that fakes its own. Aim past the cardboard goals of people who only pretend to know what they want.
December 7, 2025 at 8:16 AM
Don’t flatten your dreams to fit a world that fakes its own. Aim past the cardboard goals of people who only pretend to know what they want.
Let’s be honest: our freedoms aren’t usually stolen. We hand them over politely, sell them cheap, and act shocked when they don’t write back. We trade something infinite for glitter, then ask who turned off the lights.
December 6, 2025 at 2:40 PM
Let’s be honest: our freedoms aren’t usually stolen. We hand them over politely, sell them cheap, and act shocked when they don’t write back. We trade something infinite for glitter, then ask who turned off the lights.