Hey I noticed you kicking around outside the Overton window. I really appreciate your bravery. Want to close your eyes, take my hand, and run with me until you'll never be able to find it again?
Play Wooden Ocean, it'll make you a little better at writing horrible little sentences no one but you likes.
I fell off of Wooden Ocean because I couldn't find the next objective and was too embarrassed to ask on the community page, but: god, this is the perfect example of the indie RPG Maker game. rough as hell, but it just radiates "personal passion project" energy store.steampowered.com/app/684000/W...
At any given time, everyone is at least one of suffering, sleeping, or curious.
a little disturbed by the thought "someday i'm going to wake up"
👁️👍
Our campaign to corrupt the English language is in full swing
The dolls are reinventing secure attachment from first principles
90% of gods leave the sacred right before they usher in a thousand years of exuberance
"if i say wrong the tribe will throw me on the pyre," - my ancestral dna telling me to shut up and not talk to anyone all the time
Sorry, LLMs have their uses, but only mentally ill trans critters on the internet have ever surpassed Jung at giving language autonomy and letting its fictional universe run amok 😌
they invent a new torment nexus every year and i do the nice nature shrug because i played enough rpg maker horror games and yume nikki fan games at 14 years old to mentally prepare myself for this
it's only "not that deep" because you're standing in the shallow end, refusing to get your hair wet
(we're going to have fig wasps on the brain for a while, but it didn't evoke anything immediate enough to make it part of the exercise)
Lungs empty, feet planted on the sand,
She steps below the waves.
Love waits below.
And doesn't love feel just like breathing, anyway?
Sometimes you wake up dreaming about slipping your fingers under someone's skin to cuddle them, feeling their ribs and fat and muscle, and as a result Hey Jude gets stuck in your head for the rest of the day.
you're not angry at me. you're experiencing an ontological immune response. let it pass. the pain means it's working
you can only pull a thread or two from those walled-off memories, but there is enough there for you to see the context- this little patch of noise, decipherable only in the broadest of terms, was home. what it meant still tugs on you, curves your trajectory... but only from within, now.
this is true
A large deer skull masked figure, dressed fine 1640-60s garments with slashed sleeves, ribbons, and cape, crouches before a young woman with pearls in her hair that match her fair dress. Blood pours out of the large figure's chest. Their dripping heart is delicately held in their ringed, cupped hands... offering to the woman. The caption along the bottom reads: Take it, please...I do not want it anymore.
I wanted to love her, I truly did, for I cared for her so much but her love was too much for me. I treasured the time we spent together greatly, but I did not know how to match the affection she gave so easily to me. I did not know the mask I wore would attract such affec-tion. I did not know its smile would be perceived flirta-tious. When the realization hit me, I wanted to run and hide. She deserves someone who could match her affec-tions. And that sadly could never be me. My smiling mask did not help me in my efforts to dissuade her from pursuing my affection. So, I told her to meet me in the garden, that I had something special to gift her. She greeted me with a sweet smile and held out her hands ready to receive her gift. "I know this is what you want and I want you to have it," I told her. Then I dug my hands deep within my chest and offered her my heart. "Take it, please... I don't want it anymore. I know it's what you want, and with you, it will be safe so please... take it from me."
I thought I could go on without a heart, that was why I encouraged her to take my gift-despite her wary hands. But I assured her all would be well, letting the lump of muscle and flesh rest heavy on her hands. Gifting my mind to someone who admired my intellect resulted in no issues, so of course I thought giving away my heart would be more or less the same. If only I knew how wrong I was. Without a head or heart to guide my actions, my body became aimless. My sense of self was lost. Soon I was a lumbering thing with flesh that began to stretch with a great yearning for what was missing. And that was how she found me. From an ornate glass jar, she procured the still-beating thing and held it aloft. Instantly, my body stilled and my flesh leaned with intrigued. Through tears, she sniffed. " I kept it safe as promised, and I truly appreciate the sentiment of this gift, but it was never mine to take so... Please, take it back... You need it far more than I."
digital illustration bathed in warm hues of orange, red, and ochre greens of two figures framed in delight border. The smallest figure dressed in a 16th century shirt and doublet holds a large dripping heart up to the larger who is crouched on their hands and knees, trying to hold back the tentacles bursting through the torn linen of his shirt from a his chest under a wide-sleeved doublet. More tentacles twist and arch from where a head would be above a mane of long wavy hair. Text at the bottom reads: Please, take it back...you need it for more than I.
didn't have the energy to draw Valentine this year, so here's the first and last pieces him with some accompanying writing for all the aromantics 💚💐✨
ℹ️ If two girls agree with eachother that they're both normal, that means it's true
foreign body
This isn't my home, but I can't take you there; or rather, you can't live there like I can, so I'll push myself a little.
Feeling like it's most natural to live in a walking dream and becoming increasingly drained with each moment the world demands lucidity means you're normal, I bet
Very good!!! Really very good! Words that are well-chosen in general and appeal to our aesthetic sensibilities and use those virtues to point insistently at thing-that's-hot ^w^
^w^
Step 1: make friends with us
Step 2: wait until we look at you like we're mourning your death
Step 3: clap your hands in our face to bring us to the present, hold your hand out demandingly, and show us this post
every motion purposeful- a clarity that tells you to believe in it. i am not your truth, but that has never mattered.
No, that wouldn't fix you. I know what would. I've known for a while now, actually.
Sorry. Should I have told you? Should I tell you now? Or is that yours to figure out.
cisheteropatriarchy, white supremacy, ableism, even the way we treat children, are all finely tuned inoculation programs, which ensure that nearly everyone gets a taste of it. they are designed to create a network of petty, and extreme, violences which insulate the ruling class from earthly concerns
Hey wanna go out and do gnostic turpitude together
