December 2011
70 posts
SING TO A BUG
MAYBE IT WILL DANCE FOR YOU
TAKE A CHANCE
MY NEW YEAR’S RESOLUTION IS TO BECOME ROCK HARD JUST SOLID, IMPENETRABLE ROCK NO MORE MESSY SACS NO MORE LIMBS OR BLINKING
SO TIRED OF BLINKING
LORD, LET ME BE A STONE
LET ME BE STILL AND WARM AND SLOWLY ERODED BY GENTLE WATER FOR A PERIOD OF SEVERAL THOUSAND YEARS THANKS IN ADVANCE
(SOMETIMES I PICTURE YOU GIGGLING AT A SIGN THAT SAYS “NO GIGGLING”
YOU ARE AGAINST THE LAW)
HOW TO HAVE A BEARD: A TECHNICAL GUIDE by THERON JACOBS
FIRST STEP: BE AN ALIVE PERSON OR GOAT
2. HAVE A (FUNCTIONING!) FACE
a.if your face is non-functioning, please see appendix A
3. ACQUIRE OR GENERATE THE HORMONE TESTOSTERONE (I USE HOMEGROWN)
4. SIT IN A QUARANTINED ROOM COMPLETELY STILL FOR 4 MONTHS OR UNTIL ITCHY AND THEN NOT ITCHY ANYMORE
5. PRESTO! BEARD!
appendix A: FIX...
I REALLY LIKE WRITING AND DRAWING, BUT I CAN’T SHAKE THE NOTION THAT THE BEST USE OF MY TIME IS CUNNILINGUS
MERRY CHRISTMAS!
NEW ASPIRATIONAL MANIFESTO
bravenewwhatever:
Work like you don’t need the money the world’s gonna end in 2012 Love like you’ve never been hurt the world’s gonna end in 2012 Dance like nobody’s watching the world’s gonna end in 2012 Live like there’s heaven on earth the world’s gonna end in 2012
#nihilistdeterminism
THE ROOT OF ALL CULTURE IS INTELLECTUAL PROPERTY THEFT HEYOOOO
*BANGS A GONG*
REBLOOGGGGG
so much joy it hurts: Open Letter to Eros, Simone... →
kathleenjoy:
I want a love that is imprecise, one that sprawls over the bed, spills out windows, disrupting churchgoers as they stroll across the green glow of mowed lawns. I want a love that commandeers the world, a bone- clanking, hydrant-splashing, dog- salivating affair. The ravaged and the ravenous —…
ARTIST’S STATEMENT: I’M SAD.
ARTIST’S STATEMENT: I CONSIDER THE AUDIENCE INTENTLY, THEN PRESS PLAY ON THE CASSETTE PLAYER, “WILD THING” BY TONE LOC ERUPTS THEYRE STUNNED
Interesting to note that people don’t understand fiction as magic. A piece of fiction is a spell. I hear people expressing their understanding (or parroting other’s understanding) of fiction as “transportive” but you must all secretly know that it isn’t true. It’s not you who is transported. Fiction is an act of conjuration. Evocation. It’s an invitation,...
I DON’T KNOW WHEN IT HAPPENED BUT MY CRUSHES HAVE BEEN ATOMIZED,
THEY’VE BEEN REVECTORED AND TRAPPED IN SPECIFIC CIRCUMSTANCES
LIKE JUST HIS HANDS WHILE HOLDING A BOTTLE
OR THE WAY HE SMILES WHEN POURING
LIKE JUST HER NECK
OR THE WAY SHE MOVES WHEN SHE THINKS NO ONE’S LOOKING
