quoth the raven, "fuck."

imagine you're Plato and you get resurrected and the first thing someone tells you is your name now means "not having sex" and you're like haha linguistic coincidences are wild and they're like no it's a direct reference to you as a person

whenever you take too much time to write something know it is because stephen king has been stealing your life force

the grocery store should be open 24/7 but they should let the employees go home and just trust us

Posts that just fundamentally misunderstand horror movies like The Thing, that have thousands of notes, are turning me into the joker.

Also, this isn't meant to suggest all horror is hopeless, mean, and cruel. Plent of horror is actually about having made one bad decision, having acted out of hubris, could have been solved by just talking reasonably and so forth. Those are all their own kind of horror plus loads of others. It's more that you can't fix the genre by decoding a right or wrong horror anymore than you can support an interpretation of The Thing where the base crew would have survived or mediated or so on. It's not a genre where a good version exists, because there's too much in it already which is either awful as a matter of fact like pain and death, or which is morally repugnant like racism and homophobia. It's useless to look for a way all of those things can somehow be retroactively solved. It's necessary to face all those things as a part of life. In horror, we have to acknowledge how much of it sucks (artistically) and was made by awful people and had deeply flawed examples of systemic oppression to actually like see the genre in a clear light. And similarly we also have to recognize how much of it is also necessarily transgressive in a way that cannot be anything except unpleasant, because that's part of things people find horrific. You can't have a respectable horror genre, is kinda the thing. There's too much going on, and trying to solve a flaw in like "too much gore" or "animal death" just ends up cutting off a necessary thing to the whole genre. The absolutely most bloodless zero death zero problematic element in the present day zero conflict good ending horror is still going to be uncomfortable because that's the point. Or it might suck. But lots of horror sucks, also, and sometimes that's also interesting.

If you find the remote (always in the mouth of a deer skull, and its always a different deer skull) you can turn this tv on but it only plays footage of the exact moment no one alive will remember your face anymore

You know that thing would eat you if you died, right? *pointing to the false image of you that others perceive*

you're not making enough of stone fruit season. that's another thing you're fucking up. a few dozen stone fruit seasons you get your whole life. you need to take a hard look at your peach and mango consumption.

scrolling tumblr while you're doing bad will have you angry at the stupidest shit.

I really love those posts of people showing their stuffed animals various things and locations, gonna start doing that

LOL so the other day I was scampering about squeaking and looking for cheese and such when I saw the farmer out in the field and, get this, he was trying to pull a turnip out of the ground, but the turnip was like really big, right, so he couldn’t do it 😅 like he was really struggling. Weak fuckinh farmer. So he calls over his wife and she holds onto his waist and starts pulling too but the turnip is still stuck. So she calls over their kid and she grabs onto her grandma and now all three of them are huffing and puffing but the damn turnip won’t budge. This is one crazy ass root vegetable. So they call over the dog and I’m thinking, girl, this is not going to work. but the dog bites down on the kids pants and starts pulling. It’s like a damn conga line. No dice. The dog starts whimpering and next thing you know the cat wanders over and bites the mutt right on her tail and starts pulling. So I’m laughing my ass off at this point but the cat starts looking at me. And normally we don’t really get on, the cat and me. But there’s this desperation in her eyes. In all of their eyes, really. Like, if I can’t dig up a damn tuber then who am I. What’s the point of it all, if there’s an enormous turnip that’s stronger than me. And I can see the future unfolding in my mind. The cat will never respect the dog again, and dog will never obey the kid, who will probably run away from home to find a new jacked grandma. And the farmers wife will leave him, and the whole damn charade of masculinity will crumble and fall. And I shouldn’t care right. I have no stake in this. This is some funny shit. But how funny would it be if little old me pitched in and the turnip actually came uprooted. I’ve got no ego. nobody respects a gay little mouse in this city. If I don’t make a difference here, no loss. But if I save the day? Can you imagine? Outdid by a mouse? The farmer would be delivering me fresh brie on the daily and the cat would probably have to move to a different area code to escape the mockery. So, in the spirit of cooperation, I grab the cat’s tail, and I give a little tug. Just the one. And I swear to god, it feels like an earthquake. Up comes the turnip, big as a house, and the farmer falls on his ass, and so does his wife, and all down the line. And I hop up on the cats head and scamper up the backs of the team as they catch their breath, and I leap up onto the turnip itself and I take a big bite out of it. And let me tell you: that shit? Tasted like a turnip

the ideal media diet for a child is books and music from at least fifty years ago so they are always out of touch with the references and allusions of their peer group