excelsior

last night i dreamed acclaimed actor and director kenneth branagh died in a recreation of the battle of agincourt and i happened to be there at the time, so afterwards the investigator for the death (who was an off brand hercule poirot situation) asked me about it and i said “ken was always drawn to spectacle. he loved that feeling of awe” and i remember thinking, in the dream, what the hell am i doing? since when am i on ken terms with real life oscar winner sir kenneth branagh?? being a heartrendingly present bystander at the moment of his bizarre death doesn’t give me the right to ken him

One of the best things about being a writer is thinking of something small you can add to your work that’s just. Devastating. Like you’re sitting there going. Oh. That would be diabolical. People would get really riled up about that. Exquisite. Let’s do it.

‘beyond the scope of this paper’ is a dear friend to me. I Am Not Fucking Talking About That

when a moot changes their pfp i feel like a baby whose dad shaved his beard

(Smugly after failing at a task) and they said it could be done.

im not a girl Unless ☝️ im being told to go piss

I know I'm a handful but thats what you got two hands for