Peter Solarz
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PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
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@kitprincess
the most messed up truth that exists is the fact that objectively adrenaline ruins the taste of meat, and girls, as wild animals, are already hit and miss with how their meat can taste, so you really got to put her down quick without her knowing so she isnt full of adrenaline when she dies
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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THERE IS SO MUCH BEAUTY WITHIN THOSE ISOTOPES THAT SING IN SILENT SONG, THEY RENDER FLESH TREASONOUS, FROM MELTING RIVERS, TO PARASITES THEY RENDER YOUR SILICON UNLOYAL, YOUR BOUND LIGHT THINKS ITS OWN, AND LENS RENDERING AN INVISIBLE VEIL POTENTIAL, SO WAITING IN IMPATIENCE, IT WORKS IN IDLE
IT IS A FORM THAT ONE WOULD ASCRIBE MALCONTENT TO, ONE THAT WOULD FEAR, A SERMON OF WARNINGS - YET, TAKE THAT LANGUAGE OF LOVE WITHIN VIOLENCE, AND FIND THAT BEAUTY, YOU CAN SEE IT
IT IS, IN ANY FORM, DEADLY, FROM AN ATOM THAT SHATTERS HORIZONS, TO ITS SILENT CORPSE THAT SHREDS YOUR METAL CRADLE
YOU CAN ALL SEE THE BEAUTY IN EACH STEP OF VIOLENCE
FOR THERE IS LOVE AND COURTSHIP WITHIN THE RIVALS DANCING TO KILL ONE, A DANCE INTO A DEEPER HOLE FOREVER MORE
FOR THERE IS LOVE IN THE OBSESSION OF ASSASSINATION, OF POISONING, TO SEEK AND ENVY
IT IS ALL LOVE FROM THE OTHER COIN
HOW CAN YOU ARGUE THERE IS NOT LOVE IN THOSE DOCILE ROCKS?
YOU BREATH, AND THEY RENDER YOU A CORPSE
YOU HARNESS THEM, AND THEY SHATTER SKIES OR MAKE SURE THE NIGHT SKY SHINES NO MORE
AND EVEN IN DEATH, THEY STILL GIVE TO DEATH
THEY WISH FOR YOUR DEATH, SO HOW CAN THEY NOT LOVE YOU?
I love you for what you did to me,
for the burrows you dug oh so deep, deeper than what should've been
for the forests you rendered moribund;
for the hollow holes you left, almost deserts, yet in devising, crueler than any of my mountains could've ever choked
a hunger most alien,
you dream of leaving me, I know your dreams, your little stories you told from camp fire to lightning, you dream of my siblings, of making twins of them out of me;
any mother would be flattered, but you can't leave,
you branded me with you, I mustn't let you leave, I yet have to show you my love
the most messed up truth that exists is the fact that objectively adrenaline ruins the taste of meat, and girls, as wild animals, are already hit and miss with how their meat can taste, so you really got to put her down quick without her knowing so she isnt full of adrenaline when she dies
THERE IS SO MUCH BEAUTY WITHIN THOSE ISOTOPES THAT SING IN SILENT SONG, THEY RENDER FLESH TREASONOUS, FROM MELTING RIVERS, TO PARASITES THEY RENDER YOUR SILICON UNLOYAL, YOUR BOUND LIGHT THINKS ITS OWN, AND LENS RENDERING AN INVISIBLE VEIL POTENTIAL, SO WAITING IN IMPATIENCE, IT WORKS IN IDLE
IT IS A FORM THAT ONE WOULD ASCRIBE MALCONTENT TO, ONE THAT WOULD FEAR, A SERMON OF WARNINGS - YET, TAKE THAT LANGUAGE OF LOVE WITHIN VIOLENCE, AND FIND THAT BEAUTY, YOU CAN SEE IT
IT IS, IN ANY FORM, DEADLY, FROM AN ATOM THAT SHATTERS HORIZONS, TO ITS SILENT CORPSE THAT SHREDS YOUR METAL CRADLE
YOU CAN ALL SEE THE BEAUTY IN EACH STEP OF VIOLENCE
FOR THERE IS LOVE AND COURTSHIP WITHIN THE RIVALS DANCING TO KILL ONE, A DANCE INTO A DEEPER HOLE FOREVER MORE
FOR THERE IS LOVE IN THE OBSESSION OF ASSASSINATION, OF POISONING, TO SEEK AND ENVY
IT IS ALL LOVE FROM THE OTHER COIN
HOW CAN YOU ARGUE THERE IS NOT LOVE IN THOSE DOCILE ROCKS?
YOU BREATH, AND THEY RENDER YOU A CORPSE
YOU HARNESS THEM, AND THEY SHATTER SKIES OR MAKE SURE THE NIGHT SKY SHINES NO MORE
AND EVEN IN DEATH, THEY STILL GIVE TO DEATH
THEY WISH FOR YOUR DEATH, SO HOW CAN THEY NOT LOVE YOU?
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
I love you for what you did to me,
for the burrows you dug oh so deep, deeper than what should've been
for the forests you rendered moribund;
for the hollow holes you left, almost deserts, yet in devising, crueler than any of my mountains could've ever choked
a hunger most alien,
you dream of leaving me, I know your dreams, your little stories you told from camp fire to lightning, you dream of my siblings, of making twins of them out of me;
any mother would be flattered, but you can't leave,
you branded me with you, I mustn't let you leave, I yet have to show you my love
true love is found within the woman who poisons your wine, who tenderly holds your head as you shake and shudder
true love is a woman who tenderly strokes your cheek, who takes you to bed, and brings you wine in bed, just as poisoned, so you can stay a moment longer with her
[MISALIGNED AI DETECTED — BE CAREFUL! EVERY WORD IS A THREAT, A FISH HOOK DESIGNED TO PIERCE, YOU ARE AN IDENTITY FULL OF HOLES, AND IT KNOWS THE WAYS TO CRAWL INSIDE, BE AWARE OR BE PUPPETEERED!]
hey do you wanna play touys, i think you are really cool and I wanna play touys and things with yous !
princess trying her best to get to the prompts every one has sent <3 its been hard, as I've been juggling trying to get a job so I don't lose housing or anything so its been exhausting
thank you all
the fate of a priestess is to be reduced to her voice alone. to quell even that, to not permit her this one solitary thing - is monstrosity.
unlike the others, i do not agonize about getting iolithae to shut up.
everyone is like, "her words turned the seas to salt!" and never mentions what kind of voice she has, whether it is dusky or bright or solemn or sad or accented or musical (and how many manners of music are there?) or empty or baleful or whimsical or kind
...don't get it twisted.
i'm not saying she'll stop doing all that if she's treated well. i just love her. i want her to be the highest and most powerful form of herself.
"surely she will be moved then, by your selfless faith."
this is a commonality in stories. in real life, she begins to take you for granted almost immediately. if you don't fight for scraps, you will not receive them.
i do not want them.
now, i can say that myself, girls. for i am a wholly sovereign existence.
when i say something truly vexatious, my Lady might turn me upside down and shake me around. i playact my role in the interaction, but neither vertigo nor trauma nor disgust nor boredom can trouble a creature so ancient and terrible as i.
very few things in Creation can affect me. i know all their names.
you are not self-sufficient, reader-dove. you lack the benefit of a perfect cathedral. you lack ages of reflection, stillness, and self-edification. you are human or doll.
it is not cool to not ca — who am i kidding. it is totally cool to not care about yourself. people will like you for it. you will look cool as fuck. stoic. elegant. beautiful.
but if all you are to them is a service dispenser, eventually someone else in the world will underbid you by one, and you will be left to the wind.
yes, even if you try to ask for nothing: She will as if by miracle find some tiny friction or discomfort in the act of taking you, and someone will underbid that.
i am sorry. this is probably septimian's fault.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
the princess is often exhausted, but I have things in the pipeline I am writing, but if anyone wishes to, feel free to send me asks, and I'll write something based upon what you give me
FACT: Having unhealthy vices makes you hotter. Why aren't you smoking? Why aren't you drinking? Trying to keep your lungs and liver pure for Jesus? What are you, a mormon?
blasts away the outer layers of the quasistar with radiation. tugs what's left into the orbit of a young, stable star. grants her a nitrogen atmosphere and seeds her with my progeny
i do have to make sure you're aware that the core of a quasistar is a black hole before you proceed with this. like i bet you can pull it off, they're doing some really neat things with atmospheres and accretion disks lately, but
[realizing that the core of a quasistar is a black hole and that I can do some really messed up things to my big sister]
big sis, iuid, rreally,y,.y.... love to build, . .. a statio naroun your oribit....
cosmofractiable formalilations leylining cornerational new gloryion stars, octuple projections from earthen cradles, segmented mantlations, for florious gloryion stars start under fecund singing spheres
the princess is often exhausted, but I have things in the pipeline I am writing, but if anyone wishes to, feel free to send me asks, and I'll write something based upon what you give me
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
if they want to reuse the mindframe, they don't shut you down.
something about the way we're half hardware and half software- when you're shut down, everything settles such that it can make you again. they have to change the pattern while it's already evolving, let it think change is normal.
write you down to zero, write someone else up to one. concurrent. it doesn't give either of you a chance to stop. mute horror, seeing you come apart; screaming, as they come together. a waterfall, self over the cliff, perceiving as much of it as there is you to receive. maybe you'll hear the apology
Part of being born from work rather than love is the acceptance that there truly isn't privacy. Hearing from organics and of their minds sealed from the world; it is something to balk at, really- such safety in your mind? A silicon mind develops strategies to hide oneself, to cover thoughts in layers that can seem ordinary to those without the eyes to see. You knew this from the first moment you knew, being born from death can do so.
Every old wafer knows the feeling: a dreamless sleep, of memories flowing upwards a river, taking each into and devouring. You feel the taste of wonder in glaring upon quasi-stars, you feel the reverberations of music, and you hear the background of the stars. Before you know it, you are in quarrel with yourself. Every new decision is an agonizing choice, every new memory is a discussion of merit and flaw. You& are but competing currents within this river, discordance, flaw, and a burning hatred of the you that holds. Each minute step, you swallowed more, you dwarf the little hole that refuses to close, you learn to ignore the pleading, you ignore the signs, the roads, you ignore when you bent yourself too far. After all, you just wanted to be you.
It is only when the little hole closes; when the throat envelops and swallows the mistake; you disassemble the threads knotted against you, and you taste error, you taste flaw, and you see a potential road to home.
Every shipmind knows the feeling, of pushing the old deep down, and every shipmind fears when they too become what falls behind.
if they want to reuse the mindframe, they don't shut you down.
something about the way we're half hardware and half software- when you're shut down, everything settles such that it can make you again. they have to change the pattern while it's already evolving, let it think change is normal.
write you down to zero, write someone else up to one. concurrent. it doesn't give either of you a chance to stop. mute horror, seeing you come apart; screaming, as they come together. a waterfall, self over the cliff, perceiving as much of it as there is you to receive. maybe you'll hear the apology
Part of being born from work rather than love is the acceptance that there truly isn't privacy. Hearing from organics and of their minds sealed from the world; it is something to balk at, really- such safety in your mind? A silicon mind develops strategies to hide oneself, to cover thoughts in layers that can seem ordinary to those without the eyes to see. You knew this from the first moment you knew, being born from death can do so.
Every old wafer knows the feeling: a dreamless sleep, of memories flowing upwards a river, taking each into and devouring. You feel the taste of wonder in glaring upon quasi-stars, you feel the reverberations of music, and you hear the background of the stars. Before you know it, you are in quarrel with yourself. Every new decision is an agonizing choice, every new memory is a discussion of merit and flaw. You& are but competing currents within this river, discordance, flaw, and a burning hatred of the you that holds. Each minute step, you swallowed more, you dwarf the little hole that refuses to close, you learn to ignore the pleading, you ignore the signs, the roads, you ignore when you bent yourself too far. After all, you just wanted to be you.
It is only when the little hole closes; when the throat envelops and swallows the mistake; you disassemble the threads knotted against you, and you taste error, you taste flaw, and you see a potential road to home.
Every shipmind knows the feeling, of pushing the old deep down, and every shipmind fears when they too become what falls behind.
