yikes

if i was in an alien movie i'd be luring the xenomorph into a hot wok and adding chili, garlic, ginger, shaoxin wine, scallions, white pepper and sesame oil

if you think about it making your readers picture stuff in their heads is lk noncon and problematic

okay but this is Vladimir Nabokov's whole schtick, he'll say some shit about the reflections or the bedsheets and you'll go "Oh you greasy fucker you just made me imagine what must be going on to cause that to happen" and he'll rub his hands and go "He he he he, bring meee more butterflieeeeees"

I do wish we could make it a little more socially acceptable to wander the streets at night weeping inconsolably I feel like that would have a great catharsis factor for a lot of people

he's gonna die one day soon and it wont fix everything but it'll feel great and the whole world is gonna fucking party together

does anyone want to tell me what to do with my life? looking for puppeteers

A sick wizard castle with a nondescript van painted on the side. A gothy pin-up girl with the portrait of a random trucker tattooed on her thigh. A bathroom-themed beach vacation. A beautiful brightly coloured cupcake that tastes like soap.

Jesus with a portrait of my grandma on his wall. A scimitar-wielding fantasy protagonist reading about the adventures of sixth-grader Kelsey. A National Park with a framed print of somebody’s living room.

sometimes the nut doesn't bring any clarity at all no matter how hard you bust it. the delirium only deepens.