ʚɞ We sing for love! ʚɞ

I spent three hours or so on this shit and I realized I forgot John cena

dehumanization as horror is great and all but what about humanization as horror. Being forced into a role that was not made for you. Being forced to fulfill expectations that you can never achieve. Being made to exist in a society that so cruelly expects you to act in a way that is against your nature.

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I love doing genealogical research and reading historical records for the hell of it and I like collecting names but sometimes I come across one that throws me for a loop. Like Garrard. Why the fuck would you name your baby Garrard? Apparently it is the same name as Gerard but a variant (worse) spelling that is more commonly used as a surname but I can’t find anyone connected to that family with the surname Garrard. They just named their kid that and we’ll never get to hear the thought process behind it. That is an 19th century Tragedeigh.

Imagining the dad coming to register the birth and writing his son’s name down and the clerk being like “Are you sure? 🙁”

“Look, I know every man and boy in this town is named William, James, Thomas, Charles or John but I really think you should consider naming your baby William, James, Thomas, Charles or John instead of Garrard.”

The masculine urge to become a mountain man. Only come off the mountain twice a year to get supplies. Farm and harvest and hunt and build everything else. Talk to myself constantly. Stop coming into town for a few years after the age of 76. The sheriff finally comes up to check on me and finds the door to my shack wide open and my skeletonized body lying in bed, tucked up under the covers. They all forgot my name so they just put ‘Mountain Man’ on my tombstone. Shack left to decay but I’m not quite done having fun. My ghost lures lost hikers in and makes them keep me company. They come off the mountain rambling about the crazy old man in the hand hewn log cabin with fire in his eyes and leaves on the floor. I was alone in life but I don’t want to be lonely in death.

Whew guys sorry about that! Had a funny turn for a moment. Back to normal now.

If you asked Todd, he would know my name. 93 years old, blind as a bat with arthritis so bad he can’t move his fingers, rotting away in that horrible place his niece put him. He’d know. A smile would come to his dry lips to think of me, his fellow mountain man. He can no longer see but in his mind he sees me the way I was, in overalls with my rifle over my shoulder hunting squirrels. He knows my name but he dares not speak it. The words on my grave a more worthy epitaph. I wait for him on the mountain. None of the hikers that stumble in are ever him. He’ll return shortly, I’m sure. I’ll make him coffee on the wood stove one day. We’ll share some venison. He’ll come back from the holler. I know he will.

artists fuck better because we turn sex into art, masterpieces, mattresses become canvases where we can paint our love to someone with bodies.

its like, impossible to come up with anything funnier than the experience of seeing this post

pharoahs fuck better because they ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh put the pussy in a scarmophogoghs

World Heritage Post

ive caught myself speaking in 3s like rocky (good good good, etc) irl multiple times and often and idk if thats something i already do but didnt pay attention to until now or if rocky is actually rubbing his nasty carapace off on me

i started doing the "question" thing if that makes you feel less alone

it is literally so addicting its like tone tags if they were awesome, observation