oh god… they’re going to make me bump and grind in the clurb, aren’t they? they’re going to make me pop my pussy on the dance floor…

standing in the window, looking out at the ocean, sunlight sparkling on the surface, a light salty breeze whispers across bare skin, still wet from the morning shower, window boxes overflow with herbs, basil, mint, thyme, rosemary, below in the garden stands a bay tree.

marirus… cyrineo… work with me here…

everyday i chase the rush of the first time i referred to robin with she/her pronouns.

why is it called “black sails” and not “bisexuals”?

little jackie paper you make me sick. you think you can just waltz in here with your strings and your sealing wax and your other fancy stuff and then just up and disappear the second you become too old for imagination games? no way, man. not on my watch.

sometimes when i’m riding in bad weather i tell myself it’s pirate training and that i just need to stay the course.

rubbin’ o’the hood

happy 42nd robinversary to the wolfshead scum, melancholy outlaws, norman knights and tax-hungry sheriffs amongst us. nothing’s forgotten. nothing is ever forgotten.

at the club straight feeling the insatiable desire to be someone’s loyal dog.

happy spreadsheet sunday to those who celebrate

somewhere between the shabba de bop bop be shibby day oh yeah and the ram in the ramalamadingdong