#wastlands

I live on the outskirts of tumblr, the semi-inhabitable places where posts grow undisturbed and unharmed, the place where art will appear, plump and well done.

The outskirts where posts circle through the communities I have surrounded my small blog with, where I tend to my posts and let them flourish the way they please

The dangers are few here, the worst you’ll get is an aggressive blogger, or a pornbot, but they are easily managed with a quick beating away of a stick

Here on the outskirts where the memes never touch until it is too late, here on the outskirts where we live our lives apart from the bustling decrepit, here in the outskirts where the wind blows quietly and we live virtually untouched

Occasionally someone will run out into the streets waving around a post they say is directly from the eye of the storm, the wasteland, practically uninhabitable. The crop will be mutated and fat with juices and notes. We will gather around, ooo and ahh at it’s appearance, and then will go along with out day

Sometimes, we’re lucky enough to receive a visit from a traveling doctor or circus, showing the oddities they’ve found from their inner circle journeys, the posts, the art, the relics from a by-gone age.

We on the outskirts will gather again, to obverse with big eyes, then turn each other, joke and laugh, express out pride in being apart of such a strange and wonderful community, but within be grateful for what we have and where we are.