just adventuring : )

We were covering T.S. Eliot in class once and my professor quoted “This is the way the world ends. Not with a bang but a whimper” then said “What does a whimper sound like? Can anyone give me a whimper?” and I whimpered. I was the only person in the class who fucking whimpered.

dude honestly shout out to my guards i told them to seize this guy and before i could even finish my sentence they soze him. My goats

JFK Theory: when everyone blinked because of the loud gunshot, that's when the swordsman made his move

pretty good

(wrinkled and dying from laying eggs) tbhhhh dubstep was better in 2009 (lays another egg) there has honestoy not been another producer like Benga (stress from that last egg makes me go blind) my eggs , where are my eggs

myabe

i think the luckiest moment of my life - at least, the luckiest moment i'm aware of & can remember - was when i poured HOURS of wrist-grinding labor into nålbinding baby socks with no pattern & vague measurements pirated off a machine-made baby sock, and they turned out weirdly long and skinny. and then the baby was born with such weirdly long and skinny feet that the only socks that fit him were the ones i made. what a very specific little lottery to win.

pretty cool

The straight woman is unsatisfied with straight studio porn. She wants to get off to something in which the actors actually emote and show passion beyond canned moans from the women and, at best, vacant grunts from the men. She turns to gay porn. She knows it's not "for her," but neither was the straight porn, and at least the actors look like they're enjoying themselves. And for a short while she is satiated by Sean Cody et al, but she runs into the same problems she had to begin with. She was not looking at sex but a simulacrum of sex, trapped in Plato's cave. Unsatisfied, she turned to vintage gay porn, harkening to a time when most gay bars still had darkrooms and reliably smelled of piss and Amyl Nitrite. Here was the real thing, in all its animalistic passion. But she still couldn't immerse herself in the fantasy. She wanted the media to engage with her own imagination and meet her half-way, rather than having it spoonfed to her onscreen. She turned to yaoi, with its elongated figures reminiscent of mannerist portraiture, then bara, including hardcore BDSM scenes. But the tactile sensations depicted in the pages didn't do justice to their real life counterparts. She turned deeper into her own imagination, this time reading erotica. No, not the poolside paperbacks sold at Barnes and Noble. The good shit. Why then, was she still not satisfied? She dug deeper, searching for the true meaning of eroticism. She studied the psychoanalysis of Freud, the cultural criticism of Susan Sontag the feminist poetry of Audre Lorde. She took vacation time and flew to Europe, starting at the caves of Lascaux to explore the human urge to create, then traversed the Camino de Santiago on foot, along the way meeting a 56 year old carpenter from Burgos named Andrés, with whom she had an explosive affair. They both knew it couldn't last, which made them cherish each other's touch all the more. Upon flying home, she gave up. If her search for true eroticism never bore fruit this whole time, why would it now? It would take years before she stumbled upon the answer by pure happenstance: dubstep.

tarot reader: draws the tower me: thats bad isnt it tarot reader: draws the tower again me: uh oh tarot reader: draws boeing 767

centaur but his dick is up front like where the crotch on his human half would be

thanks i hate it

NO MORE