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In elementary school, my best friend and I had this game we would play where we were school supplies living inside a child's desk and going on slice-of-life adventures inside it. And I remember that a key component of our school supply society was a sort of religious schism that existed around the purpose and nature of the giant hand that occasionally reached in to grab different citizens, use them, and then return them, because most school supplies considered this an auspicious and enviable moment of being selected for a greater purpose and allowed a glimpse of a vast truth, but pencils considered it a horrible portent of doom because they always got sharpened during it and came back smaller and closer to death. We were third graders btw.

if you crack open the polish music scene you will find that all of it is sung poetry. all of it. is sung poetry. all of it. is sung poetry. like literally all of it is sung poetry. like literally all of it. always has been.

You know that thing would eat you if you died, right? *pointing to the false image of you that others perceive*