Rip bozo

Inshallah getting his throat exploded will make him shut the fuck up

From "On Tyranny" by Timothy Snyder

"I don't believe that the question of 'who exercises power?' can be resolved unless that other question 'how does it happen?' is resolved at the same time."
—Foucault

Melancholy it whispers
like a dry wind in drought.

Moon and sea slumber
in the gloam of pale cold wailful light.
Then shifting 'round to see the spring,
the skies disguised in sparkling mist
light upon my fearful breast--enshade
and (still more mighty in pleasant unreflecting
with the voice of fair youth),
awake drowsily in honied morning.

What if the 13th amendment actually abolished all forms of slavery in the US haha can you imagine

Same people who think learning about LGBT will turn them gay also go to church and don't turn good

Someone should invent a printer that works

Why hasn't plankton ever tried to get the formula from squidward?

Such a cry arose and lightly filled that summer noon,
and gods to them looked ever on to reap without a breath.
And to this day my knights do sing of all their fallen brothers
who still lie between the grass and sky while gods withdraw and hunger.

Surely all my knights must sing of death so great and strangely earned,
where boundless cruel gods moved from out of time and drew their swords,
and looking down upon the earth they came slowly in the rain,
to test my knights who on the field stood frightened and unsung.

Shutting now the skies
and still more sweetly than secrets,
the night doth not fade meekly but makes warm my mind.

Phantoms whose strenuous tongues touch sweet unrest
shall taste deep shades of summer breezes,
and I shall never know
that dreary happiness that thaws my veins and clouds my fearful senses.

The midnight hours are old and grey,
and there by my own heart of pale lusty spring fades tuneless sounds.
O folly of ethereal grandeur,
O morbid sweet pleasure of dreaming! Adieu and farewell,
for the spring that hath burst joy’s quiet breath
dwells hooded and baffled with dim aching silence.

I am what’s left. A vessel for a name forgot. A body moving, long past the funeral.

Now I go on—not in hope, but in the quiet after weeping ends, when all is still, and grief is but the air I breathe.

If ever was there joy unchained within me, its name is stricken from my tongue. And if a song once rose unbid from my breast, the tune lies buried in some unknown grave.

There is no door. No trail through woods, no gentle soul who waits for me in dreams. That child is gone. The light has fled, and in its stead I walk, a shape, a shell, a person unwhole.

Since then I have searched. Through the dust of years, through echoes writ in ink and song, through shadows on the wall where once I cast a fleet of phantom ships. I sought some sign—a whisper, a forgotten scent, a laugh that knew not shame—and found but silence.

I felt the passing slow—a creeping frost upon the glass, drawing breath from color, light from voice. And one day I reached to touch a joy once mine, and found it gone—not turned nor changed—but empty. Void.

But that bright soul is dead. Not lost, nor veiled, but dead—cold-lain beneath the weight of days, with no stone set, no mourner but myself.

There was a time—O God, there was a time—when joy did move within me, wild and free, when laughter sprang not from performance, but from wonder, when fields were kingdoms, and sticks enchanted swords. Aye, then did I play—not to be seen, but to be.

All art is an act of rebellion. If nothing is being rebelled against, there is no art being made.
*cough*AI*cough*

My mouth's full of soot where once there was honey
And the stars look away when I pray

Shut up. Don't speak for several days

I've always said Idiocracy isn't a bad situation. They go out of their way to appoint the smartest people to lead the country.

"are you ok" no there are at least 5 national/global events that break my heart each week and it's only getting worse. Simple tasks are overwhelming. Existing feels like a chore. There is so much uncertainty in the present and in the future and l'm barely keeping it all together

In The Lone and Level Sands, the king of an alternate Mesopotamia learns about the multiverse while searching for immortality in the underworld. Link in my bio!

Last year I wrote an epic poem in a language I made up and then translated it to English