'Cause I'm slow like honey, and heavy with mood.
Text Posts regarding life or nonsense are under the how tender tag. (f)Art is under mayoart or nixonart.
One (1) Cup of coffee today. The rest of the day will be tea.
I have had two (2) teas today.
It has been four (4) hours or so since I’ve been awake, and during breakfast I had said cup of coffee. The first onset of a headache is coming, after four Tylenol this morning (for a completely different reason). What a beast it is, caffeine addiction! How horrible it must be for a lesser man!
In other news, my (ideally) final quarter at this particular institution has commenced. My first class has already been cancelled. Haahaaaaaaaaa….
Want to collaborate on a Google Doc with Nietzsche, Shakespeare, Dostoyevsky, Dickinson, Dickens and Poe?
Click here. Start typing. Enjoy the hilarity.
Ninja Update: Wanna see something fun? Mention Shakespeare in a sentence and see what happens.
Poe kept writing distinctly into my sentences so I wrote ”Edgar, you’re not funny” aND HE BLATANTLY DELETED THE NOT I AM SO DONE WITH THIS ASDFKJL
OH GOD IF YOU TYPE “EDGAR ALLAN POE” POE ADDS A :( AFTER HIS NAME PRECIOUS BABY
DICKENS SAID POE WAS A TORTURED SOUL AND I SAID DICKENS WAS RIGHT THEN DICKINSON CHANGED IT TO DICKINSON AND THEY JUST KEPT GOING BACK AND FORTH
THIS IS GREAT
I’m copypasting my porn into this and it’s FUCKING HILARIOUS
I called William Shakespeare a ponce and now he and Edgar Allen Poe are fighting through insults. HELP ME
Okay, I liked this post last night so as to bookmark it and give it a try, and I’m dying. This is amazing.
Expect a follow-up post of all the screenshots that I took, at some point.
Shakespeare changed the word “fucking” to hay rolling and I typed “Goddammit Shakespeare!” and then he adds the great and lovely into that sentence and then Poe comes along and changes it to the dreadful and lonely and I am dying.
Reblog for a reminder to do later
Imagine having a daughter.
Imagine the first positive pregnancy test, a CVS-brand in your office bathroom because you’re probably just paranoid and it’s probably nothing, and seeing the plus sign. Calling the doctor, making the real appointment. You’re eight weeks along.
Imagine months of watching your skin stretching. Sonograms. Sharing your food, your blood, your oxygen with another person sitting in your midsection and not paying rent. Feeling the first kick. Puking on your morning commute. Sitting down for a night of TV and watching a tiny elbow press out against your skin. Getting used to it, kind of. Thinking of names.
Imagine childbirth. Imagine a pair of human shoulders passing through your junk and imagine pooping on a table in front of a room full of people while you cry, but none of it mattering because here is this person you’ve been dying to meet. To touch. To see blink back.
Then imagine your daughter growing up to actively participate in the Instagram romance tag.
What a fart into infinity. What a pube tumbleweed on a bathroom floor.
Reblog for “pube tumbleweed”