I Like Dang. I’ve Latched Onto Him

A moulin has its own gravity.

More than what ties us to the earth.

The pull is much stronger, like invisible arms

tugging at my sleeves.

It reaches out, beckoning, whispering

“come down, join us, come and see what lies beneath. 

Come and witness the divine mysteries.”

The roar of water becomes a rush of voices,

crying out in rapturous wonder as they tumble

into the blue.

I long to join my own voice to that choir.

This is not suicidal.

I know that if I make the plunge, I will almost certainly die—

but death is not the void that’s calling me.

It’s something deeper.

Something older, yes, older than death,

older than life, older than the stars,

maybe older than God.

It has its own gravity.

there's a point in your life on the internet where "oh, it's a weird sex thing" becomes reassuring. there's so many worse reasons that people do things. fly your flag mate

captain k.p. hob of the goblin court is now a marketable plush

finally finished the whole series hehehe

Me: You know how when you were a kid and you’d wish that you’d get sick or injured in a way that would justify why you didn’t live up to your potential?

Everybody, apparently: No?

In conclusion, it is not healthy for the brain to stay up this late.

I can’t stand people that don’t let me speak hyperbolically. If I can’t respond to a minor inconvenience that someone should get shot in the fucking head for it then what’s the point of it all.

to liquify the remains