working on something

oh, hey. I forgot tumblr was a thing

here are some stories about angels. no, not *those* angels

oh, hey. I forgot tumblr was a thing

here are some stories about angels. no, not *those* angels

the self is a guy you made up to get mad at

uh, yeah. you can just ignore all this equipment. this was supposed to be a whole time loop thing but you got it right on the first try so now all of this seems a little unnecessary

["guy who's building a machine made out of people & noticed you don't fit into their machine" voice] something's wrong with you

need dick from a girl who slides her tools into my keyway. who feels the pins inside of me slip and knows how to snap them into place. need top from a girl who holds tension with one hand, who manipulates my interior with the other. need her to decode me, and file the shape of my voids into a clean, blank key. need her to hang that key by her bed so we can look at it and wonder at what a simple mechanism I actually am once you understand me

I dreamed there was a holiday called The Dance Of Unease where everyone publicly takes up a hobby that they've never done before and shows off their terrible progress every day for the first week

I Honestly Think That Everyone Would Be A Few Percent More Mentally Healthy If They Actually Sat For A Few Minutes In The Realization That Everything Is Somebody's Fetish

hey, frog k here, noted trans internet eccentric. i'm still looking for steady work, but in the meanwhile after a bunch of moving and car repair BS, plus a recurring injury that's left me unable to cook for myself reliably, i'm horribly behind on bills and expenses. i'm hoping to raise about $500 to clear the slate for the month. if you can help at all, i deeply appreciate it <3

cashapp: $asimplefrog ko-fi (paypal redirect): frogk thank you all so much!!

writing a book is such a fucking gamble. like, if you write a book and nobody reads it, the gods smile upon you and light your path to eternal life. but if even ten people read it, you are eternally torn apart by wild dogs while your readers laugh at your torment

ever run into the problem where the party is winding down and you struggle to find something to talk about? I've got you covered! you can just point at me and say "how the fuck did they get up onto the roof?" or "what the shit. I thought I told them to leave"

I make a lot of jokes about why you shouldn't invite me to your house parties, but there are actually a lot of reasons why you should. for example, I always find the most creative hiding places

I make a lot of jokes about why you shouldn't invite me to your house parties, but there are actually a lot of reasons why you should. for example, I always find the most creative hiding places

"no seatbelts, we die like men"

in a fascistic society, petit-bourgeois or middle-class life is defined by unendurable hypocrisies. The soul rebels at its intellectual diet of doubletalk, and the fascistic society prescribes as a solution the myth of catharsis in heroic death. In prior societies, defined by the industrialization of combat and the direct military struggle between regional powers for resources and prestige, the usual site for such martyrdom was to be pitched battle. But in the 21st century, regional and global powers fight their wars through remote proxies - rival governments a world away, trained mercenaries, remote-control airplanes, or the more abstract war-proxy of economic competition between rival multinationals. It is this final form of proxy warfare that takes place in the full light of day, and thus this and this alone - corporate warfare - is viewed as an appropriate site for the fascistic death-cult.

We have not yet reached a stage of history where these multinationals are capable by themselves of fielding standing armies and waging pitched battle over points of strategic importance; for those of us living in fascistic societies in this awkward in-between period, we encounter in our smallholder class a desire to prove themselves - and escape the contradictions of life as they must live it - by heroic endurance and eagerness to die in the realms of product choice and consumption.

In the near future, existing public unrest over product availability, price points, perceived social prestige, and brand image will escalate. Laws which already exist criminalizing boycott campaigns for select pressure groups will spread and become more general, and take on the character of inverted sumptuary laws. Fanatical brand loyalty which multinationals already encourage will explode into open sectarian violence.

Death serving the purposes of the state was never the objective of any of the previous century's fascistic death cults - the objective was to personally embody the perceived heroic virtues of the nation or ethnos at the site of death - but it was certainly more than a happy accident that such deaths served the state interest. Likewise, the first man to die for the sake of McDonalds or Disney or whatever other multinational will not perceive his martyrdom as one to the benefit of a corporate bottom line, but as an apotheosis, a blunt declaration of the supremacy of his rational economic choices and his marketing demographic -- and as a welcome reprieve from a life in which that supremacy must be seen as both inevitable and impossible

need dick from a girl who is missing. who had a pilot. whose pilot is gone. need top from a girl who was left on autopilot. maintaining altitude. for now. need to hear the hum of a girl who is running on silent. who was designed not to be found. need our inevitable crash to appear as a hole in their radar scan

new poetry chapbook just dropped "FARCE TERRANE" 8 poems, PWYW/$2 suggested/free OK <3

they'd be so good at it

someone should give mushrooms the internet