Utahraptor has his own life outside of T-Rex. Dating cute guys, getting pissed at homeopathy, being really into his own feet, his whole...corn thing. It's fascinating to see what we can glean from his interactions with one person over years and years
You are the end result of a “would you push the button” prompt where the prompt was “you have unlimited godlike powers but you appear to all and sundry to be an impetuous child” – Zero, 2022
You are the end result of a “would you push the button” prompt where the prompt was “you have unlimited godlike powers but you appear to all and sundry to be an impetuous child” – Zero, 2022
You can turn off the alerts in your preferences, you know
You are the end result of a “would you push the button” prompt where the prompt was “you have unlimited godlike powers but you appear to all and sundry to be an impetuous child” – Zero, 2022
Does anyone remember that brief time in the 2000s when alarm clocks that project the time on the ceiling were a fad?
I had a really cheap, shitty one. It was battery-powered and instead of projecting constantly I had to press a button to make it light up...
That feel when you're being passively conveyed through town on subsidized public transit and you notice in a window of one of the houses you pass scrap wood, in a pile, several feet tall at least because the local topography is variable and you are looking from slightly below and the pile must be higher than the sill anyway, and while your first thought of course is that the house is under construction you must abandon this when you see up-to-date campaign signs and a mowed lawn (itself rare this near to Greek Row) and you are left wondering, what small apocalypse is underway here? But the feel continues that you may be no better - you have smallly quietly concluded deep in your heart that the owner of this house is unclean and therefore carries marked on them more negative traits - you have that broken futon up front at your domicile, and while you can excuse the aberration with lack of transport and lack of guests you can nonetheless shake the knowledge, the feel, of a deep hypocritic wound.
Plus some fuckhead yelled "nigger" at me out of his pickup while i was crossing the street later. Douche.
That feel when you're being passively conveyed through town on subsidized public transit and you notice in a window of one of the houses you pass scrap wood, in a pile, several feet tall at least because the local topography is variable and you are looking from slightly below and the pile must be higher than the sill anyway, and while your first thought of course is that the house is under construction you must abandon this when you see up-to-date campaign signs and a mowed lawn (itself rare this near to Greek Row) and you are left wondering, what small apocalypse is underway here? But the feel continues that you may be no better - you have smallly quietly concluded deep in your heart that the owner of this house is unclean and therefore carries marked on them more negative traits - you have that broken futon up front at your domicile, and while you can excuse the aberration with lack of transport and lack of guests you can nonetheless shake the knowledge, the feel, of a deep hypocritic wound.
Plus some fuckhead yelled "nigger" at me out of his pickup while i was crossing the street later. Douche.
And doesn't this remind you of when you were in the boat, and then later than night, you were lying, looking up at the ceiling, and the water in your head was not dissimilar from the landscape, and you think to yourself, "Why is it that the landscape is moving, but the boat is still?"
He understands everything, and everything does not seem worth understanding. His cosmos may be complete in every rivet and cog-wheel, but still his cosmos is smaller than our world. Somehow his scheme, like the lucid scheme of the madman, seems unconscious of the alien energies and the large indifference of the earth; it is not thinking of the real things of the earth, of fighting peoples or proud mothers, or first love or fear upon the sea. The earth is so very large, and the cosmos is so very small. The cosmos is about the smallest hole that a man can hide his head in.
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Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
Queen City, Centralia
I figured you wouldn't have changed it back if you still were annoyed about being @'d
it was pretty legit, you could use it with a 9-volt battery or an AC plug and the projector displayed constantly by way of having an on-off switch
So British political cartoons all kinda look like The Wall, huh
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
Plus some fuckhead yelled "nigger" at me out of his pickup while i was crossing the street later. Douche.
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
incredible
anyways that's why I was 45 minutes late for my lunch
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
Don't believe their lies. The baggers were once kingsand queens before their meddling.