200211231 @architecture0fthesoul-deleted - Tumblr Blog

The message that appears when the player deletes all save data in WarioWare: Twisted.

Main Blog | Twitter | Patreon | Source: twitter.com user “Akfamilyhome”

mrspider-deactivated20221213

“trans people with object names” and “trans people with average names” is missing an untapped market of “trans people with seemingly average shorthand names for absolutely insane full names” for example. max short for Maxwell House Brand Coffee Filters

mrspider-deactivated20221213

girls you can have so much fun with this one… liz? ard. cass? erole. sandy? wich.

nbgpart-deactivated20220811

The Origin of Love

nbgpart-deactivated20220811

hm

creatediana

“Lines for an Appreciated Black Chicken” - an elegy written 10/29/2021

#> poetry be the food of mind

tallsaint-deactivated20221218

tomorrow when the employees find this freak of nature, they will take photos of him and call animal control. but tonight he is alive in the chicago quiznos by the soda cooler and when he looks up at the counter, there are twice as many sandwiches as usual.

a-very-smooth-boltzmann-brain

boychic-deactivated20230922

oh! okay, yeah.

ein-bleistift-und-radiergummi

Gustav Klimt Textile Samples, Wiener Werkstätte, ca.1920.

#> Inspiration is a seed that spreads

toastbutteregg

detailedart

Details: Ghost clouds - Les Nuages Fantômes. Ca. 1897, by Richard Riemerschmid.

wizardpostsdotorg

hi sorry for ghosting you im being tormented by psychic horrors beyond your wildest comprehensions

phantomrose96

“Be sure to shake it!” the bubble tea barista tells me but I don’t. I won’t. Why would I? “It mixes the sugar” maybe you want that. Maybe YOU do. To be drinking some homogenous concoction. Uniformly distributed. Each sip the same as the last. Just as sweet. Just as sweet. Just as sweet. All pointless flat indulgence. No personality. No humanity. A time-loop of your own devising, bereft of experience, sanitized of risk.

I want my first sip to be teeth-curdlingly sweet. I want the next to be horribly disappointing. I want to hunt. I want to jab my straw into pockets of substance like my ancestors stirring twigs into a bug colony. I want to raise the straw to different depths and feel something. The ocean is so far but I know what it means to rise from its syrupy dark depths into the still waters above.

I want all boba. I want no boba. I want to scoop the bubbles with my straw when the ice-rocks have been washed dry by the tide. “Be sure to shake it.” Never. I want to experience every human emotion in this cup of tea. I am not a coward. I am not a sheep. My tea is still enough for pond-skaters to glide. It will not shake. Live your repetitive nothing. Live in fear of the unknown. Live your fear of change. I am choking on a boba.