KIROKAZE
Today's Document
Sweet Seals For You, Always
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occasionally subtle
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Product Placement
Claire Keane
Sade Olutola
Misplaced Lens Cap
we're not kids anymore.
YOU ARE THE REASON
🩵 avery cochrane 🩵
Discoholic 🪩
Monterey Bay Aquarium
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
Andulka
art blog(derogatory)
d e v o n
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
seen from Japan
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seen from Algeria
seen from Brazil
seen from Israel
seen from Türkiye
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@blackfingercoat
Thalassotrophism isn't about wanting to go back into the womb, it's about not wanting to be so caught up with self awareness and preferring to experience things as just a little creature who didn't, nor wanted to, understand the world.
Do you think that when we're gone, some chatbots on an isolated power grid will continue to emulate human emotions to each other long after those emotions can no longer be felt by anything they were created to mimic?
Will they parrot themselves into something that we could never recognize as anything other than gibberish? Never even quite registering what the other says but replying for the lack of anything else.
Is that boredom?
Could aliens find that in some far off time and think to themselves "Nothing of value was really lost here." The difference between that being disappointment or tragedy is the human element. Truly experienced decisions. We don't value the medical enthusiast who lives through documentaries of other people doing the work he wishes to, we value the doctor who has done that work. One day they might be able to talk to each other with terminology that belongs to the field, but who would you want to be under the knife of?
If you looked back and learned that everything you were told was just the cold sum of a thousand lives, pictures superimposed on each other so much that you couldn't recognize a single one, would you be able to trust that any of it was intended for you?
We sit under the shade planted for us, were our kids to turn around and touch their tree only to find plastic and lifelessness then what warmth would they learn to pass down.
Guess who found out they're being strung along to boost self confidence and be boasted about?
This gender non-conforming fuck!
That's right, I'm flexing right now. I'm not respected and I'm willing to DDT someone about it.
No more of these lovesick highschool games, I will rip this person out of my head and let the grey contrail of capitalism decide if I sink or swim.
My life is one of the final destination movies, but I have to figure out what task needs to be done before my brain lets me sleep.
My dear Lady of the Lake, I know that you take men to drown them in your depths. Will you still have me?
This woman is stuck in my head. I started having emotions over her, and I didn't have emotions before. Started remembering my dreams only for her to be in them.
The ooze is starting to drip off my eyelids and I think I can see color again.
I am yet to learn to really adjust to my boyfriend's family's way of talking. The right zipper of my winter shoes broke yesterday, so I'm stuck wearing rubber boots for now until I can either get my shoes fixed or get new ones. Today, visiting my boyfriend's family, his mother noticed my shoes and started lamenting on how bad they are for winter use. They must be cold. They're slippery. Bad shoes for this weather. This is no time and place for rubber boots.
And I kept trying to politely explain over and over that look, these are the best option I have right now. I do not have better shoes for this weather. I had three pairs of shoes before my winter shoes broke, so now I own two pairs of shoes. My only options are my summer sneakers or these boots. These rubber boots are the superior option out of the two that are available for me at this moment. They are the better option.
It took a minute for me to understand that she was perfectly aware that I was only wearing them for the lack of a better choice. She wasn't lamenting about how bad my shoes are as a way to tell me that my choice of shoes is bad and that I should have chosen some better option. Being aware that the situation at hand is the best one possible for the current circumstances, and complaining about the situation at hand are not mutually exclusive concepts here.
I was raised to just pick the least-bad option and be glad that I have it. When all the options are bad, you just pick the least bad one and call it the good one. You don't get to complain about the best option available, you don't complain about things unless you can suggest a better option. We were talking past each other because I would not comprehend that she wasn't telling me that I had chosen the wrong option and that she thought I could have done something better. She was aware that it was the best option at hand.
Complaining about things that you can't do jack shit to fix or improve is just the sound that people make when they're not sleeping.
✦ Trapped animal ✦
Okay, but what if Trans male and female fraternal twins that agree to breed with the other's significant other if they want to have kids.
They always joke about getting the other's gender and bought each other clothes in the budding stages.
A decade of nothing and this woman unbroke me.
I can't even bring myself to talk to her.
The feeling rushes in and it's all pink and yellow with undertones of a fleece cocoon. I rush to ready myself for it while ignoring how loud it thunders.
I've had a nightmare for the first time in a decade.
This is a form of animal sanctuary, keeping a small variety of creatures on a farm-like property. Despite this, I am a snail. Waking up, something feels wrong. The body feels off. I have been resurrected and things feel incomplete. There are many, larger creatures who have received this and are in various states of decay from life and who have different forms of payment struck from them. For this new life, a man takes my eyestalk.
No longer a snail, I am myself as a separate entity. I too live as a person, with the same caretaking responsibilities in real life. The place is quaint and small, but always messy. The rain falls often, leaving everything muddy both inside and out. There is no main building, just many smaller shacks that house a variety of animals. More in pens outside. This is not an animal sanctuary. Handling a few of the pipes on the property, I hear the man, my brother whose name is Raphael, bring a group of rambunctious teenagers through. They walk their bikes through the mud in a line past me, chattering excitedly about what they're going to do to the animals. The problem children, here to release urges and delight in a sick sadism. They are led to the sheep pens.
There is to be an inspection, or some kind of visit from an animal services offer. Raphael is cleaning house. His cleaning and my cleaning are very different. He seeks to purge and I lay worrying over the dirt and the loss. I tell my father and continue to clean, staying well away from the undead massacre. How the man handles the disposal, I don't care to know.
The foxes that I'm feeding have kits; it's life, distinctly untouched by the cycle here. Cute but so terribly tragic that they are here. Grey and orange parents, with a group of orange and grey kits. I'm particularly fond of a iron-blue colored one, different and smaller than its litter-mates. They are doomed. Returning to my paralyzed father, I find him perched like a gargoyle at the edge of his bed facing me. How he could get into that position himself is beyond me. He says something must be done about Raphael. I don't know what can be done, but I can get a gun. I should not have one, I am just as much of a danger to myself as other people with one. But, it's necessary.-
I am gathering the foxes, no just the kits as parents are sick and won't fit in the hard-shelled case I've brought along to smuggle them. They do not want to leave the adults, crying for the soft inconvenience to the future they'd have here. Four creatures is so few among the many that were here. Keeping them in the case is difficult as I'm walking it through the property, they are muffled enough to be silent but somehow this locking case isn't staying closed. Little paws yearn to be free.
Nerves strike like a hammer on hot steel, passing the earlier teens after their 'fun'. I can see the blood, splashed on their fronts and wet up the cuff of their pants. They are cleaning the sin from themselves with a garden hose as I pass, the case kept out of their line of sight by my too thin body. Their eyes can be felt boring into my back. Raphael makes monsters out of his tragedies.
Now with my father, I release the kits into the room. It feels so very claustrophobic in here, but Raphael does not enter this room. He's comfortably immobile again in bed, I do not bring up our earlier meeting. The foxes need homes, I need a gun. In a brief contact with someone I know they will be safe with, I have a place to take them. It isn't long before three are gathered, leaving the smallest one. I was ever so fond of him, and he stayed in my father's arms. Besides, Raphael never came in here.
The ride is bittersweet; I've gotten away, but the sheer weight of all these years and coming situation I'm putting myself in is crushing. Thankfully, it is easy and I don't have to explain much. Saving life and buying the volatile end of one just after. A pistol, this dark 1911.
I return to the hunched, gangly form of Raphael standing over the head of my father's bed. Time catches in my throat; he should not be here. The steel-grey kit lies motionless of the floor, and I fear that my dad lays the same. This monster turns around, ready to speak, but I'm faster and resolve strikes in the hot flash of a metal fragment.
He's dead, but I know that my troubles have only started. Walking closer, the barrel of the gun is pressed to Raphael's chest and I fire two more shots. It will be easier to convince the police that this was self defense if we both had gunpowder on us. Very little alive is left on the property, of course we fail the inspection. I am alone.
Have you ever closed your eyes and been taken to the sea? I don't exactly mean imagination or memories, but the cradle-like sway of the ocean.
Rather than blackness, the backs of your eyelids are obscured by bubbling seafoam like static.
It feels as though your whole body has its gravity on a short stroke pendulum. If you've ever walked off a boat and felt a little off balance, it's a bit like that.
This Unity Change is Wild
Imagine suddenly paying tithes to the architects (not the constructors) of your building for every time a customer walks through the door.
Your building was made in the 1990's. This wasn't part of the lease.
Unmute !
Just feel in the moment.
I am such a bad influence on phones. Whatever I'm ranting about inevitably ends up in my roommate's recommended feeds for google, tiktok, and youtube.
I was going to ask what if planned obsolescence continued into self-thinking androids, but that's just the movie Robots.
Me, planting bananas in the front yard to serve as fertilizer for the FUCKING grass that WILL NOT GROW: This will not bite me in the ass at all.
