goodnight, and dream of gardening on the moon @fl0tketz - Tumblr Blog

there is *checks notes* something a little wrong with me

you are fifteen thousand generations removed from stone tools

to be clear you are fifteen thousand generations removed from the invention of stone tools. not from the end of stone tools. modern humans are still using stone tools.

pseudomasochist

Flawless tags, @baddywronglegs

$fractoluminescence blog's avatar$

fractoluminescence

I thought you meant we were descendents -of- stone tools

duckbunny

your father was a handaxe and your mother smelt of microliths

weepinhell

argumate

to Germans they’re just regular shepherds

hometoursandotherstuff

Ya know, what? Just put the new roof over the old one.

byjove

The masculine urge to become a mountain man. Only come off the mountain twice a year to get supplies. Farm and harvest and hunt and build everything else. Talk to myself constantly. Stop coming into town for a few years after the age of 76. The sheriff finally comes up to check on me and finds the door to my shack wide open and my skeletonized body lying in bed, tucked up under the covers. They all forgot my name so they just put ‘Mountain Man’ on my tombstone. Shack left to decay but I’m not quite done having fun. My ghost lures lost hikers in and makes them keep me company. They come off the mountain rambling about the crazy old man in the hand hewn log cabin with fire in his eyes and leaves on the floor. I was alone in life but I don’t want to be lonely in death.

byjove

Whew guys sorry about that! Had a funny turn for a moment. Back to normal now.

byjove

You’re partially correct. This needs a gay subplot.

I was in love with another mountain man who lived on the other side of the mountain. We both liked being alone but sometimes it was alright to be alone together. His arthritis got bad and he couldn’t chop wood for himself anymore. Eventually his niece came to take him to the big city and put him in a nursing home. He didn’t want to go. I never saw him again. That’s why I died alone in my bed and not his.

byjove

If you asked Todd, he would know my name. 93 years old, blind as a bat with arthritis so bad he can’t move his fingers, rotting away in that horrible place his niece put him. He’d know. A smile would come to his dry lips to think of me, his fellow mountain man. He can no longer see but in his mind he sees me the way I was, in overalls with my rifle over my shoulder hunting squirrels. He knows my name but he dares not speak it. The words on my grave a more worthy epitaph. I wait for him on the mountain. None of the hikers that stumble in are ever him. He’ll return shortly, I’m sure. I’ll make him coffee on the wood stove one day. We’ll share some venison. He’ll come back from the holler. I know he will.

desk-drawerr

By popular demand: He eat a Wawamelon

#shapes and colors

rainrein

love it when a location is evil. when a location fucking sucks. when intrinsically it is so bad and evil that it literally is in the air . this kinda works if its only something special can you imagine a parking lot being evil oooooh every time you park into me i subtly adjust my lines so that you're always slightly tilted

mangonetics

>"I'll set my alarm to a song I like so I always wake up in a good mood"

>2 weeks later

>wake up in a graveyard that expands infinitely in every direction with my name engraved on every headstone

booksandchainmail

is there anything as good as lying in a sunbeam

gobusto

telling the truth in a sunbeam #honesty

computationalcalculator

flowerbleedme

Well as a "fan" I would be "serviced" by some THEMES AND MOTIFS #themesandmotifs #artwithmeaning

#themes and such

slightlyspooky

Fiction is Bad and Wrong because the people in it are Real, and forcing them to exist is a violation of their consent (you can't ask them for consent before they exist)