ok man people shit on mr. robert zombie's lyrics because they're mainly a list of halloween-related topics but fuck that shit, bunch of haters, we have thousand of chrimas songs, artists whose whole entire catalogue is holly jolly mistletoe music, we only have bobert zombo now okay goth is dying, they aren't making new monster mashes, let me just dig through the ditches, man. //revamp rp blog for bunny
It's not that Lucy doesn't like spending time with her Dad with her younger siblings around because she does but one, Pru has absolutely no off button and you can only play-wrestle so much in a day before you have to do other things. Two, Avery's four. What the hell are you supposed to talk to a four year old about? Three, sometimes she just wants to hang out one on one with him. Four, and most importantly, they literally suck the life out of people.
It's not like they can help it and it's not they even know about it (well, at least Avery; her sister, meanwhile, loudly exclaims that she's a secret vampire any chance she gets but when Lucy herself was a kid, she pretended she was possessed by ghosts, so that might just be a weird ten year old thing rather than any actual knowledge on the issue) but there are some days when the only thing keeping Dad from napping all day is a really, really unhealthy amount of energy drinks. On the plus side, he's getting out bed, which is an improvement over the Bad Times, but on the downside, that's gotta be bad for your heart.
"Anyway, that's why you should always carry a compass when you leave the house. You never know when you're going to get lost in the woods when you're just trying to get back from the grocery store," Dad says.
He lines up his shot, misses completely. When she comes down, he always wants to play mini-golf at this kitschy place with black lights, and every time, he loses. She knows it's on purpose because scatterbrained as he might be, Dad does have ungodly skill at games, only rivaled by R.A. Honestly, she wishes he'd just play for real sometimes but he's not going to do that.
"We should put a microchip in you so if you get lost, they can just scan it and take you back home," Lucy replies. It's a very sensible idea, clearly.
"Woof, I guess," he says. "Hey, not to change the subject or subject you to changes, but, uh, I wanna apologize for comments of an earlier nature. You’re an adult and you’re free to make your own decisions but, like, just make sure they’re careful and safe ones, okay? But if you ever do stupid stuff, just please call me and I’m not gonna judge.”
Lucy’s determined to lose to her dad for once. Her ball goes nowhere near the hole. Success.
“I am not going to do cocaine, Dad,” she says. “I am 100% never going to do cocaine.”
"Yeah, and don’t do the other stuff either! There are at least three other drugs! Don’t do any of them. And if you’re going to smoke pot, just don’t do it a whole lot, okay? You’re an adult but your brain’s still growing, you gotta keep it in tip-top shape, and also it’s bad for your lungs, so if you’re going to get high, I dunno, eat a gummy or something in a safe environment. Also, if you ever pick up a cigarette, I am personally going to walk over to California and kick your ass. But, like, with love. Also, I know that realistically speaking, you’re gonna drink before it’s legal, like it’s almost a given, I know how you animation students are, but, like, be really careful, okay? And don’t do it much. And don’t go to wild parties underage because then someone’s gonna call the cops and then you’re gonna have to run from the cops. And don’t you ever get in a car after drinking. If you drink and drive, I’m gonna kick your ass for realsies. Drinking’s about the quickest way to fuck your entire life up, Goose.”
“We’re genuinely too busy trying to reach homework deadlines to party, Dad. It’s their way of training us for the soulless capitalistic grind that is the modern animation industry,” says Lucy and then she reaches for his hand, squeezes it. “But also I swear, I just smoke a little pot sometimes while playing games.”
He squeezes back.
“Okay. Just be smart, okay? I want you to turn out better than me. When I was your age, I did a lot of stupid shit. A lot.”
Lucy decides to squeeze back as hard as possible.
“When you were my age, you had a whole ass baby. Fucked up.”
He does not squeeze back as hard as possible because Lucy might be strong as fuck -the rare jock in a sea of nerds at school- but that might actually snap her hand bones, but her dad does give a very fuckin’ firm squeeze back before laughing and letting her go.
“Yeah, dude, I know, right? To this day, I ponder what may have become of that baby. I hope she grew up to have superpowers,” he says. “Hey, look, I know I can be kind of a killjoy sometimes but I just want you to know that I’m real proud of you, okay? You’re a groovy human being and I just think you’re neat as fu...heck. And you are killing it in college and wow, that’s great. That is really great. I used to worry a lot that you wouldn’t be able to go and like...holy shit, you got a real frcikin’ good scholarship, you’re going to be an animator, wow. So, you know, keep on being cool.”
Her dad very theatrically sniffles, possibly to cover up the fact that he is, in fact, getting genuinely a little teary there.
“An attempt will be made,” Lucy says and then nudges him lightly with her club to indicate that hey, mini-golf won’t play itself. “You ever think about going to college? You could get into something besides cutting grass. It’s not like you’re too old or anything.”
Which, incidentally, she sincerely hopes he’s not doing that anymore because even if he hasn’t confessed it, she knows he’s a vampire, but she also knows it was never his main source of income. Her dad’s firmly shut the door on ever acknowledging what he actually does for a living and Lucy sure as hell isn’t over here prying for the details.
“Not particularly interested in getting in debt the rest of my life for something I’m gonna fail, kiddo,” he says. “Took me long enough to get my GED and I don’t got the kind of background that office jobs are gonna like. Been thinking about going to beauty school though. I mean, I can style a mean wig and I think I did your hair okay.”
“Yeah, you should! I bet you’d be good at it.”
The ball accidentally goes a little too close to the hole and Lucy can see her father’s visible frustration that his shot wasn’t properly terrible.
“Anyway,” he says, “I guess I just wanna promote an environment where you can come to me about stuff without judgement because my own dad...oh boy. We still don’t talk. When your dad treats real minor stuff -not even anything real bad- like the worst shit in the world, it just makes you wanna do real major, real stupid shit and, like, then you wind up sixteen and living in a rest stop, so good job there, Dad. So, like, if you ever need to tell me anything, even if it’s something stupid you’ve done, I’m here.”
Lucy’s a pro at mini-golf and deftly knocks his ball away from the hole so they can both lose.
“Okay, Dad,” she says. “And...if you need to, you can tell me things too, okay?”
They have a pretty good time playing together, just the two of them. Lucy loses at winning, which means that her dad’s won at losing. Later, they go back home and Prudence celebrates the occasion by gifting her dad the best fireworks fifteen dollars can buy at the roadside stand.
my kid came back from college with a dare shirt on and now she's trying to tell me she doesn't smoke weed. how do I have a conversation with her about the fact that she is lying to my face right now. I know what's up. I own a dare shirt.
it’s been about a year since i last went to a bar of the alien nature. i think it’s so groovy how time passes no matter what. it’s like despite everything, time’s going to keep on trucking and you either have to climb aboard or be left behind, and there’s something comforting in the fact that the universes has constants. grass is going to grow, rain’s going to pour down, bees are going to buzz, and the seconds tick right on one right after another. i am grass, i am rain, i am bees, i am a clock going tick tick tick. i am growing, i am changing. i even started therapy again and let me tell you what, they saw fledgling on the intake form and thought shit was going to go in a radically different direction. i cooked a little. i didn’t smoke as much weed as i could have. i decided to let me bones hurt awhile to just get used to it. i’ve been going on walks. i tried to astral project and then stopped trying to astral project. i haven’t put up as many posters on the sides of buildings (sorry for putting posters on the sides of your buildings). i read a book or a third of it. i slept a little more than usual. i did affirmations. i decided to talk about my feelings less. i stopped leaving honeycakes outside. someone told me not to leave food everywhere. i can’t remember who. i’m sewing a lot whenever i can. i’ve been drawing. maybe i’ll get a dog or something. i don’t know. i’ve never had a dog before. maybe i should start with a cat. it might be nice to have a cat. i went to a library and checked out some music and movies. i put in a job application and i got rejected from a job but it’s fine. maybe i should learn how to bartend or something. i ate a leaf. don’t worry, it was a leaf you’re supposed to eat. i worked on my van. i did a lot of things you’re supposed to do. i don’t know. this is not me being gloomy. this is not me expressing thoughts on matters. this is not about being a fledgling. i genuinely cannot imagine a world in which that is my biggest issue. this is just a listing of activities. this is just about grass and rain and bees and clocks.
when i was a kid, my parents fed me alphabet soup a lot, the kind that comes in a can.
people think there’s something actually called campbell’s alphabet soup but that doesn’t exist and never did. as a society, we made up a soup name. they’ve got tomato a to z’s. don’t have those a lot in this household. my kid’s afraid of the color red. when i make spaghetti, i just give him noodles and butter and a lil bit of dried parsley. he doesn’t like alfredo. i did like the cheese and pepper thing, you know what i’m talking about, but he decided that pepper is too spicy. tried doing veggie pasta with a bit of broccoli and stuff but he would not take the bait. i basically spend 90% of my life trying to get children to eat vegetables. do you know how hard this is. the only thing i can get him to consistently eat is grapes and fruit gummies and chips. like wtf dude, you cannot just eat chips, you gotta eat some leafs every once and awhile, man was not put on this earth to eat chips alone. honestly the only reason i’m eating human food at this point is so i can leave my plate out and hope he steals off of it when i’m not looking, which is maybe training a preschooler to be a food thief but like whatever man, you gotta do what you gotta do with little kids, they’re like little drunk people that rely on you. his pediatrician says he’s healthy, so i guess i’m doing something right.
anyway.
they got a vegetable soup with alphabet letters in it but it’s not actually called alphabet soup. that’s not on the label. it also sucks. i think there was a chicken alphabet but idk if it’s still around. canned meat kinda grosses me out. you know it’s got a lot of shit in it to make it shelf-stable. don’t get me wrong, i have eaten my fair share of hot dogs and tuna in a can and spam in my life, but generally speaking, i don’t buy a lot of meat anyway. kind of the ‘living off the land’ type. i got a root cellar and everything. if i can’t hunt or fish it, don’t really wanna eat it (also brisket is expensive lol) but you can’t hunt dinosaur shaped chicken nuggies in the wild. anyway, if i buy meat, it’s not meat in a can. unless it’s spam. my first for-realsies boyfriend (idk leonard or whatever, makes me sound like a dick for not remembering, but i was like 20 and suuuuper depressed, this being before i learned my current rabbit styles) taught me how to make the breakfast of kings, which is frying up some garlic rice and then you fry up spam and however many fried eggs you want. pretty dope if i say so myself. terrible for your cholesterol. i mean, i don’t give a shit about stuff like that though, i figure the stuff i eat is probably the least damaging thing i’ve done to my body tbh. before i got into nsfw enterprises, i was in the wrestling scene and let me tell you something. no shit that all that shit is scripted out and who wins has been decided on beforehand, like, did you think the undertaker really has magic powers, no, he’s a republican, but even still, that does not mean that you don’t get hurt for realsies sometimes. like. yeah, obviously you learn how to take moves and sell them so they look like they’ve knocked the wind out of you but really you’re fine, like, i can fuckin sell, i was good at that (for the record, i was a heel, butcher jack was one mean son of a bitch, butcher jack still is but that character sure as hell ain’t a wrasslin persona anymore unless you use very specific definitions of wrestling lololol) but i was a little dummy and i was in the shady as fuck backyard hardcore scene and let me tell you what. i got scars from barbed wire. i got a scar from a flaming table. i got scars from glass. shit hurted. career was brief but glorious but also i really like having money to pay rent, so i took my career in a different direction that requires about the same amount of clothing lololol. sometimes i think about the career i could’ve had, like, damn i could’ve been kenny alpha, but there’s no point in dwelling on uncertain possibilities. you gotta drive forth into tomorrow.
anyway, enough about wrestling, we’re talking about soup.
growing up, money was tight because my mom was like a lunch lady or something, i really do not remember, and my dad was in the army, idk what rank, we don’t talk, and more importantly, i have a metric fuckton of brothers and exactly one sister because my ma wanted a daughter real bad so she could dress her up and kept going until she finally got one but guess what ma, you could’ve dressed me up. she grew up to be real boyish based off of social media postings, so i guess ma never got what she really wanted. point is, you can’t have that many kids and have any money unless you’re a millionaire and/or commit tax fraud, which usually goes hand in hand. idk i only know one millionaire and i’m pretty sure he’s not committing tax fraud and it’s like whoa, i literally cannot conceive of how you live, you have a fucking candy room just for candy, wild. he keeps offering me jobs but idk, mixing friendship and work historically ends poorly. i do some modeling work for him sometimes though but like for t-shirts and shit, don’t get the wrong idea here. incidentally, if you need a male model (or like male adjacent, i do not even know how to define my gender, all the muscles and shit is just a form of drag, i am not masc, i am a rabbit), hit me up & we can discuss pricing. my availability is pretty much whenever.
as you might expect, we ate a lot of highly processed stuff designed by some guy in a labcoat somewhere: lots of potpies, hamburgie helper & his cousin tunie fish helper, about any tv dinner you want as long as it’s from the cheap section (i am still a connoisseur of kid cuisine, there’s just something about those brownies that just hits the spot), various mixes to put on pork chops, maccy cheese, whatnot and whatnot and whatnot. chief among this was soup. now, campbell’s soup today is like what, a buck-fifty? something like that. idk i haven’t picked any up in a long time. this being Days of Yore (the 80s/90s), it was probably like fifty cents or something. given that each can stretches to a couple people, you just need a few and you have enough to feed a big as fuck family for cheap. since my ma wanted to make sure we got our veggies in, she fed us a lot of the veggie soup with alphabet letters. a lot.
thing is, i hated that stuff. couldn’t stand it. it’s a taste thing, sure, but it was mostly a texture thing. me & my son are on the same brainwave when it comes to Bad Textures. i could not fucking deal with it. i mean, who the fuck wants to eat a mushy carrot. i would rather die than eat a mushy carrots. disgusting. gross. no. i got fed this once, maybe twice a week, each and every week, and i was always like “i am going to die if i eat this, you are poisoning me, this is awful, i am perishing,” like, i did not want to eat this shit and i still don’t because veggie soup in a can is disgraceful. i can make my own veggie soup and it’s bomb as hell, but that shit sucks.
this drove my mother bonkers. rather than see it as a sign of the eventual brainstate that psychologists love exploring (i have given psychiatrists so much of my money over the years), she saw it as a sign that i would become a wild child, which like. i did. i did do that. i don’t know why anyone was surprised by that. if you keep telling someone they’re difficult, don’t be surprised if they turn out difficult out of sheer fuckin spite. don’t know what they expected. like damn, if i keep getting accused of doing drugs & crimes, might as well become a massive stoner doing vandalism, you know what i mean? i think the only thing that surprised them was the bisexual antics (for the record, i’m gay but i did not know this in the 90s, mad respect to all my bi brethren, sorry to all the girls i got with, it was me and not you) and like i’m still pretty sure my mom thinks that any relationship i’ve ever had, man or woman, was done specifically to piss her off, haha. when i tell people i was a teenage runaway & about my parents (very catholic), they assume i ran off due to gay reasons but honestly, that was a lot lower on the list than you might think. my teenage years were a trip. by the way, protip: stay in school, make sure you got a bank account no one else can access, don’t run off with nothing in your pockets.
so she was like “[INSERT LEGAL NAME HERE] (not a deadname, just not y’all’s business), this is your favorite soup. you love this soup. eat your favorite soup. you always tell me this is your favorite.” and i was like “no, this soup is shit. it’s not my favorite.” and she was always like “no, this is your most favorite soup in the whole wide world and you’re eating it.” this would go on and sometimes i’d eat the soup just to shut her up. one day when i’m like six or whatever, still a little kid, she’s like “you can’t get up from the table unless you eat your soup” and i’m like “no fuck that, i wanna go watch ninja turtles” or whatever i watched when i was six, idk when that came out. but i’m like six, so i have to it at the table. now, i was stubborn as shit as a kid. i sat there like an entire hour or however long. i was not budging and i was not eating the soup. eventually, my mother got out the airplane spoon, the one i had when i was a toddler, and she’s like “nyoom, nyoom, better open up, just eat this bite and you can leave, there’s the airplane to give you your most favorite soup in the whole world.”
anyway, long story short, she was just putting words in my mouth.
some people think we slipped into another universe a few years back where everything is mostly the same except a little worse and the brand names are different.
i don’t believe this. as the resident far out weirdo, i have to draw my line somewhere and it’s here. i have concrete proof that multiple dimensions are real because a groovy chick at a party confirmed it for me, as have multiple people, but i already knew about that. do i believe in astral projection? yes. my experiments into the psychedelic realm continue. remote viewing is also a yes. i knew aliens were real all along, so confirmation of their (our? do i have claim to that title? i am made of earth but i am also changed down to every molecule of my body on account of biting a dude real good.) existence was pleasant but not a shock to me because i may be dumb but i’m not a dummy. obviously ghosts and angels are real, i don’t think that was in question. i am not talking about alien ghosts, i am talking about ghost ghosts, though i guess aliens can be ghost ghosts too. i have communicated with the spirit realm, received divine messages from many different sources, cast arcane spells and hexes and things of that sort, and i take my purpose as a high priest very seriously, which is why i continue my sacred mission of getting real weird with it, so obviously i am not a stranger to things that are way far out there.
i know what people think of me and they’re probably right. i may only be right about things by coincidence and i know that even if things weren’t real, i would believe them anyway. i know right now that i believe in things that i know aren’t real. this is the crux of my magical practices. you hold two contradictory ideas in your head at the same time and you make both of them real. when i get down into that old neon funk, i forget that. i don’t remember to remember that things also aren’t real because most things aren’t real and you can’t hang onto them. i have been on here too much when i’ve went and forgotten whats what, so sorry for that, though if you ever read anything i write, that’s on you because i, for one, never read my own word-vomit if i can help it. when i’m in my semi-right mind, most of what i say is bullshit because i have word-sounds in my head and need to get them transcribed somewhere so they can stay there and not my head so i can do other things. i need the headspace. like a computer, i am running out of memory and i need to dedicate my remaining resources to cleaning and making sure my kids don’t grow up to become shinji ikari kinnies. i guess it’s okay to say i have kids here because it’s been awhile and no one’s taken them away yet. incidentally, i don’t know how computers work. i know lights are involved. they have off buttons. they have restart buttons. i need to find my own restart button so i can boot up in safe mode and run antivirus on myself. anyway, when i’m completely off my shit, i die inside when i look back on things i’ve said and done because i will let the wolves into my own house and i don’t like being reminded of that. if you’re the wolves in my house, forward me a mailing address please. people assume i’m on a lot of drugs when i’m in a cherry-colored funk but that i’m not on a lot of drugs, that’s just the side effects of having your brain all mixed up. i am making no claims to stone cold sobriety because i probably should ease up on the weekend tequila and i smoke out the bone hurting juice. my bones hurt. it is what it is. i miss my bones not hurting all the time. i was fishblessed but i am still shaped in ways i should not be shaped, werewolf transformation incomplete, either squished down into glamour shape or stretched out into Long Shape. wrong. bad. let me tell you what, if there was onlyfans for aliens, they would not want me posting pictures of my butt on there. i mean, not every part of my inglorious transformation is bad but i have scars from getting stretched too quick and i shed all over the goddamn place and i keep hitting my head on things a lot and i don’t know about you, but i do not need another concussion.
something something words words ramble ramble insert something fake deep here
anyway, the point is that i gotta draw my line somewhere. i’m a conspiracy theorist but i don’t think i’m living in another dimension just because some people can’t remember what the logo on their undies looks like. if i have ever shifted to another universe, it’s for entirely different reasons. is it possible? maybe. i think about quantum immortality a lot. however, all evidence points to the fact that i am most likely existing in the same universe as i’ve been in since i was born. i don’t know what i was doing before i was born and i guess that’s not important because most people don’t know what they were doing before they born except a few toddlers who remember being peasants in victorian england. i think there are a few points in my life where cosmic events happened but instead of going to another universe or something, i just got weirder instead. for example, the great cataclysm of 2017 left me with advanced adhd instead of only regular adhd and i forgot how to speak for three months. shit was wild. went to so many doctors and the end diagnosis was that i was a couple thousand dollars poorer and idk have you tried not being crazy, you should try it. anyway maybe it was for the best because i had to learn sign language and then it turns out my kid doesn’t verbalize easy around other people, so my brainfunk came in handy for once. he’s starting kindergarten this year and he’s going to be so much cooler than all the other small children. i made him a baby yellow submarine shirt because he doesn’t really like baby shark that much anymore but he makes me listen to the beatles like every day almost. not complaing. i mean he could be a kiss fan instead. i don’t know what i’d do if my kid was a kiss fan. listen to kiss, i guess.
i don’t know, man. i gotta lot of ideas in my head and no way to say them properlike. i’m doing my best to say what’s right and know what’s up but it’s hard. i don’t know if becoming a fledgling is making diving the secrets of the universe easier or harder. maybe it just makes it weirder. who can really say. not me. i genuinely do not know what’s happening most of the time. i’m just dancing in the dark and aren’t we all just bruce springsteening it up on the great plane called life. actually no, only bruce springsteen is doing that. man’s on fire. i’m still figuring out what becoming a baby bird means for me but i guess everyone else is too. honestly maybe it’s not that important. i’m just long and my bones hurt all the time but i was already pretty tall and in the end, everyone’s body becomes shit. i just eat other stuff now. i am saving so much money. things happen because they’re going to happen. some guy thinks you’re a ghost dog and now you drink pig blood right out of the container. could be a lot worse. this is not a great cataclysm in my life. it is just an event that happens. right now my biggest issue is whether or not it’s still okay to think megatron is hot because what if transformers are real. this is one of those sentences where i stop for a second to think that maybe i should not share that with the world but you know what, if you’re still reading this, you’ve made an active, conscious decision to continue on with my bullshit.
going to give a shoutout to the mes in other universes. i hope one day we meet up so i can learn knowledge from you and/or start a band.
i think i was put on the earth to leave little gifts on tree stumps: acorns and honey cakes and little cups of milk. to the ants, i am god in all of his shining glory, bedecked and decked out in the hides-turned-leather of animals turned glorious with spiked studs and my face painted in colors not found in nature except for flowers and hair that does not belong to me and maybe never belonged to anyone at all because i think some of these wigs are made of artificial fibers that are maybe plastic but i don’t know. to the gods i am an ant and to me i am a rabbit and i better thump my feet and hop on out of here. there’s a message i have to get out to the world and i don’t know what it is but i think it involves my rabbit styles. we’re working on a new way of existing and a new way of spellcasting and a new way of electric neon thinking that tastes like blue raspberry in your mouth.
am i succeeding? probably not, man, but how am i to know and how is anyone to know, we can only measure our success once we’ve got there and have time to rest and i don’t know about you but i haven’t been sleeping much on account of the ache in my bones and the ghosts in my head. i thought i saw a ghost but it was a wolf instead and those are really easy to confuse because they both howl at night. i don’t know when i’m going to get there and i don’t know where there is and i don’t know what i’m going to do when i get there anyway, but i want to know where i’m going. i don’t have a map or even directions from the guy at the gas station: turn left, keep on driving til you find the red barn, hang a right, zoom on until you find reason and purpose in the woods or the fountains or the alleys or wherever the fuck you find what you’re supposed to be doing because i don’t know, i do not know.
i tried to watch dune again and i blacked out for two hours and i wasn’t even drinking yet.
so the existential point of my being and existence and whatnot is still not found but maybe i’m getting there. i don’t know. i was doing real good for awhile, almost like i was getting into the swing of how people do things, but i haven’t been sleeping and i haven’t been dreaming and i’ve been working on some real fuckin interesting spellwork fueled but the power of sleep-deprivation and rabbit thoughts and sheer fuckin stubbornness. i am going to leave them places. i am going to hide these spells in secret spots. this is a spell of attraction. i will find what i am looking for. i will watch dune. i am going to exorcise these ghosts once and for all. this is not a prophecy because those are not real and i am not an oracle but it is a promise and i can do that. what is mim. who is mim. where is mim. why do i have this tattooed on my body. i don’t know. i can’t blame everything on my life on tequila because some things predate that.
i’m sorry if you’re reading this and want to dissect my brain for science on account of being a creature too weird to post on the internet but i may in fact be completely off my rocker. the rocker? i am not in it. maybe it was never there in the first place but fuck if i know. i can keep my shit together really well in the general day to day or night to night or like whatever you wanna call it, day and night blend together when you’ve got the curtains pulled tight enough, but sometimes, just sometimes, you get yourself filled with some sort of terrible and glorious purpose and you either have to work your witchcraft or you gotta ward off phantoms or you gotta scream words into the internet to a bunch of people who are maybe reading this, why are you reading this, and i know im not supposed to ramble on about shit like this on the internet, i said i wouldn’t, sorry m, but this isn’t vampire thoughts, this is not about vampires, this has nothing to do with vampires, i’m not even a vampire, i’m just a me but long, i’m just me after everything, and unfortunately for the world around me i am a wordsmith but a wordsmith of words that were probably never supposed to be used this way.
anyway the spice ain’t flowing but at least i got sick guns so that’s gotta count for something in life.
spring’s ending summer’s starting soon enough it’s been a year almost maybe and i’m still here after a year, so i guess that’s good. things happen like they’re going to happen and maybe they happen like they’re supposed to happen, i kinda believe in quantum immortality a little but i don’t know where the universes factor into this. not important. things happen whether you like them or not. you are an ant. you are a god. you are a glorious rabbit running across the stars. godspeed, little rabbit. burrow down and make yourself a safe nest. i’m still hopping along and that’s something, that’s just alright and okay. a lot of people aren’t hopping along. a lot of people don’t got safe dens and they don’t got nice grasses to make a nest with. but rabbits are social animals. we gotta make a safe warren.
i need a fuckin boyfriend. i don’t start in on shit like this when i’ve got a boyfriend. taking applications. please be nice to me.
people aren't willing to have open and honest discussions about sex horror sex bat sex horror sex vampire sex bat horror vampire sex. there's a stigma.
feel like ive been making too much sense lately. an avalanche is going to come. the me that is me is not me. not sad posting, just rabbit posting. im not a vampire, im a collection of events happening. where did the reg pamphlet in my booty shorts come from. the universe is sending me messages but i don't know how to read.
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