poop

We are three souls exploring writing. This is a project. To boldly write what no one has written before.

[nedsseveredhead]

Thank you for engaging in the mortifying ordeal of being known so that I may partake in the euphoric experience of knowing you.

[niyarest]

rice fills me with joy and happiness, but more importantly it fills me with rice

[collapsedsquid]

[maxknightley]

okay guys we've all had a lot of fun with the whole "five day work week" thing but let's stop joking around. we only need three. four at the absolute maximum

[tiktoksthataregood-ish]

[raptorbricks]

[shima-draws]

Actually yeah it’s insane to me how Luffy carries Law around in Dressrosa and Law just. Lets him. Like he could easily struggle out of Luffy’s grip but nope he goes full boneless and allows Luffy to carry him like a sack of potatoes. And this isn’t a brief thing either Luffy literally lugs him around over the course of like 20 episodes and Law’s so quiet that sometimes I forget he’s even there but then I remember and I’m like OH. MY GOD?? He’s STILL draped over Luffy’s arm like a fucking coat. And it’s so fucking funny when I look over and see him with his hood up hanging over Luffy like this

Like. He’s going through it rn. He’s got zero dignity left in him to care

[gingersnapwolves]

had to come back to this post because the tags were sending me

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Mothra and Godzilla. I'm obsessed.

[tmp-art]

“I met the night and they purred"  

Based on this post

[rocketspurs]

[bir0me]

This comic was inspired by a post that I cannot find [redacted rant about how much tumblr's search function is the closest there is tho pure evil]. So you know, if anyone has that post hand it I will actually make you a silly litltle doodle.

[shyolet]

i love how sometimes when you're petting a cat they're like 'wait! i have an idea, follow me' so you do and they take you to another room where they're like 'okay now you can pet me in here too!'

[janeaustentextposts]

[chrispineofficial]

okay so like. there are some things in this world i don’t know how to describe in words that are also incredibly rare and therefore it’s hard ever to convey what you mean unless you either a) witness it or b) the internet finally exists to make you privy to it but this particular photo of chris hemsworth and taika waititi: 

represents exactly what i mean when i talk about how hard i am for this new trend of Softe Platonic™ m/m friendship in the entertainment industry like there’s nothing intended by it other than to show the world how easily men ought to be able to love one another and be affectionate in a tactile way in whatever context and i think it’s such a fucking valuable movement in the crusade against toxic masculinity

[chrispineofficial]

yall i’m feeling Really Good about how many of yall are feeling Really Good about this post

[pumpkinauthors]

Liminal spaces will fuck you up

Ritch ratcht, ritch ratch.

She looked up from the video she was watching, popped the buds out of her ears, and strained against the silence around her. She could hear the creaking of the wind tugging at the roof and the metallic pinging of old fluorescent lamps trying in vain to light up the small rest stop, the soft breath of her sleeping sister on the bench beside her and the small noise from her earbuds still relaying the sounds of the video to her. Nothing out of the ordinary. The rest stop was still empty besides the two of them; she and her sister, this was a stretch of road not heavily trafficked after all. The unstable light from the fluorescent lamps made shadows flicker across the floor and there was a dark shape in the far back that loomed over the whole room; [a cabinet?] The rest of the room was almost empty, some trash lining the walls and a couple of benches in the middle of the room. She squirmed around a bit on the hard bench she was sitting on and envied her sister for being able to sleep everywhere and anytime, put the earbuds back into her ears and re-focused on the video.

Ritch ratcht.

“What the fuck?” She ripped the earbuds out again and looked around with a steely gaze, trying to hide the fear coiling in her stomach. It was a loud sound, coming from somewhere inside the room.

Ritch ratcht. Ritch ratcht.

She stood up, moving in the jerky sort of way that insinuates the onset of panic. But her sister is sleeping beside her, and she needs the nap. They are never going to make it home if she doesn’t rest before getting back in that banged up car they rented, so she says nothing.

Ritch-.

[There!]

The sound was coming from a tiny box in the corner of the room, nestled in with all sorts of abandoned trash. The wind was howling outside as she made her way across the floor towards it, the creaking of her steps across the old boards the only sound besides her harsh breathing.

[What if it’s a racoon? Or a snake? Oh god, I hate snakes. Or something worse? … A monster?]

Her dismissive laughter died in her throat as a branch scraped up against the window beside her. This was one of those places that encouraged superstition; that nailed the fear home deep in your mind like a dedicated carpenter fixing a loose plank. It felt too much like the truth out here beside the road in the middle of the night.

As she reached the tiny box she stopped. A deep breath. Two. She looked around; the shadows were still flickering across the boards, the shape in the corner still loomed, her sister still slept. She reached down and opened the box.

[Empty.]

She backed away.

[There’s nothing in there. But I had been sure…]

Ritch ratcht.

The sound filled up the small room, scratching over her fear and leaving gauges in her mind. It came from the empty box.

She stumbled backwards, trying to say something, wanting her sister to be awake beside her; to say that this was nothing strange. She was just tired. It was completely natural.

Ritch ratcht, ritch ratch. Ritch ratcht.

She started to turn around, to reach for her sister. The lights were flickering even more now, making her feel as if she was watching the world move in a zoetrope. The looming shape in the corner had started to move in the dancing light, drawing closer. The wind had picked up, screeching as it circled the small house. Her priorities shifted; she needed to get out. Now. The boards were old and loose, and she felt herself stumbling, her feet slipping in sync with her mind.

She fell hard, her shoulder screaming at the impact and her head bouncing of the floor. Her startled cry was lost as all air left her and she ended up merely wheezing softly, tears forming in the corner of her roaming eyes. The shape, the dark and looming shape not touched by the flickering light from the fluorescent lamps, was suddenly standing over her, blotting out the rest of the room.

Ritch ratcht.

The sound was coming from inside the dark shape, it was coming from her sister, it was coming from herself. The darkness grew, enveloping her wholly, and she inhaled deeply as tears started making tracks across her face.

As dawn broke the light found its way into a small rest stop beside the road. It was an old building, it hadn’t been renovated for years but it served its purpose; a stop between here and there, between where you had been and where you ended up. The building, as much as any building had agency, was not concerned with the details of that statement. Inside the rest stop was someone who was, on the contrary, very concerned with the details. A young woman woke up after a long nap, rubbing at her eyes and looking around with the confusion of the newly awakened.

“Tam? What time is it?”

She sat up, looked around.

“Tam? Where are you?”

She got to her feet, stumbling lightly over the uneven floorboards.

“Are you in here Tam?”

She reached down to the floor and picked up a phone. She looked around again. There was a tiny closed box in the corner of the room and a looming shape in the back that was dark even in the dawning light. The entry door was open, letting in the crisp morning air. The young woman heave a sigh and put the earbuds into her ears, settling in to wait for her sister; she was probably out peeing or getting something in the car. She would be back any minute.

In the light of the new day the flickering of the fluorescent light was nearly invisible.

[pumpkinauthors]

ghost encouraging kids to kick grandma in the face

We went to work We labored and swore Building the future, tomorrow and soon Then the clock did chime Marking the time That we fled as swiftly as June

We went to the pub We laughed and we sang We discussed cats, coffee and stars Then darkness fell And with the clang of a bell We all departed the bars

We went to bed We snored and we dreamed Our minds showing love, life and death Then morning came The sun made its claim And we started again with a breath

We lived our lives We aged and we died The tales telling lies and the truth As the years passed by They raised us up high And built on the myth of our youth

We faded out We turned into gods Lost perspective and what's at the core But as we aged We against it raged And we were ourselves once more

We went to work We labored and swore Building the future, tomorrow and soon By reminding the young That to the past clung To let go and to start a new tune

[pumpkinauthors]

How the Old Lady Down the Lane Became Known as the Child-Eating Witch

It was night. It was cold. It was hilarious. The kids in the forest beneath her window would disagree; they were shouting at her now, throwing insults and sticks at her window. She stood in her bathrobe beside her window, hiding from the light of the flashlight they had directed at her house, and she laughed.

She had heard something creeping about in her yard, the snapping of twigs and the rustling of leaves setting her mind on edge and her heart racing. She was just about to go to bed, the slippers on her feet and the book in her hand a testimony to a peaceful evening, when she heard the frightened squawk of a chicken. Her chicken. As she made her way on quiet feet to the cracked window and peered outside all she could see was a small quivering light scanning the forest. “What was that?” The voice of a small boy reached her through the night as the light swiveled wildly. “Nothing,” another boy answered, “calm down! You’re scaring all the cool animals away.” “Am not!” “Are too!” The light was in her gardens, the boys stamping and trampling their way over her crops. So the neighbors’ kids were on a hunt huh? She would give them something to remember. She cupped her hands around her mouth and leaned slightly out of the window, took a deep breath and imagined herself to be something of a mixture of a tyrannosaurus rex and a hawk; she screeched. The effect was immediate. The light dropped to the ground and all movement stopped. The silence dragged on and she took another breath, the night was once again filled with the unholy sound of something that thankfully never had existed. “What IS that?” One of the boys almost screamed. “We need to go. We need to go, come oooon.” The other boy snatched up the light and grunted as he tried to drag his brother out of the night and the terror. She had a hard time catching her breath, the laughter poured out of her involuntarily, and as she cupped her hands to screech again the laughter bubbled to the surface in the middle of the sound and the boys’ light found her in the window. “It’s a witch!”

Another stick struck the glass of her window with a tink and was soon followed by a dull thud as something struck the carpet beside her. It was a potato. One of her carefully grown potatoes from the garden the boys are now standing in. She swears vengeance. These boys kicked the hornet's nest, and she would make sure that they got stung; it was time that the children in the neighborhood learned to fear her. She reaches for the cane beside her bed and starts down the stairs.

[pumpkinauthors]

Where I Live

I live in a swamp. The waters are deep and dark, and the sun filters down through leaves the color of mold, staining the rotten ground beneath. The stench of stagnation permeates everything. Sure, things grow here; but they never seem as tall- as alive- as things growing in other places. There is something dead to them, something screaming of lies. It is not the loveliest place, but this is where I’ve come to live my life, and I’m kind of used to it. I am used to constantly fighting to keep my head above the murky waters. I am used to living in the dim light that filters down through the leaves. I want no pity, I simply want to explain to you how things are, so listen if you have the time.

I want start off by telling you of the one silver lining to this place; the fact that I’ve come to realize that I have wings. Not the large, feathery kind that angels in oil paintings are adorned with. No, they are nothing so fanciful or holy. They are simply the ability to soar, to rise above, to leave behind and forget. I try to use them as much as I can, but like all sore muscles even they must rest, I guess.

I try to focus on the good days though, the days when I soar above, can feel the sun on my skin and the wind in my hair. When I can look down on the swamp and laugh; “why did I ever think I could not leave?”, and I realize that some of the things growing in the grime are reaching for the sky and that the muddy soil has made them strong. And those days… those days I can breathe!

But what goes up must come down, as people say.

Those days- the sore, down, dark- days are also there. They come in all shapes and sizes, as everything in life, but the one thing they have in common is that they suffocate. I can wake in the morning to find my wings broken, my head buried in the mud, my lungs full of decay. I can wake in the morning and believe I can still fly, only to find myself plummeting to the ground when I get the first taste of light; a bad interpretation of Icarus. The worst days, the only ones I truly fear, are the days I wake to the sound of life and a playful wind and realize that the rot is not coming from the swamp, it’s coming from me. I think those days are the reason why I mostly prefer to be alone; what if the rot cascading from me is like quicksand? I try to forget those days.

I think the most important thing to remember is that even though this is where I live, it is, hopefully, not who I am. Who I am doomed to always be. There might come a day when I can find my way out of this murky, dark place. When I can take a deep lungful of clean air and dismiss all of this as a bad memory.

In the meantime, I will practice with my wings and tend to the plants that are growing here as best I can. And have you ever seen the plants that can grow in a swamp? Some of them look pretty damn cool.