#murrphius stuff

[murrphius]

August

(shh just pretend today is August 19)

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In honor of the Reddit commenter who fondly referred to the giant sculpture of a sturgeon in Indian River, Michigan, as “friend-shaped”

fren shaped barbel bearded silver snouted in ways so unvillainous teddy bear eyes he is no ancient creature of bone and muck no river king lake god not even a mascot no he is the town pet he plays fetch and his favorite ball is the moon chase race bonk bap he carries it tonight bright upon his back dips it below the waves bats it sky high shining all the wetter molten moon goatee dripping luck and light patter pitter pitter patter catch it quick upon the tongue make a fishbowl wish oh to be a sturgeon fren oh to be beloved

[murrphius]

October I

The moon has a bite tonight.

The hunter has it pinned to the cheese board and Cetus craving craters of bleu took a chomp, a MONCH, even.

Tomorrow, tomorrow, the sea will ebb and the taste will sour into spit and spat and that will be the mignardise of an unchased meal.

[murrphius]

😭 I fucking love Sleepytime Tea Bear. Part of me is horridly curious to know what the Halloween slut version could possibly look like and the other part wants to keep that bear as pure and wholesome as possible

[murrphius]

Regret

PROMPT: Something you've always regretted saying

Now here I am again, painted up into a gum tree and not having the strength to not fall—straight into the arms of the greatest block and key to my happiness.

I always forget how perceptive you are.

I didn't even say it straight—"you are important to me"—but you saw straight through it and had me pinned to the board. Where I find myself wanting nothing more than to wilt slowly beneath your gaze.

I always forget how kind you are.

You look at me—like that, like that—and I give in. Tomorrow I'll regroup and rebuild the walls that keep me from myself and keep you safe from yourself. Today was my fault. I'm sorry.

[murrphius]

Car

PROMPT: The car your father drove

One of many. But this, this was the one fated for my hands, a smooth boat of a ride, narrow wheel sticky beneath my fingers, each of my moves gracefully acknowledged after a staid royal instant.

All she was missing was a license plate . . . something I realized too late.

No amount of cajoling could get those pigs to respect what was meant to be. But even worse was the face of my father when he came to the station. That face and those hands which promised to crush my gullet like an overripe grape.