#snufcore .

[smallmoss]

“grind?” questioned snufkin. “why yes, i am ‘on my grind’ everyday, as it were. a loaf of freshly baked bread and a spry joint greases the wheels on the stickiest of days, you know. that is what you were asking, yes?”

you, a filthy capitalist asking if the guy sleeping in a tent in your backyard has or has ever had an honest job in his life; sure let’s go with that

[smallmoss]

i’ll actually get around to writing here tomorrow but i just wanted to say that snufkin doesn’t care about looks, or money, or propriety, or social standing. he thinks money is a bad joke being played on us all and the commercialization of beauty is souring our souls. he doesn’t use words like “beautiful,” not because he doesn’t appreciate things, but because he thinks people lose sight of what he means when he uses them. he isn’t categorizing them by their subjective beauty, but by the relative happiness and loveliness they evoke in him, as well as the happiness he thinks they’d sprout in others. he enjoys experiences. he seeks moments to inhabit for a brevity and then leave for someone else to enjoy. he doesn’t care about material goods. he loves stories. he has so much to share with the people he cares about, and strangers, in general. he has a natural fondness for the strange and immaterial. he is a green and growing thing, ever seeking light.

[smallmoss]

sb: are you lying or telling the truth?

snufkin: yes.