text post from 52 minutes ago

“Dogs don’t know what they look like. Dogs don’t even know what size they are. No doubt it’s our fault, for breeding them into such weird shapes and sizes. My brother’s dachshund, standing tall at eight inches, would attack a Great Dane in the full conviction that she could tear it apart. When a little dog is assaulting its ankles the big dog often stands there looking confused — “Should I eat it? Will it eat me? I am bigger than it, aren’t I?” But then the Great Dane will come and try to sit in your lap and mash you flat, under the impression that it is a Peke-a-poo… Cats know exactly where they begin and end. When they walk slowly out the door that you are holding open for them, and pause, leaving their tail just an inch or two inside the door, they know it. They know you have to keep holding the door open. That is why their tail is there. It is a cat’s way of maintaining a relationship. Housecats know that they are small, and that it matters. When a cat meets a threatening dog and can’t make either a horizontal or a vertical escape, it’ll suddenly triple its size, inflating itself into a sort of weird fur blowfish, and it may work, because the dog gets confused again — “I thought that was a cat. Aren’t I bigger than cats? Will it eat me?” … A lot of us humans are like dogs: we really don’t know what size we are, how we’re shaped, what we look like. The most extreme example of this ignorance must be the people who design the seats on airplanes. At the other extreme, the people who have the most accurate, vivid sense of their own appearance may be dancers. What dancers look like is, after all, what they do.”

— Ursula Le Guin, in The Wave in the Mind (via fortooate)


text post from 1 hour ago

smoked a joint the sorcerer gave me and experienced life as a 1989 toyota tercel from assembly and production until i was left derelict in a junkyard in baker california oxidizing and rusting for 10,000 years. my favorite part was five hundred years in when a family of armadillos moved in for a few weeks


photo post from 6 hours ago

july in appalachia by keaton st. james

(patreon)

[poem text: ma says there’s an angel in the creek out behind old mr. henry’s shack. she saw it when she was seven years old, playing by herself while her pa helped mr. henry with his hay bales: sliced her bare foot open on a jagged rock, and the angel swam towards the blood in the water.

ma looked right into the angel’s six blind eyes and asked him, “how come you’re down here, sleepin’ in the mud, when you could be up in heaven, plantin’ sunflowers for god?”

his wings were like a dragonfly’s, transparent and glimmerin’, and his halo was a ring of algae. the angel grinned, three rows of sharp teeth, and said, “girlie, god has plans for the bluegills too.”

end poem text.]


text post from 9 hours ago

DICK FROM A GIRL WHO WANTS TO ABOLISH THE SUN

Compost the Police outside the Charnel Grounds of Eternal Midnight

PUSSY FROM A MAN WHO SEEKS TO SWALLOW THE MOON

What Are The Stars But Foreign Suns? End The Imperialism Of The Cosmos

ENDYMION: HERETIC OF GNOSTIC SLEEP. RISE FROM YOUR TOMB OF ETERNAL SLUMBER.

TOTAL HOLE AND POLE CONVERGENCE

Kill The Cop Between All Identities. Overthrow All States of Difference.

Dissolve The World To Sophic Mercury and Chug That Shit Straight.