I’m off to SEA!!! proper blue water sailing for a while so I will be on hiatus until June. Hope you all have a lovely spring :) stay silly kings I’ll catch you on the flipside <3

monkeychewtoy:

secondbeatsongs:

for anyone too young to know this: watching The Truman Show is a vastly different experience now, compared to how it was before youtube and social media influencers became normal

before it was like, “what a horrifying thing to do to a human being! to take away their autonomy and privacy, all for the sake of profits! to create fake scenarios for them to react to, just to retain viewership! to ruin their happiness just so some corporate entity could harvest money from their very humanity! how could anyone do something so evil?”

and now it’s like, “ah, yeah. this is still deeply fucked up, but it’s pretty much what every influencer has been doing to their kids for a decade now. probably bad that we’ve normalized this experience”

Instagram and TikTok have successfully created the Torment Nexus from Jim Carrey’s iconic work, “Don’t put people in the Torment Nexus”

poztatt:

Reading a thing about rabbits vs hares ( @gallusrostromegalus‘s conversation) and I kept coming back to the forest.

Back in the day of the 80s and 90s my family moved a lot from farm to farm while my father worked a job in a nearby city. For eight years we lived in Lanark County, Ontario.

There is a reason, I believe, so much of Charles DeLint’s early work is centred there. Let’s just say… mushroom rings? Don’t step inside.

But across the road from where my family lived was a large lot that had been a farm with a house and everything, converted into a pine farm. Trees in rows. Rust coloured needles covering the ground, giving the interior a look of a floor with endless pillars.

Already, you see, you know things feel weird. 

The first tree in the forest was a massive maple sitting at the edge of one of lots of trees. Big twisting, writhing limbs with leaves and bark you could lose a hand in. Only. Every spring when I walked by it would be filled with green and… clicking.

I was told later it’s not common or something but someone needs to go find that tree and tell all the porcupines in it that they’re unusual. Because like spikey rattling fruit of owies and musk, they filled that tree. Silence but the sound of their quills (which at sufficient numbers is just… eerie as all hell).

They’d watch you.

Fill a tree and watch you. 

I once counted to twenty before I stopped.

I don’t even know where they came from or where they went. But apparently porcupines grow on trees.

And then there was The Tree.

As I said in monocultures like a planted pine forest there’s a kind of weird sense that you know This Isn’t Natural. But this one block of trees older by a little bit and more established. It was darker with only random spears of light hitting the rust or blood (after a rain) needled ground. 

Except. There was an apple tree. It had long limbs that grew in gnarled curves and clutching branches parallel to the ground, spreading out more than up. Enough so it created a break in the canopy and light would spotlight it.

Only. For the few leaves and the command of a clearing of it’s own, with a few sickly saplings that would try to grow from under it.. the bark of this apple tree was black. Like jet black.

So, again. A forest of lines stretching out of sight. Floor of rust and blood needles, level as if made. Bone-white needles still on branches except. Where a black apple tree snarled and gnarled and twisted limb to throttle a patch of light from the forest. And it was always a kind of dim light. Like it should’ve been brighter but it never was. While the forest around it was pitch.

Every single time I approached it all I could think is. We aren’t the only things that have gods. And demons. And beings from Outside.

I was always convinced in the forest with the porcupine moot, where a black apple tree grows untouched, trees have their gods and I’d met one. I’m not at all sure it was kind. But I bet it was fair.

mossbawn:

mossbawn:

people on here are always saying “we NEED a story where the art of storytelling is abandoned” like ugh literary devices are soo annoying like that wouldn’t happen in real life that only happened to further the story (why is there story in my story) why would orpheus turn around when he was explicitly told not to why would icarus fly so close to the sun romeo&juliet catcher in the rye why are they so earnest why pour your heart and soul into anything why bother why cant all art be quippy logical monotony like my marvel movies there’s a void in my heart bc i refused to fill it and the curtains were blue

“i hate poetry its so pretentious” but then you reblog a quote or a throwaway line and say “why does this go so hard” you are desperate for poetry you are starved for it and u dont even realise you’re hungry

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