zhaan s1

"talk that talk"

sob

and i find myself empathizing. by watching such sad stories, do we not live to the fullest extent, feel to the greatest depths, experience the largest leap? by living the extremes, do we not find our limits? by pushing the limits, do we not define our humanity? is our humanity not a mosaic of metaphors, vignettes, sliding scales of individuals and communities all resonating into one? is our humanity not rooted in our empathy.

hungry hungry lady

FEED ME PEOPLE. LADY HUNGRY FOR TALK.

treefingers

i wonder if treebeard would let me treefinger him

labels

hippiepunkravergoth

variation

ugh, those fuckers. why couldn't they look at the world and see beautiful gorgeous natural variation everywhere, in everyone? instead they took the opportunity to exploit.

we can't stop

NO, WE CANNOT STOP. we can't stop miley and we can't stop ourselves from listening to this song

this "strategic hot mess" is art in the same way that a campbell's soup can was art before warhol; it is pop sounds designed to sell and the real art only emerges in the response to these monstrosities monopolizing our media

beep beep boop

muzaxx

the days

crying alone
watching wolfwood die
understanding seymour
those were the days

Schadenjoy

Schadenjoy - joy derived from an all-Joy episode of The View while knowing that it exists because it is Joy's last episode

http://abc.go.com/shows/the-view/blogs/view-news/joy-behar-last-show

http://abc.go.com/shows/the-view/photos/joy-behar-last-show/_m_Photo-1

television

"We're on television, then we're not on television. Big deal."
-Joy Behar

I want to build a room in your ruminant

I want to build a room in your ruminant.
A house I will build upon a hill along the long and winding road of her gastrointestinal tract, eating the plentiful feast of herbaceous matter that will bathe me, my soul a semipermeable membrane, open to new experiences and flavors of life.
I can assure you, the relationship will be symbiotic, and your ruminant, and ruminating self, and myself can all benefit greatly; I see no need for competition, you see.

strider

love

EveryBody

Sometimes I feel so detached from my body that I have to wonder. And yet I am certainly grounded in its electrical impulses. My hands feel like my face. My hands feel my face. And is it smiling? It's in on the joke; me against them. My lips covet my fingers, sucking them dry, and my brain watches on through tunnel vision, optic nerves boring through the rocky mountain skull. That brain listens in on them through tunneling sound-bearing tracks of the petrous portion. That brain. Is it mine? Do I live in my suckled fingertips?

My feet feel like my gut, and their visceral reaction to themselves as viscera is the same, toenails scratching all manner of deliciousness. Chyme and bile begin their descent, but the vestibule is the only thing simulating an up, down mentality. This particular state of mind is a republic with locked borders.

It's a funny trick these guys play on me.

paradise

rupture

man, it's like, i don't want to be raptured, but then again i do

Memphing in Memphis

a slice of joy's top ten reasons for leaving

lore

thanks

i know i have a weird face

thanks for valuing me anyway