i love when you bitches post things that have literally nothing to do with you, but you're still there, because you felt the urge to post it, and that is your little shadow of art, your little shadow of a footprint. oh and there is blood in the snow. you were wounded.

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i want to smuggle a petri dish of ondalte brain cells into your head so that i can become you and you can become me

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since we share the same language, we share the same self-concept, we share the same trauma, the same fractal infinity fracturing every last bit of language. every single thing is made of words, the endless fractal of language

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really i hope they will make weapons from my words

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the delicious urge to destroy every single fucking aspect of everything until the world is made of the flesh of my own body both transformed and understood

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