Poems in true chronological order by post date
-> file: fediverse/3642 ════════════════════════════════════════════════════─────────────────────────────── @user-1579 Fief II https://fief.bandcamp.com/album/ii ┌─────────┐ ┌───────────┐ │ similar │ │ different │ ╘═════════╧═════════════════════════════════════════──────────────────┴───────────┘ -> file: messages/508 ════════════════════════════════════════════════════─────────────────────────────── I dreamt of vegetables, precious babies, and leaves bourne on their own wind. ┌─────────┐ ┌───────────┐ │ similar │ │ different │ ╘═════════╧═════════════════════════════════════════──────────────────┴───────────┘ -> file: messages/509 ════════════════════════════════════════════════════─────────────────────────────── I had a dream about "what if people listened to me" and it was a melancholy kind of sad, the kind that comes after a great tribulation as one picks up the pieces. Food is so important, people grow tired of the same thing every day. They say an army marches on its stomach, and our stomachs these days are accustomed to variety, taste, and plenty. It would get better, give it time, and in time our wounds would heal. But wouldn't you rather persist in this timeline, the one that isn't doomed, and instead flourish in the ways inertia brings us? Capitalism must fall, of course, but it will fall of its own accord after we've done our best to maintain the world we live in. "better to be starting from scratch, than lose your path" ... Yeah, okay, true, but just like justice is its own reward, so too is hardship it's own burden. you can't eat justice No, but at least you aren't enslaving anyone. they would be slaves still, without your patronage Liberation for all comes later, I guess. First up is building a safe and stable home for us. safe and stable... Like the one you have now? Like the kind the Democrats promise? Yes, but ideological purity calls me to believe that slavery should not be accepted. It should not be something we condone. And yet they do, albeit indirectly, and so I am perplexed. if you want good food, live in the country. Hence why all the suburbs are empty. ... Anyway, 3am musings, gonna program a bit and go to sleep again... ┌─────────┐ ┌───────────┐ │ similar │ │ different │ ╘═════════╧═════════════════════════════════════════──────────────────┴───────────┘ -> file: messages/510 ════════════════════════════════════════════════════─────────────────────────────── It's not sparkling reconnaisance if you're fucking telepathic you stupid bitch ┌─────────┐ ┌───────────┐ │ similar │ │ different │ ╘═════════╧═════════════════════════════════════════──────────────────┴───────────┘ -> file: messages/511 ════════════════════════════════════════════════════─────────────────────────────── That feeling when running a command on my laptop causes the fans to spin up on my desktop...! ┌─────────┐ ┌───────────┐ │ similar │ │ different │ ╘═════════╧═════════════════════════════════════════──────────────────┴───────────┘ -> file: messages/512 ════════════════════════════════════════════════════─────────────────────────────── Never write poetry in your sleep. You will forever miss it upon waking. ┌─────────┐ ┌───────────┐ │ similar │ │ different │ ╘═════════╧═════════════════════════════════════════──────────────────┴───────────┘ -> file: messages/513 ════════════════════════════════════════════════════─────────────────────────────── A wherewolf and a human stumble into a bedroom in the dark of night, their arms clutching each other as they make out in front of the window. Just then, the moonlight appears, and the wherewolf's form begins to shift, as strangled cries turn into a cacophanous mess. The moment passes, and the wherewolf collapses onto the bed, exhausted. He rests there on his back for precious moments, before throwing himself to his feet and putting on his socks and sandals. Ha glances in the mirror. He straightens his tie. He goes to fucking work, again, just as the laundry dings. When he gets back, it smells musty, so he washes it again with bleach. exhaustion cares not for form, only exertion. The wolf collapses once more into bed, tired from a day of accounting. He thinks to turn on the TV, but he slips away before getting the strength to rise for the remote. In his dreams, there are children clutching at his skirt with big bright eyes begging him not to sleep. Not to dream. Not to feed. He brushes them aside as he always does, and fixes her makeup in the mirror. She glances back at them, quivering on the bed like a bear, a shark, a dinosaur, before she sweeps to her feet and goes out for a night on the streets, looking for a bar and a stranger to meat. The moon once more reaches it's zenith. He is awoken with a pang of humanity as his hunger transforms him back into an ape with lust in her eyes. ┌─────────┐ ┌───────────┐ │ similar │ │ different │ ╘═════════╧═════════════════════════════════════════──────────────────┴───────────┘ |