clit-misto

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So apparently Tumblr ate my original post about this but:

A couple weeks ago I’m going to get lunch and as I open the fridge, my mother attempts to communicate to me that any chicken currently in the fridge is ok for people to eat, because the chicken that was intended for the dog to eat has been used up.

What she actually says is, “That’s human chicken.”

After taking a minute to process all horrible implications of the phrase “human chicken”, I decide to go a different route and hold the tupperware of chicken out to my sister, saying, “Behold, a man!”

This was evidently the wrong choice, as it meant I had to explain to my parents who Diogenes was, thereby cementing the incident in their minds and leading to me, just now, opening the fridge to see the following incredibly cursed image:

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do you think that a certain genre of queer person is so obsessively weird about pride flag discourse becuase their flags fill the gaping hole in their personality where a hogwarts house used to be

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I assure you: somebody, somewhere, is on the exact same wavelength as you are.

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a lot of media assumes robots would be immortal but i think its a lot more interesting to explore robots dealing with their parts wearing down and battery life shortening and all the horrible little failings that come with being a complicated machine. sure they can replace parts but you'd assume you cant completely ship of theseus them, or it'd have pretty big rammifications on their sense of identity. idk. give me robots with distinct, unique signs of aging. as a treat.

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for some reason, i'm thinking about an alternate version of events where haymitch figures out the gumdrops are poisoned before it's too late, and then spends the rest of his life taking the first bite of everything lenore dove eats. just to make sure. and of course he's paranoid.

it would be such a delicious parallel to snow. the man willing to poison himself to kill others vs. the man who's willing to poison himself to save someone he loves.

and then it's an even more powerful image, in a way, because katniss and peeta did it with the berries, too.

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i dont normally repost instagram shit but the wording of this comment is killing me. like the armored carapace of a beetle. phenomenal

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“However vast her narcissism, the Young-Girl doesn't love herself, what she loves is "her" image, that is, something that is not only foreign and exterior to her, but that possesses her, in the full sense of the word. The Young-Girl lives under the tyranny of this ungrateful master.” (Theory of the Young-Girl, Tiqqun)

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I'm deeply fascinated by writing/art/media about relationships (either familial or romantic) that are marked by the scent of decay. Everything is rotting and festering beneath the surface. It's so claustrophobic that it feels like the walls are closing in and everyone's scrambling on top of each other, pulling each other down.

I want to be able to write something that reads like the physical action of clenching your fingers until your nails dig into your palms while you screech against clenched teeth. And all the years of bitten tongues holding back resentment and unsaid words threaten to burst the blood vessels in your forehead, and they never quite do.

Until one day the dam breaks, and the flood is too powerful to be stopped. So onlookers just watch in horrified awe as everything is swept away.

And the rotting house collapses in on itself.