insipidcryptid

[insipidcryptid]

I’ve realised that after every painful thought, when I hear “kill me” spill from my lips, it’s not me. It’s the thought asking to be put to rest.

[insipidcryptid]

my favorite example of transferable skills in fiction regardless of how realistic it is are people who work with textiles (sewing, tailoring, etc.) being asked to help stitch a wound or perform surgery. oh you can mend a hole in a shirt? mend a hole in this guy then. it's basically the same thing just with more blood and screaming.

[insipidcryptid]

[insipidcryptid]

[insipidcryptid]

[insipidcryptid]

Why tf is experiencing emotion considered childish to some people?

“Stop sulking,” what would you prefer I don’t process my intense feelings and instead be vulnerably in pain straight to your face and then be blamed for being emotional instead? That can be arranged. I don’t know what you think calling it sulking is supposed to do or encourage. Are you just annoyed that I’m not a-okay with everything you do and say???

Consequences are universal and if you break something I shouldn’t have to say sorry so you never have to.

[insipidcryptid]

Ra ra wrangle cheese

Russias greatest bovine sneeze

There was a cat that really was gone

[insipidcryptid]

Your daily dose of cat memes

[insipidcryptid]

Humans are 1000x more sensitive to the smell of petrichor (that smell you get with rain) than sharks are to blood, to no apparent evolutionary advantage. You’re privileged to be a part of the first welcoming committee to meet our new Non-Human arrivals in person. They smell like petrichor.

[insipidcryptid]

all i want is to start fresh and move into a small town where there are reports of frequent supernatural occurrences

[insipidcryptid]

I got on the train today, and there was a group of about 12-15 year old guys blocking the way. They saw me and got out of the way pretty politely, one said “sorry darling.”

I sat down the opposite side of the train as I looked through the entire train for a staff member (I was trying to get a ticket as all the machines were broken at my station and the desk was unmanned), and they had ended up the other side too. I think they were actively avoiding the ticket person.

They sat down in front of my seat in a four-seated section with that plastic table in the centre, chatted a bit. Then they all kind of looked through the gap in the seats and with rather blank almost owlish expressions gave me thumbs ups. I returned them, and i minded my business. Well - I tried to.

The reason I’m typing this is because I found what they said pretty wise. In between all the banter (one of which annoyed with his friend vaping and saying “stop puffing before I snap that shitty little thing-“), they talked about who was texting them.

One said how his mother texted him, love you miss you, and the following was said:

“I texted her ‘don’t miss you, love you’ “

“Why don’t you miss her?”

“I love her but I don’t miss her cause I’m having fun. It’s boring at home and I get beaten black and blue.”

They got off next stop and I can’t stop thinking about it. That’s such an insightful approach to how you should spend your time, put yourself first and still have space in your heart to love those around you. That’s just,, so well balanced. Godspeed kid.

[insipidcryptid]

I’m probably just going to scream into the void on this account now, I’ve run out of graves for my agonies and the headstones are writing complaints in fine print below their names and dates. They’re asking to be let go but I can’t rot a corpse. They have to do that themselves. I can only wait. Feed them worms and maggots and let them give up their flesh wether fresh and tender or shrivelled and crusted.

Time is not mine to use as a tool but a medium through which I am letting them discover why they hurt so much now that the past is their group intervention, little wooden boxes crying out to each other in the soil. Time is not mine. But I do own the boat through which I sail down its river. I will let these things pass me, and dream of the dew-bejewelled meadows and lumbering oaks the cemetery is nested in. A little broken gate that’s one push from falling off its hinge. Respected as one would an elder, I jump the hedge beside it. I am the only one who visits.

I take flowers from these graves to my friends and family. I don’t know who puts down the flowers. I never look at the graves, i’m always walking through and past them, I cannot look at them because I know them so intimately. Looking at a headstone isn’t quite like looking at a skull but I tend to think that the words on them are an immortalised vestige of an unspoken loneliness. These mistakes had no hand to hold them, no ears to listen. No forgiveness was spared.

They can only talk to each other now.

Tldr I’m fine lmao

[insipidcryptid]

Update: severely mentally ill and cannot stand in the same air with someone I care about before breaking down and being afraid I’m making them uncomfortable by simply existing in the same space.

More news at ten.

[insipidcryptid]

[insipidcryptid]

The Ancient Kiss ✨

[insipidcryptid]

So I play dnd, and I refuse to give any context as to what happened last session except for this meme:

Wish me luck on gettn th magic guys 👍✨

[insipidcryptid]

I think it’s really beautiful that in order to master drawing a person, you have to know their skeleton first. Their muscles underneath the skin. When you face and familiarise yourself with the unlikely horror of being unwrapped to show your workings - and staring death in its cold sockets with the warmth of curiosity, you breathe that gentle acceptance into the drawing, and that is what breathes life into their features.