the wc hc of the day is as follows: thrushpelt enters starclan. he is expecting his daughter, he is expecting snowfur. he does not expect what they tell him. "their father is oakheart," she says, as they overlook thunderclan territory from their place in the clouds.

the quintessential question: what do i write about? (long pause) (no punchline)

i'm a poet. i'm a god. i know everything. the universe is at my fingertips. i am small. i know nothing. in the face of death i feel nothing but i cry when people yell at me. i am a black widow. i am a sinner. i am a lone lion of the serengeti. i am the angel of death. i am a frog croak croak

living in shame of being perceived is like, eating a cinnamon pretzel and wondering as you're wiping the sugar off your mouth in the mere presence of people and wondering, 'what if they think i should die actually'

kiss me. kiss me and live with the memory. then tell the stars you won. this is me ripping off erin hunter's warrior cats yes, don't look too deep into it, i don't even know what characters say these lines lmfao

why do i miss you if you're right here, on this call with me? oh yeah. i want to be beside you. that's different

pets my girlfriend like shes a leopard gecko because shes autistic and i dont want to overstimulate her. she goes back into her hide and i watch her through the glass, bemused

for legal purposes, that was not a joke. this is a threat. it will be carried out, so please imprison me before it happens, so that at last i can pay penitence for all my wrongdoings, and all my wrongdoings to come.

hope is a wretched, crying, whining changeling of happiness that we cling to in order to get through our day.

i feel like the fry at the bottom of the paper bag