i just had this really fucked up dream where there were people who had had their skulls cut open and their brains reprogrammed with tubes and then i was in the back of this car and i was explaining to somebody that obviously the plan was to eventually make it so everyone “voluntarily” have their brains reprogrammed because of the extra powers that it would give them, but eventually places like public libraries would say you needed to have your brain reprogrammed with tubes in order to enter for the security of the other customers but that it would mean that the police would be able to shut you down or read your memories any time they wanted. then the car suddenly screeched to a halt and the driver said over an intercom “the cheebot is malfunctioning” then then i got pulled out of the car onto the sidewalk and they cut my skull open with a knife and started fixing my programming with tubes then they started cutting open my leg and pelvis and it was so painful that i woke up then i said “hey google what time is it” and my google pod thing said “5 thirty pm” and i was like “what” and then i tried to move and couldn’t then i woke up again and i still couldn’t move and i said and i said “hey google what time is it” and it said “between 1 and 2” and i was like “what” and then i woke up again and now i could move and i said “hey google what time is it” and it said 7.m.
when you come across an ogre in the woods with a thorn in its foot you’re presented with some options. you can pull the thorn out of its foot and earn its gratitude, servitude, and it can save you from a robber later on when you blow the whistle. or you push the thorn deeper into the ogre’s foot, until it learns self-sufficiency, its strength overpowering its pain it pulls the thorn out of its own foot and then it thrashes around and it grabs you and it shakes you until you are dead and it kills you and it tosses your lifeless body off into green woods.
you can also leave.
happy International Women’s Boxing Day
don’t forget to be antiwar
who wants to go fishing down by the thames?
week 9; 2022
I’ve given up. I don’t think I really have anything to say about this week. It was my birthday. It’s nice now that Spring is here. I made it beyond 33 without being crucified; trying not to take that personally. The oldest existing book using metal movable type was printed in 1377 in Korea. The gas man came over and switched off my boiler for the weekend. I was meant to be going out to an event for my birthday, but I gave somebody else my ticket for their birthday. I’m thinking of spiralling into a depression and never recovering. I’m thinking about how unfair it is that I’m the eight of swords and how I didn’t do anything to deserve this and how it’s everybody’s fault but mine. OK; it’s time to empty the dishwasher and fill the dishwasher and vacuum the floors and steam the floors and empty the washing machine and fill the washing machine and fold the laundry and put it away and fold myself and put it away. I cannot imagine facing tomorrow. It’s even more embarrassing because my life is objectively blessèd and wonderful.
i’m having an itty bitty breakdown :-)