Slowest week of Blegsylvanian year started early this year. Mastodon sucks. Twitter won't die - or will and be resurrected - and will be despicably if correctly cracker-enabling, see you there. Strange feeling, this shot of precarity, albeit about a sillyass shitlord social media app, go without, I bitch that others should not have to go without but I'm not supposed to go without. Peter Gabriel song gag. I still have food, it's only flock, tribe, I obsess. Rituals. Gags. Spontineity, something Mastodon don't. Watching the contacting, flocking, tribing ladder matches, as it happens, everyone reestablishing their relationships with each other, dominant or submissive, kind or unkind, just in delayed time, wheezing servers. The small twitter gang of kind folk I hang with took years to build, I am telling you three times, I don't want to lose it, I don't want to need to rebuild it, it can't be rebuilt. Slowest week of the year in Blegsylvania, why don't I post more Olive photos like this one from two nights ago?
EACH BOUND OF THE FIERY PAPER