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lightningcolors.bsky.social
a noise-driven chaotic system micro-fictions: qualiaflow.bsky.social
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Imagine you just started smashing it (whatever) repeatedly into your face

if ur not thinking of jokes during sex ur heart isnt fully in the game

pico de gallo but with wasabi, crumbles of sharp cheddar cheese, and gochujang

sample the flavors of infinity: ℵ₀ tastes like lavender lilac lemon jam, ℝ evokes salty licorice, mahlo cardinals olive oil but sweet-&-sour

you didn't heed my exfarbulations, and now you must wear the donkey-donk chaplet, the doofus-brooch, and the gaberdine of myriad ignominies

don't mind the otherworldly leviathan-humming heard as from afar, it's just the legendary magic of agartha, now failed and floating out of time

we've all been taunted by interdimensional visitors manifesting as strange susurrations of leaves or weird oils spreading on water

saw a fox and an owl and a turtle and a bear: diff-er-ent animals everywhere!

We should break the moon into two pieces, like a ball of dough. We could have two smaller, cuter moons. Maybe more. A sky full of conflicting phases, lunatic constellations; this would unlock several new emotions

are you "pillar-pilled"? encased in a maze of pure emerald bars, caryatids whistling though stonecut lips, slabs of beeswax, rosin towers?

cursed moon: mare nectaris; reiner gamma's swirling albedo blessed moon: sea of tranquility; the lavender moon-rabbit, laved in rabbit-light

study hack: press a qualia-gem (crystallized experiential singularity) directly into your brain; let its thought-caustics dapple over your mind

(after spending 50 minutes drafting a thoughtful, curious, funny, and kind dm) what the hell is your deal

missed connection: you were the fastidious, gallant tonka tree-licker. i was the woman with the jadeite-monocle and erbium beard smoking a bubble pipe

do you even know who i am? i'm from the peaseblossom echelon of the strawberry guild, endowed with 3 muck-medallions and 2.5 sublime thoughts about rubisco

it is a good day to put flashlights in one's pants. it is a propitious day to put axolotls in one's pants. it is a serendipitous day to put mustard in one's pants

it is considered a lucky day. llamas are presented, tequila and pulque and green agave wine are consumed, kittens are huzzahed, and waffles are oscillated

my body is a water balloon, the payload is soup; flung with ferocious velocity by the strong arm of the void, screaming with joy as the wall approaches. my legacy will be writ large in a hot stain of bún bò huế, smeared across the facade of god's plasterboard bungalow. i will live forever

translation sentences to test your conlang: -Please, Senator, stop touching my cheese -Have a vapor wedge -I ordered /xenon/ tricuspids -Been shimmying the Blithybongo tree again, eh?

listen man, i've got saudades, i've got hiraeths like heliogabalus roses, and an emotional netflix of gorgonzola dipped in tequila

in the windgarden, where the melon-flowers phase through each other, cobwebs float, and etherpears dabble in impalpable dew

if i call my cat, who mewls but never meows, "squeakaroni" or "squeakaroni and blue cheese", or "baked squeakaroni casserole", is that mean?

exogenous pixie dust makes the garden-fairies pugnacious: the peonies lie ichor-slicked, littered with cracked lightblades, wing bits, and tiny ammolite teeth

Creepies from my woods: Tubifera ferruginosa, Cribraria cf. intricata, Ceratiomyxa fruticulosa, Arcyria cinerea (accompanied by the lichen Cladonia fimbriata and the liverwort Lophocolea heterophylla). Kicin, Wielkopolska (western Poland) #slimemoulds #slimemolds #śluzowce #slimefriends #Amoebozoa

on the sprouts of vidalia onions, you find mutant fae- pinwheels of peloric greenwings or polymelic sparkleskins writhing uncanny jigs

one swig of primordial star-liquor suddenly your laptop is demanding the computational ambrosia of 30 billion iron crusts of neutron stars

May all sentient beings know peace.

can you feel the wind in your hair. can you feel the grass between your toes. can you hear the sparrows in the trees. can you smell the flowers. can you taste the love in the air. can you feel the centipedes crawling up your legs, the centipedes burrowing under your shirt, the centipedes, the centip

you don't hear much about the six-headed spirit peacock embedded in the sandstone edict-pillars of vaishali these days

i'm expanding and collapsing a spectrum of possibilities shimmering at my fingertips like an accordion as i think about red cherry pie

let's meet a meta-parasang beyond the moon, let's meet on a rock at the antipodes of pangaea ultima (let's make a pact to never meet)

the best part about sitting outside at night is listening to all the windchimes fluttering music in the absence of breeze

hey, a bunch of us are going down to the future gardens, gardens simultaneously eden/babylon/shalimar bagh/versailles, where the jellybees drink black ooze

Please forgive my delay in responding. Your message arrived to me inscribed on the face of a complex rotating polyhedron, and for several days I struggled to orient the shape such that the text was visible