xrafstar

You know what soring is?

Yes? No? Hard to tell through that bit. It really does make you drool, huh?

Soring. Not like an angel. S O R I N G. Sounds like it hurts, doesn’t it? You might be right. But pain is just another thing on TV until it happens to you.

As a horse girl, I thought you might care a little more about, I dunno. This thing we love. But you were always the stuck up equestrian. Me, the acne disaster in glasses, guess I had more time for reading. Watching. Planning.

I am the world champion of not killing myself. If you ever feel despair, say those words.

It’s been three days since I slept. I probably need a snack. Walking past impenetrable black ghost kitchens carved of obsidian. Acres of bought-out houses, coldly raptured under the overhauled night sky scabbed with nebulae. Even the self-driving cars seem to avoid me. After passing so many buildings that can’t be entered or interacted with, it triggers my condition. Snowdrops and peonies burst through the sidewalk, fuzzy purple Bugloss dope nodding in my periphery.

My brain damage and the entire political situation of the world and our universe can be explained by the fact that all people deep down inside have the genetic yearning to buy Skyrim multiple times, something which has been confirmed by all mainstream psychologists and psychological magazines and medical websites since then. It speaks at something larger within the human spirit that was seeking to erupt from capitalism, something good and perfect…