I stood by while a black widow, one who had done nothing to me or anyone aside from the crickets that torment me, unlike the one that twice bit me, get sprayed by my wife, and did nothing. I hope the Lord can forgive me, but I cannot. RIP queen. You are in my prayers. I’m sorry.

Me missing the point of your mean joke. x.com/finetraitt/sta…

Pops is being posthumously inducted into the Boatman’s Hall of Fame on Saturday. If anyone is in Green River, hit me up, I’ll buy you a drink. Incidentally, an odd term, I met Paul Simon there. He was taking his kids fishing.

This is a good idea. Showing off your likes and rts is the moral equivalent of a soldier with a necklace of ears from people he’s killed. Besides, I don’t get any likes or rts anyway.

You won’t read it but you ought to. Fucking bars.

Some of you are even stupider than me. Hat tip.

May we find mercy in the hands of our enemies, and they in ours.

how much she loved him, and wordless, died. [37] In the movies, when someone who a boy loves / beyond all reason dies, he tilts his head back, / and yells, "No!", or so your average loveless hack / would have you think, but... no. Emotion chokes you. / Gets you by the throat,

makes it hard to breathe, / brings tears to your eyes (as choking always does). / You do not shout. You fall. And you stay down; you do / not want helping hands to come to pick you up. / / Let me lie here for a bit. / /

[38] Just in case you don't know yet: Grief has one stage: / Grief. It isn't a timeline of things it is not, / drawn out for you, like a diagram, / or a Gantt chart, to distract you / from itself. Anyone who tells you a thing is what / it - transparently - is not,

something counterfeit. Deeper understandings are not / deeper! They're not even genuine visions. / Things are what they are, and that's all. / That goes for people, too. [39] We do not become what we are, but if we / are not careful, we may become, what we let / ourselves

be made. If we are mutilated, / that is what we are. And any compensations / we might tell ourselves that we have for that, are / false. Consolations! Mere elaborations / of the lie that we are better off, by virtue / of what we have lost, or given up, for nothing. / Know this:

in life, if not in literature, / what hurts you, makes you weaker. / / If, indeed, it does not break you. [40] His father, brokenhearted, did not speak to / him, of how he missed her, and did not need to, / for he knew, because he felt the same loss, too. /

I still love you stupid motherfuckers, as a friend.

Hopped back on, in the faint hope that infant decapitation discourse had extinguished itself, hoping to binge the latest episodes of my favorite new epic verse romance, and this motherfucker pops up with this horseshit.

My father once told me to never shoot anyone out of anger.