A Luscious Mix of Words and Tricks

It’s okay. I don’t need to pay rent in August anyhow. Who needs a place to sleep when you have CARNIVAL RIDES.

But seriously. I want to go to there. If only I wasn’t such a terribly poor person. I HAVE NEVER BEEN TO ANYTHING COOL EVER.

• Question: How are you? I hope you're having a good day because you're marvelous and you deserve it - Anonymous
• Answer:

  You know, I actually AM having a good day. Which is not as common as it should be. We shall say it was entirely due to your influence, mystery tumblr friend. You and maybe one other person. Unless you are that person. Hmm. Either way, thank you, although I disagree slightly with your perception of me as a person.

I’m sorry,
but while you were speaking I was staring,
speculating on how best to steal a kiss
splitting the space between us in a second
I was stammering and stalling
hoping you wouldn’t see

I’m sorry,
but while you were talking I was thinking
about the time that you were terrible„
telling one of your torrid tales, torturing me
with the tip of your tongue

I’m sorry,
I should have been listening but I was lusting
looking at your lucent skin and luscious lips
eyes lingering too long, heart beating too loudly

I’m sorry
I am bewitched by your brain
but I am blindsided by your beauty.

I am fairly certain that, having refrained from screaming at, punching, teleporting to the moon, electrocuting, Pokemon battling, exterminating, deleting, erasing from existence via cracks in time, or dismembering my roommates, I should be awarded some kind of medal. Perhaps the Nobel Peace Prize.

Upon rigorous scientific study, I  have discovered a new sort of psychiatric illness which causes the sufferer to be completely unable to do that things that would make me less pissed off, such as taking out the trash when it is full, not leaving the air conditioner running when its 40 degrees outside, all night, with the fan on also, when they’re not even goddamn home, doing their own dishes, or SHUTTING A DOOR while smoking weed for the seventh hour that day. I will soon be embarking on a fundraising tour in order to raise awareness of this awful disease, which I have termed Chronic Dumbass Syndrome. There is no cure, but there is help.

My other, slightly less likely theory is that they are aliens from a planet with much lower gravity, and our planet’s gravity makes it too difficult for them to take two steps and shut a door, as well as doing any sort of basic cleaning or preventing their animals from ruining the house. I am working on building an anti-gravity device to reduce the effort on their part, at which point I expect them to swiftly begin contributing to the general cleanliness of the house. How this might help them not rack up 160 fucking dollar electricity bills almost entirely on their own is still being studied.

My third theory, one that is swiftly gaining traction within the scientific community, is that they are morons and I hate them.

• Question: You had the choice to live with a gorilla who knows sign language or a dog who sings lullabies, which would you choose? - Anonymous
• Answer:

  Well on the one sign language enabled hand, the gorilla could get me drinks and things, and also clean up after itself a lot better. On the other hand, the gorilla is very large, I don’t know sign language, and if it gets angry it could probably kill me very easily. The dog who sings lullabies would be a less dangerous proposition, but could get irritating quickly, depending on the frequency of said lullabies. Also how big is this dog? What kind of dog? THESE ARE IMPORTANT QUESTIONS LUCY. I MEAN ANONYMOUS PERSON. IS THE GORILLA TOILET TRAINED. CAN IT MAKE SANDWICHES. WHY ISN’T THERE AN “IF” AT THE BEGINNING OF THE QUESTION, DID THE GORILLA STEAL IT?

Warning: Contains cheesiness, professions of love, general ridiculousness, and is not suitable for people who hate sappy crap. Certain people following me, if they still care about that sort of thing, may wish to avoid reading this.

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Twin Shadow- Beg for The Night

I want to scrawl the chaotic poetry of love across the blank page of your skin
tracing sonnets on your shoulders, sending shivers through your spine
writing the story of us through brushed fingertips and longing looks
inscribing in you my hopes and devotions, dreams dancing ink black
on the nape of your neck and and the swell of your breasts
powerful plot painted across your hips and thighs, raw and real,
building towards a climactic conclusion and a dreamlike denouement
together we will tie up all the loose plotlines
and find a resolution to this blazing tension.

Come on you know you got no home.