Lime Salt

i concern myself less with the act of dying than i do with the possibility of creepy creatures. creepy creatures grab you and look at you and make icky noises. if a creepy creature gets me i hope it kills me really fast before any of that

staring suspiciously at the rope’s circuitous path from underneath my bed to a giant fishhook hanging from my ceiling. unfurrowing my brow to whistle and cheer upon realizing that one million dollars are impaled upon the hook

vertically integrating my soul. my god is bespoke and, in eating my flesh, i eat its flesh. it lacks key traits such as omniscience and those facilities prerequisite to mass redemption but the difference will be lost on the average consumer within a generation or two

turns out the Infinite Food and Love Beam can also be used to blow a mf away so we’re banning it and killing all the scientists who built it sorry guys

sausage-inflation factory? sausage-inflation conservatory? sausage-inflation boudoir? the boundary of distinction between them is more blurred than one might initially assume. (all implementations end with the sausage’s violent explosion)

[standing idle as The Grand Lord of Pain and Shadow enters the Earth’s upper atmosphere in the form of a rolling, sooty cloud, drawn to the oceans of eternal lifeblood which it begins to harrow from the shriveling bodies of millions at once] i mean they were probably like huge pieces of shit, right?

painting my piece of shit Yamaha arranger pink and calling it “The Pop Music Petunia” and selling it for 600 bucks. It plays chords and it WILL NOT force you to learn or practice or aspire. Still working on branded t-shirts and beanies but rest assured they’ll be a hundred dollars you fucking dweeb

musicians aren’t real artists. music is the scantron of creative expression

dismembering himself atop the altar of that god which destined him to prosper

developing a computer virus which erases everything in the universe except you

coping with my fears and anxieties by imagining them as a huge spider trying to break down my bedroom door

imagine for a moment the perfect version of yourself. think of your self-diagnosed flaws and picture them eliminated; that is to say, picture yourself as if you lacked them. why aren’t you like that instead

my mystic familiar has never since we first met stopped weeping

leaving the same comment on every YouTube video i watch “Do you ever think about cleaning up and getting your shit together?” no need to respond, they can have the last word. ol’ reliable. scary as hell. hurts every time

i would have taken the red pill and just chilled in my goo pod like a good little battery

the deepest evils, great dark shapes, undulating only just out of view. they germinate and bloom, fruiting as they are noticed, withering as the eyes turn, rotting as they are drawn into focus, and crumbling to old dust as their newly abandoned domain is revealed in full. very unchill

[forcing my 16th failed attempt to clone myself back under the slick fluid which fills its gestation tank as it weeps and howls] oh shit, sorryyyyy. sorry sorry sorry. geez whiz. oops

Ignore it bro. That’s delightbait

i know! i’ll put my crazy in a box. then i’ll put that box in another box. then i’ll mail that box to me. and when it arrives, i’ll drop it on my front stoop whereupon it will burst and soak me to the bone right before i leave for work

tryin to open my zyn in tha dark like im bustin into tha vault

more like unstoppablenka

a slender, fleshy horror creeps from shadow to shadow in my stead, peering and gaping. tho resembling an imagined thrill, in truth it is merely a consequence of all being, no less banal than myself before the wise or informed. our fates entwine in pain and blood but it is too clumsy to catch me

[watching a video about a thing that was, but which now is gone] that thing was fucking STUPID [sweating] thank Fucking GOD that thing is gone [gritting my teeth and tearing my shirt] FUCKING FUCK! GOD DAAAMN THAT THING

dream of a panther & a stone. awesome & terrible when you meet in communion. yet when you wake you will feel as if neither were ever before you. they will return to your primary self, each in turn. only when the second has gone will you remember them together & comprehend their truth (as it were)

Behold. we are designing a guitar that can and will have sex with you. we understand that the guitar may currently come off as a bit aggressive. over here we are all about getting stuff done and working out the details when that time comes. and that’s why we’re out in front with this shit

all guitar amps sound the same past like 5. everyone told the emperor that they could tell when he switched from soldano to bogner. they all stopped headbanging and said “oh damn. that’s a fuckin bogner. what a treat.” wake tf up. celestion? more like select yer mom

100 calories (dry weight, unloaded, nominal, pilot incl.)

explicitly designed by the great mother to crudely yank the levers of power yet no one will allow me access to the levers of power

i am one million apples traveling quickly down a steel conveyor. all of them are bruised or marred in some way but only a few house worms

Sung to the tune of Alan menken’s original cinematic arrangement of a whole new world. Pee pee pee pee pee pee