Sigh, Anyways No One Can Deny Calvin And Hobbes Is The Best Sunday Strip Comic.

Blue skies-embers of sunset-a little pink butterfly blown somewhere against its will. Reminds me of someone can’t remember who.

taken by me

“Taking refuge in the abandoned terrace, forsaken by all but me, an odd squirrel or two, a lone bird, watched the crippling ivy of despair wound itself around the child of sorrow I had let in to warm herself by my slowly smouldering hearth. Gently she knelt, oh so softly she sang, bewitched me into thinking the house was freezing, coal upon coal I blindly shoved unto the fire, and whom was the blazing house to blame? for t’was never a home.”

Sit with me in my bedroom when it is dark outside and quiet within, and you will see a part of myself put away with a July sunset years ago. I will reluctantly explain what psychic continuity and the human conception of personhood is to me, as chance reflections slip out, like the confusing threads of reason that circle my opinions. What intellect, as percieved, means to conciousness and dignity, the weight of insignificance to love on the soul, of eternity and chaos, of the infinite and the fractal. We will hold hands under my broken lamp and fly where angels are too afraid to soar. up, up, up, until we look god in the eye. The self and linear time will fall apart as toys in the hands of a child who has glimpsed what truth is. 

ok from what i can tell there have only been like 4 moderately widespread memes on this site in the past month or so (1. pokemon go meme 2. taylor swift copyright meme 3. “you gotta” 4. halsey lyrics on spongebob caps) which others have noted is a remarkably reduced rate of meme production for this trash site. 

while i think the fact that the majority of tumblr’s user base has gone back to school definitely contributes to The Great Meme Depression of 2015 (TGMD 2k15), it cannot be the only explanation. if it was we would see the same Meme Stagnation every year around the same time, which has not been the case. september 2014 gave us unavoidable site-wide phenomena such as madden gifferator, “what’s better than this? guys being dudes,” the rebirth of loss.jpg, steal her look, what are we?, etc. 

i propose that the rapid rate of meme production we grew accustomed to in 2014 and early 2015 deflated the staying power of individual memes. our hyper-awareness of memes and the fact that our metatextual analysis of said memes became a meme within itself (”memeology”) conditioned us into constant vigilance in our search for “the next meme.” i mean, for fuck’s sake, the first meme of 2014 was “what’s going to be the first meme of 2014?” and the last meme of 2014 was “is this the last meme of 2014?” with garbage pseudo-intellectual meta we sowed the seeds of our own destruction.

deflation of individual meme value led to an even more dramatic increase in meme production (for evidence, just look at how many memes the blog memedocumentation has explained. and of course, those are only 2015 memes. the fact that memedocumentation does not document pre-2015 memes is another fucking 2015 meme) this lead to an even heavier reliance on what could be referred to as Meme Credit–we were borrowing and resurrecting old memes like pepe and the aforementioned loss.jpg to satisfy the Meme Demand in the absence of concrete, original memes. we were destined to crash when that credit ran out and the vaults of the Meme Banks were emptied. 

even now as i reflect on how meme hyper-vigilance and overproduction has destroyed the meme economy, i cannot help but wonder “but what will be the next meme?”

only some kind of……….new deal………a New Meme Deal, if u will, can save us from this Great Meme Depression. in its absence we shall continue to suffer.

“Perhaps dawn is lovelier than twilight, allusive of the light that arises from darkness, the peaceful assurance that night does not last forever. Or the cold drawing away of the veil, the assertion that disturbance always mars the idyllic dream of nightfall.”

Butterflies, spinning in celestial delight, over arches

Crumbling and old, divinity longs for the brush of a

Whispering wing. A Darkening sky looms over the cathedral

Of locked bolts, standing tall and stalwart.

Footfalls echo down the hallways of buried thought,

Love lies dreamlessly in a flower wreathed coffin.

A hand gently runs down the jar of forgotten myth,

“Elpis”, the walls softly echo, “You should have

left when you could Have”. The dead roses you

fear are tucked away in the spandrels of memory,

The night is dark and beautiful,

The butterflies linger, will you too?

Nights in Winter Smell Pretty Great

I got a shivering hand and wet

Hugs from the clothes still hung

On the wind-up clothesline.

And it's night under the lamps,

And the moths are beating

Themselves up against the stars.

Three verses and I've run out of smoke.

Three verses and it still ain't been told.

We're tripping over each other,

Waiting for the other all the time

To ask for a light and to dig in.

There's not enough air for crickets

To bite into, so the chill bites into them

And me, always me. Watching

Them live from the window.

Yesterday evening they cut a cake

And someone brought a wreath.

It bled into the white-washed walls

Like my month would for some days,

And the baby was there when

The plates crashed and the sobs broke

After the party curled up to leave.

See, it unrolls like a film or a die

With the edges cut lose from hinges.

Tell me a number, gypsy, and I'll tell you

Why I would still see you snaked into it.

In the crook of seven, in the curve of two,

And a laced soixante neuf printed with

Brilliant blue - the sodium pricks

Like chalk in eyes when you close them

And an ultramarine demon is the halo I have

Beside me when I walk the path that

Is never there at daytime. Even though

Little squirrels have left mud-paw prints,

I doubt they trod the ground alive.

Tell me again, a line this time and I

Will roll it up and give you a light -

The smoke will incense the moon

So eat it up dear, served with the basalt

Hanging over the ravine.

I thought I could go through it like one

Slips to the bottom of a cumulonimbus.

And eventually there will be the earth,

Ready to take your bones and skin

And swallow you whole, as if they'd been

Starved of the seed a lover plants

To carve up another Matryoshka doll.

Empty to the very last case and cold

Where the tired paint flaked off.

Tell me a word and I will make a cloud

In the night with your breath.

- pollosky-in-blue

my five year plan? read a lot of books. visit museums. walk through woods. stand in a river. adopt a little kitty. drink lemonade while sitting in a rocking chair on my porch.