Life Is Too Short To Keep It Professional In The Workplace, Amp Up That Workplace Whimsy Folks!

Someone remind me to learn this lol

tsevhu

Tsevhu [tsɛˈβu] n. constructed art-language made by u/koallary centered around the basis of a free-order volition controlled grammar system and a hidden, non-linear writing system created using koi fish and ripples.

Bro mad he didn't get a cupcake.

Who tf are you? Imposter

I'm you, but better.

Franz Kafka, from a letter to Felice Bauer written in 1913, featured in Letters To Felice

Love my girlie anne <3

Anne Sexton, from a letter featured in Anne Sexton; A Self-Portrait In Letters

Hi my name is Elvis Las Vegas Jailhouse Hounddog Presley and I have short ebony black hair (that's how I got my name) and soft brown eyes like lovely soil and a lot of people tell me I look like Austin Butler (AN: if u don't know who she is get da hell out of here!). I'm not related to Gerard Way but I wish I was because he's a major fucking hottie. I'm a musician but my tassles are straight and golf. I have pale white skin. I'm also a wizard, and I go to a magic school called The King's School of Impersonation in Vegas where I'm in the seventh year (I'm ninety). I'm a rocker (in case you couldn't tell) and I wear mostly gold. I love Las Vegas and I buy all my clothes from there. For example today I was wearing a white jacket with gold tastles around it and slutty shiny boots. I was wearing black lipstick, white foundation, black eyeliner and red eye shadow. I was walking outside Vegas. It was sunny and not raining so there was a lot of sun, which I was very happy about. A lot of preps stared at me. I put up my middle finger at them.

Crazy that God needs a teacHer for something such as language. Being older than time itself (not to mention creating it) must really build up those cobwebs on the memory stores.

Happy Worm Wednesday everyone, today I will *checks notes* turn into a worm and DM my girlfriend

"When I stood in the kitchen last June, I was looking at all the pictures of you on the walls, the evidence that you existed in a space I was standing in. And then you walked into the house -- lord I wanted to cry. Somehow all I managed to do, was put on a dopey grin and wave."

As a joke, once, I claimed I was a slut, an absolute whore, for poetry - well, maybe it's not entirely a joke - and you said, "If only I were poetry," - as per joking goes. But, oh, god you are poetry. The rawest kind of poetry. The kind that takes only special glasses to be able to read. You are art in its barest form - like the many interpretations of Lucifer's fall from Heaven. Your very being is the poetry I'd learn; if only to carve into my bones.

For your sake and mine, I hope this version of you - the one I hum soothing lullabies to at night - is merely just one that pays no fee to live on in my subconscious. I'm afraid I cannot repeat this. Im afraid I must. I'm afraid I might learn you were never real.

a while back I had a dream that people would put their otp (gay) underwater, like on a jpeg, and put text on it saying "the writers might have made you straight but the fish know" and it was so vivid I made my own, it was this one specifically in my dream:

Joy Sullivan, from “These Days People Are Really Selling Me On California”, Instructions for Traveling West