Ramfeezled - Ramfeezled

To anyone who sees this, I wish you warm fuzzy blankets and your preferred choice of milk or tea. Now go sleep sleep!!

things i say that confuse and worry my coworkers:

“happy birthday” every time i hand them something

“well, that’s not ideal” whenever something is going wrong

“we are in the timeline that god abandoned” whenever i’m mildly inconvenienced

“can’t you see that your fighting is tearing this family apart?” whenever two or more coworkers are arguing

referring to taking medication as “eating medicine”

“time to go back to prison!” when putting animals back in their cages

referring to inanimate objects as (s)he, particularly when i break something and say “oh no, he’s dead.” this concerns them especially when i follow it up with “that’s not ideal”

“what are they gonna do, fire me?”

I just found a new app for creative wordbuilding/writing stuff and guys it's so amazing it's called Fortelling and I only got it today but it's great

There's so much stuff

Brave boy

Why are you against radqueer? :(((

Because I'm of the opinion that plenty of TransIDs are actually very hurtful to people with, for example, the actual illness. I have cPTSD from two decades of intense sexual abuse and sexual violence. CPTSD is not an identity you can choose and slip into at your convenience, it's a mental illness that will accompany the person for the rest of their life.

You're also not a transharasser...you're a shitty person hiding behind a label to dodge the consequences of your behaviour.

You're not transautistic. You're an ass for ridiculing actually autistic people.

I'm European, I can't be Transasian - that would be racism.

Also the whole Xenosatanism branch, advocating for the normalisation of rape and pro-contact paraphilia?! Absolutely the fuck no.

Drew this while my friends were being too loud in the VC

"Bleed the Sky"

The sky bursts open,

not gently,

not softly,

but like a body breaking,

like something holding on for too long

finally letting go.

The first drop hits—

hot asphalt hisses,

dust rises like ghosts startled awake,

and the earth opens her mouth

like she’s starving.

There’s no beauty here.

No poetry.

Just the raw writhing of water finding cracks,

finding hunger,

finding every place that aches or crumbles or waits.

The rain doesn’t ask permission.

It doesn’t care where it falls—

forest, rooftop, desert, skin.

It pounds against leaves as if to punish them

for turning their faces away,

fills the throats of rivers

until they choke on their own rushing,

slides down windowpanes like tears

too heavy to hold back.

And it keeps going.

There is no tenderness in this.

This is not about grace.

This is about gravity and surrender,

the weight of billions of tiny impacts

stripping the world bare.

And something in you loosens—

against your will,

unraveling in the rhythm,

in the relentless pounding that reminds you of your own breaking,

of the times you couldn’t stop falling.

You stand there,

letting it hit you,

letting it drench everything you thought was safe.

Maybe this is what healing feels like:

not silent, not soft,

not clean.

But messy.

Wet hands in the dirt,

skin soaked,

blurry vision as everything spills.

The rain knows.

It always knows.

It comes to destroy,

and in the destruction

it leaves something you didn’t know you were—

raw, gasping,

and growing.

Full body massage