Once Again Reminding You To Lock Your Doors. It's Zucchini Season.

The morning light perfectly illuminated only one of my drums.

do you think famous poets looked at what they wrote like an hour later and went, "yo this is kinda cringe-" or is that a new development in poetry?

Because I wanted to show you

I'm never sure if people believe me when I say I'm empathic because I can be quite the dink. But just look at me. I'm a doofus. I just put my large stuffed animals (whom I always sleep with) on the ground, gave me a pillow and wrapped em in a balnket.

Episode 1: Ouchie

I'll have to make a record of this before I forget so,

Kintsugi - on March seventh, I came to an idea. Eventually, this idea was called Kintsugi, named after the Japanese art of putting broken pottery back together with gold. Which is the only way to describe the main idea of the story.

It follows a young man who uses a wheelchair (I've not developed this story well enough to know why), he's in college and has an adoration for pottery, of which he owns many pieces. But he feels like he's fallen into a nightmare of monotonous life, and endless cycle of class, sleep and commuting. One push, and then another, waiting for life to change. While sitting in class one day, a tardy student comes to sit next to (oh god wait I don't have names.. (we'll call them 1 and 2 stfu)) 1, who is strangely attracted to this carefree mess of a man. After sharing some missed notes with 2, 1 is introduced to a new way of see life. Become close friends, 2 teaches 1 to enjoy a crisp view of the world, one filling with unbridled love and optimism. This evolution is tackled delicately enough over the course of serveral chapters. Eventually, while hanging out one evening 1 discovers 2 was never everything 1 thought he was. There's no short way to write this scene without doing a great injustice. Basically 2 was only ever as you chose to see him, a prefect piece of porcelain, or Kintsugi.

Inspiration comes from basically anywhere, but sometimes I want something to occupy my mind as I live. So I make stories from small fragments of inspiration. Usually agitation, if I'm being honest. Sometimes they come from small bits of hope. Those are always my favorite.

Today I believe it was hope. Maybe optimistically, I want to believe it was hope.

any one else see an ad,

fully acknowledge that it is, infact, an ad,

scroll past the ad,

and then go, "but what if that wasn't an ad"

To which you proceed to scroll back up skim the ad and just

"IT WAS AN AD! :D"

My social life can be described with the phrase "odds and ends", partially because the phrase itself is about random/extra small things, and also because all the people I know are either weird as shit or absolutely fucking hate me.

Episode 3: Smoothie

You know what, no one can stop me from going on someone's account and liking hundreds of posts and then never seeing them again. You can't stop me, and you won't.