got taken to axe throwing tonight. i may not have impressed anyone with my technical axe throwing skills but my sheer brute animal strength is unparalleled
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also, i keep thinking about that artist who lost an arm and she made self-portraits and of course they depicted herself without an arm, and people were like why do you keep marking art about the loss of your arm, and she was like i don’t. i’m making art about myself and i only have one arm.
while a lot of people write poetry about their own pain, sometimes personal poetry is just a reflection of who they are, and who they are is shaped by traumatic events and other things that you may find upsetting.
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oh to be the target employee who gets approached in the baby apparel section of the target by a man wearing black nail polish and a mixture of gothic and cowboy fashion who's pushing a giant stroller and who asks me "good sir....tell me, where in this establishment to you keep the baby sized ties?" and when i tell them we dont carry baby ties he sighs and says "well, what say you about baby sized sweater vests? or cardigans? i beg you, its for my dear baby boy here" motioning to the stroller and when i look inside theres. a baby with a grown mans head
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