Monsters Underfoot
I feel beautiful and wicked—flying fast and fearless.
I feel beautiful and wicked—flying fast and fearless.
The moment where no one can explain the monster is crucial to the payoff—inexplicable, supernatural evil must remain forever believable, yet disprovable.
Some say she kills the men; in Honduras, she usually makes them go crazy.
We’d set off toward Kice Island and everything would go as planned.
I love my two little carpet sharks with all of my heart, but being a ferrant is exhausting.
Listen, book, your aesthetic can’t be both “lazy Warhol knockoff” and “grandpa forced to take a photo at Ye Olde Wild West Land.”
“That’s who you’ve always been. You were always into that stuff.”
He foresaw the ways crumbling capitalism morphs into fascism—and for that alone, his platform is worth revisiting.
Yes, it’s objectively weird. But I think there’s something to it.
I wish I could say I was one of those people who uses social media for the simple fun and joy of it (although I’m not sure if that’s even possible anymore).