a-flawed-hippocampus

[a-flawed-hippocampus]

the words in my mind

They wander aimlessly, as children do, through the dandelion-infested grass as I—an old man, depraved of order—carefully snatch each one, only to lose the ones collected to a wearied grasp.

[a-flawed-hippocampus]

First time posting my knitting to tumblr. Look at my Bug Son

[a-flawed-hippocampus]

My girlfriend and i were going to the store to pick up a few things for dinner. She bought a $10 package of Salami, and proceeded to eat the whole thing on the drive home (less than 5 minutes). Then once we pulled into the parking lot she said she wasn’t hungry anymore.

[a-flawed-hippocampus]

You could also use this dialogue when someone walks in on you after you've just murdered an entire orphanage... But, whatever floats your boat.

Person A: “I don’t know what to say.”

Person B: “Then don’t say anything.”

[a-flawed-hippocampus]

why the fuck was he kinda cooking with that bumpersticker

[a-flawed-hippocampus]

you always on that damn 'Untitled Document'!

[a-flawed-hippocampus]

My girlfriend won’t let me watch her put a tampon in. I’m trying to LEARN, so that I can help her in the future. smh.

[a-flawed-hippocampus]

[a-flawed-hippocampus]

“Peep. Peeeeeep. Peeep, peeeeeeeeep.”

-my girlfriend, for some reason

[a-flawed-hippocampus]

Clouds by Frederic Edwin Church

[a-flawed-hippocampus]

My girlfriend won’t let me sniff the boogers out of her nose!!!!!!!

[a-flawed-hippocampus]

Why doesn’t Tumblr have a dating page called ‘Timblr’?

[a-flawed-hippocampus]

The straight woman is unsatisfied with straight studio porn. She wants to get off to something in which the actors actually emote and show passion beyond canned moans from the women and, at best, vacant grunts from the men. She turns to gay porn. She knows it's not "for her," but neither was the straight porn, and at least the actors look like they're enjoying themselves. And for a short while she is satiated by Sean Cody et al, but she runs into the same problems she had to begin with. She was not looking at sex but a simulacrum of sex, trapped in Plato's cave. Unsatisfied, she turned to vintage gay porn, harkening to a time when most gay bars still had darkrooms and reliably smelled of piss and Amyl Nitrate. Here was the real thing, in all its animalistic passion. But she still couldn't immerse herself in the fantasy. She wanted the media to engage with her own imagination and meet her half-way, rather than having it spoonfed to her onscreen. She turned to yaoi, with its elongated figures reminiscent of mannerist portraiture, then bara, including hardcore BDSM scenes. But the tactile sensations depicted in the pages didn't do justice to their real life counterparts. She turned deeper into her own imagination, this time reading erotica. No, not the poolside paperbacks sold at Barnes and Noble. The good shit. Why then, was she still not satisfied? She dug deeper, searching for the true meaning of eroticism. She studied the psychoanalysis of Freud, the cultural criticism of Susan Sontag the feminist poetry of Audre Lorde. She took vacation time and flew to Europe, starting at the caves of Lascaux to explore the human urge to create, then traversed the Camino de Santiago on foot, along the way meeting a 56 year old carpenter from Burgos named Andrés, with whom she had an explosive affair. They both knew it couldn't last, which made them cherish each other's touch all the more. Upon flying home, she gave up. If her search for true eroticism never bore fruit this whole time, why would it now? It would take years before she stumbled upon the answer by pure happenstance: dubstep.

[a-flawed-hippocampus]

How do I save stuff on here without re-blogging so that I don’t look like a writer who knows nothing?

[a-flawed-hippocampus]

Writing, 5% of the time:

Writing, 95% of the time:

[a-flawed-hippocampus]

Why aren’t usernames on tumblr called numblr’s? Like, “Hey they, what’s your numblr?”

[a-flawed-hippocampus]

08/07/2023

Today, I pinched myself in an attempt to find reality. As my nails dug further and deeper past my skin and into my muscle, my understanding of what is and what was left me.