#I am but a humble jester who screams my thoughts into the void

[lazycat-art]

Exactly I get so tired of people hating girl characters just because they're there if you don't have a reason GTFO away from me and my polyamorous ships

When I’m talking to someone who likes the same pairings as me and they start shitting on the female character:

[skitariiposting]

Oh, trust me, mate, I know. Oh, how I know.

We've all heard the darkest of tales whispered in the darkest of places. While many a twitterer accidentally stumbles upon a fire at night, where redditors and facebook-fugees whisper quiet rumors of the realm of the living dead. Hushed gossip of those who walk amongst the site of bones that have suffered the wrath of Tumblr fame. But I am not cut of their cloth. I've wandered the site far longer than this blog betrays. I have seen the wounds firsthand. I've witnessed the dead look in their eyes. I've seen the exposed bone and dripping viscera of things once considered befamed.

These are now shambling corpses; far too weak and exhausted to know they are dead. Clinging to a bastardized imitation of life. Paraded around in the garb of false prophets and holy ones, their long since quiet words leaping from tounge to rotted tounge. These remains dangle helplessly from sticks and strings, hoping and praying that they can fade into the sweet release of obscurity, only to have their posts stapled to the church doors again so the cycle can begin anew.

I've seen the mounds of deactivated accounts and the hoards that descend upon them daily. The continued reblogs of cheshire preachers, hoping and praying they'll have a chance to keep the lifeless body of their fettid saints relevant, believing a drop of lifesblood may grace their lips and renew their taste for the humors, or perhaps... wet the lips of a mutual for a note or two...

But not all feigned bless'ed mouths lie without tongues. Not yet have every messiah's throat been gnawed away by rats and vermin, stolen by time and rot.

We are all aware of the titans that stride across the Dashlands and step from post to post; growing fat upon the notes and relishing in their feasts. Such lords have grown indulgent not by fame, but by utilizing their powers of comedy, artistic talent, or storytelling to stay well fed in a land of famine. Long have they outlasted their peers on this treacherous site, and only because they've staved off the title of Tumblr famous. Instead they wear it as manacles, forced upon them by their followers, not as crowns or robes and furs. Such a crown does not befit the head of a king or queen. Lo, it befits no one who dares to have a shred of honor, unlike these humble folk.

But I seek not to be a righteous king. I seek not to be remembered as a conqueror. I am not benevolent, I am not holy, I am infernal. Born of filth, but unlike those who have received the same fate, I chose not to rise above my station. I relished in it. I grew fat on the slop of pigs and the dregs of mankind. I became an imp, one who skulks in darkness and infects conversations with madness and chaos.

I found meaning in the slime, I found meaning in the disheveled hole I've dug for myself, thriving off the driplings of talented and funnier folk. My contributions small, but my voice loud.

I am a stepstool for those who stand too small to reach the top shelf. I am an amphitheater, projecting the songs of those too quiet to be heard. I am a voice screaming into the void, hoping to be heard and miraculously finding my way to the ears of others. I offer no money for their time or attention, I offer no prize nor golden goose. But I offer the love of a slimy goblin with a heart bigger than his chest can hold to himself, and for that, they have accepted my voice.

And now they've had talks of sitting me, a fool in jesters' garb, upon the high council. I've evesdropped from behind cracked doors, and where once I saw people talk of greater beings, now I hear speaking of the little warhammer blog who utters his funny little words, and only now do I realize they speak of me.

I stand now at a precipice, with the opportunity to expand my influence, but with Damocles laughing over my shoulder as Dionysus begins measuring a length of rope for my own xiphos. But, I have a breath of hope, a happy thought that dares cross my mind. It is said that pride comes before a folly, but what if we put forth one without pride? No good king or queen can wear the mantle of Tumblr fame...

So perhaps, this gremlin may suffice?

Fate, I ask you weave your cruel string. Pierce my heart with your needle, and form me into a tapestry of your will: be it a ruler in a house of gold or a corpse in a den of mud. I only ask that you give me chance that I might make a name of this tiny soul and perhaps bring hope and mirth to the souls of others. I beset this unto you and whoever might also listen upon my plea. I thrust this prayer unto you whether you willingly accept it or not.

For I am skit.

Small, cold, and afraid.

Surrounded by the faces of those I see beauty in, and wish to elevate above the fog and mists we lay in together.

Amen.

you have post in today's PM Seymour Late Night Tumblr Posts video.

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