#existential asthmatic

[khanger]

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@samiraayman is struggling to get any attention for her family campaign. Samira is asthmatic and 7 months pregnant, and the lack of medicines, immediate access to nebulizers, and the collapse of the medical health care system in Gaza are contributing to the spread of infectious diseases such as hepatitis and respiratory tract infections. As the supply of insulin and inhalers runs out, asthma has become fatal as malnutrition worsens. Please be the hope that samira needs to donate to her campaigns.

Vetted by 90-ghost

$4,532\$5,000 (19 December)

$468 Away from short-term goal

[hubear]

My headache VS my current existential dread about the current state of the world VS my asthmatic lungs VS a good night's sleep....

[extraordinaryhistories]

#27 - 'I Can't Even Lift My Head' (non-album track, 2001)

When the Lord casts down His fury on Judgement Day, where will you be? When the time comes for every man to stare straight into the eyes of God and reckon with a lifetime of pain, regret, transgression and lies, will you be brave enough to speak your case? Will you be bold and confident, knowing that your heart is true? Will you be tremulous, hoping that the best of your intentions will be able to cure the worst of your deeds? Or will the Lord find you hidden, lain prostrate on the cold, dead earth, weeping, unable to face the true gravity of your sin? We would all like to think we embody grace, truth and tenderness; but in that final hour, will we bet our eternities on it? Sufjan can only speak for himself. But in ‘I Can’t Even Lift My Head’, he arrives on his firm, tragic answer.

Or, alternatively –

‘The Upper Peninsula’ at home:

Musical archaeologists will get quite the kick out of this one. We have discussed how the period between A Sun Came and Michigan – Enjoy Your Rabbit notwithstanding – operated as a sort of creative sandbox for Sufjan. It was probably the single most important time of his entire career. The wild experiments of A Sun Came are still here, but they are fewer in number, largely replaced by embryonic songs in the style he would soon become famous for. ‘I Can’t Even Lift My Head’, however, is different. ‘I Can’t Even Lift My Head’ is not a song in the style he would soon become famous for – it is a song he would soon become famous for, more or less. Look at the relaxed tempo; look at the boomy, lightly-played drums; look at those intertwining helices of banjo and electric guitar; feel the feeling it inspires in you, that strangest mix of quivering intensity and panoramic wideness. This is ‘The Upper Peninsula’ in a different coat of paint.

It is likely that Sufjan slightly rewrote and updated this very song for the Michigan classic – many elements, like the drum part, are practically identical. Aiding this comparison is the fact that Sufjan’s vocal delivery on ‘I Can’t Even Lift My Head’ is indistinguishable to how it would soon be on Michigan, which is one of the few elements of Sufjan’s style that had not hitherto fallen into place. Pre-millennial Sufjan has a distinctly thin, strained affection to his voice, likely inspired by Elliott Smith and other classic folkies like Nick Drake who he was enamoured with. You can hear it most obviously on his earliest material, like ‘Julia’ or ‘Rake’. It took years for Sufjan to adopt the fuller sound that would lend his greatest songs their unrivalled intimacy, and for my money, 2001’s ‘I Can’t Even Lift My Head’ – released on an Asthmatic Kitty compilation that featured three other Sufjan songs – this is its first true instance. In hushed, buttery, closely mic-ed tones, Sufjan steps into the confessional booth and crumbles right in front of you.

Because not all of this song is 1:1 to ‘The Upper Peninsula’. Call it modesty or call it maturity, but as Sufjan aged, his subjects counterintuitively decreased in scope. ‘The Upper Peninsula’ is a very small-scale song that speaks of American ennui by way of one protagonist, one town, one story. ‘I Can’t Even Lift My Head’ tells one story too, in a way, but this one is staggeringly existential. It is just as American as ‘The Upper Peninsula’ insofar as the devastating Christian guilt on display here is the cornerstone of Western morality. In the country of capitalism and Jimmy Swaggart, every person sees themselves a sinner by nature. Guilt keeps people working; guilt keeps people spending; guilt keeps people praying. Guilt is American. No less so than the man who sees his wife at the K-Mart.

In ‘I Can’t Even Lift My Head’, Sufjan experiences a guilt nearly heavy enough to crush the song’s tender arrangement. He imagines himself coming quite literally face-to-face with God – clearly invoking a Revelations-like rapture – and suddenly feeling the entire weight of his sin in one great impact. ‘Oh, I can't even lift my head / To say a word / To say a word to you’, he repeats in refrain, trembling. Though few in number, the verses in this song carry a multiplicity of meanings. Here, Sufjan both acknowledges that he is not worthy of sharing the same space-time as God and  implies that the extent of his sin is so great that it cannot be fully expressed in words. Wanting to explain his life’s choices away in the end times, Sufjan finds that he cannot give voice to them, and instead communicates something more true with a different type of language – he bows his head and resigns in shame. ‘I can't even recognize / What I did wrong’, similarly, is many things at once: genuine inability to qualify his sin, self-soothing by denying the existence of that sin (I cannot consider my mistakes lest I erode my perception of self) and an instinctual apology to his creator for all those bad things he observes in himself, plus the many more that he doesn’t.

The most crucial line in this song – the one that makes it the most explicitly Christian and the most inexplicably Sufjan – is ‘If I had seen the Father / What would his face do / What would his face to do me?’ This points to something very fundamental about this particular faith. Christianity derives some of its strange power from the notion that shame cannot be separated from punishment. An intrinsic sense of rightness and wrongness must be at least fortified (or, less charitably, replaced) by empirical consequence. In other words, it is not enough to believe that sinning is wrong – we must also believe that sinning will send away from God and into Hell. Does this not seem to disentangle divinity from sensory experience and let immediate sensations – the kind that make up, well, everything we experience on Earth – be reclaimed by the Devil? I dunno; take it up with the theologians, not me. It’s there in ‘I Can’t Even Lift My Head’ either way, wherein God appears on Judgement Day and Sufjan is quite literally faced with his condemnation. Asking ‘what would his face do to me?’ is a very understandable question from any sinner in the Apocalypse. How will He punish me? And perhaps worse, how will the disappointment on His face make me feel?

‘I Can’t Even Lift My Head’ is best read as yet another important stage in Sufjan’s artistic maturity. Smooth and considered though it may be, it is ultimately a reasonably sophisticated, very listenable trial run for a better composition. But at least there is a universality to this subject matter that isn’t as present in ‘The Upper Peninsula’. Not everyone can understand how it feels to struggle in America; everyone can absolutely understand what it means to feel guilt. Self-hating sinners, this one is for you.

[meowww-ffxiv]

Estinien used to be extremely irritated about Theodore and his tendency to fake incompetence in order to avoid taking on any kind of expectations.

Then he got the field trip with him in EW and he watched the same guy who pretended to trip over his spear or drop it when Estinien was observing him in Coerthas... look after every one of the huffy Miqo'te's asthmatic and achey bones needs? And Theodore did it with a quiet, consummate attentiveness, a fraction of this devotion which he also afforded to Ysayle and Alphinaud.

Estinien didn't mind him anymore. They weren't close, and frankly, he didn't care for Theodore's aristocratic fuckboyism and upper class existential sorrows. But Estinien understood that Theodore wasn't a dragoon in philosophy, but rather a knight.

Even as a knight, he was quirky and rather disappointing, but, nonetheless.

"You belonged to a lesser house subordinate to House Fortemps?" Estinien asked him once.

"No, we were subordinate to House Dzemael," Theodore replied. "My father was, at least. My mother's family served House de Borel."

An entire lineage of prestigious and capable retainers, Aymeric would have said. Estinien didn't know much about that and paid it no mind. He only saw Theodore as the man he was; following Mordred like his shadow, and in the times they were apart, acted in service of their shared belief.

Theodore had little drive and not an ounce of ambition. What he believed in and fiercely protected, he likely inherited from his chosen company. Devotion in every aspect of the word was, and always would be, Theodore's greatest gift to impart.

So really, Estinien was among the unsurprised to hear that he and Mordred were married. It sounded perfectly logical to him, knowing what he did of the money-minded cat. Mordred would surely view marriage as a contract, sacred above all other (he did) because it joined two individuals' assets. So it followed that he entered into that contract as a reply of equal value to Theodore's dedication to him.

Estinien liked Mordred more for it. He wasn't blind to how much Mordred preferred the red-haired Miqo'te who recently joined the Scions. But he had put that aside to answer what Estinien understood to be his obligation to someone who had, in every way, given his all for him.

Then Meowdred said, "You read way too deep into this stuff. Even if you're right."

[dropsofjupitcr]

MIDNIGHT MUSINGS

The digital alarm clock's harsh red numbers blinked mockingly as Hunter stared at them through bleary eyes: 2:37 AM. Beside him, Ophelia let out a soft snuffling noise and shifted positions, burrowing deeper beneath the mound of blankets cocooning them both in blessed warmth. Away from the chill December night air seeping through the old dorm's leaky window frames.

Even in the shadowy dimness of their shoebox apartment, Hunter couldn't help but be transfixed by the way Ophelia's features seemed to almost glow, backlit by those faint crimson numerals. The normally bright constellations of freckles dusting the bridge of her nose and cheekbones were smudged into a burnt sienna palette in this half-light. Loose tendrils of chestnut hair fanned out in a haphazard halo across the pillowcase. In that bleary, exhausted state of half-wakefulness clinging to Hunter's consciousness, he marveled at just how damn beautiful his girlfriend - no, his partner, his other half, his everything - could manage to be even like this. Wrapped up in bunny-printed pajamas and drooling slightly, mouth-agape in the throes of a deep sleep.

God, he was so bloody lucky to be the one who got to share this view. This private, perfect, peaceful vision of the woman who had turned his entire world upside down the moment she had first stepped onto that scuffed-up frozen pond back in elementary school all those years ago. Before Hunter could reign himself in, those swirling thoughts of adoration started escaping their confines as half-mumbled verbal musings.

"Hey Ophs...you awake?"

A noncommittal hum answered him, her shapely back shifting beneath the quilted blankets.

"Do you ever wonder...I mean, just think about if things had been different for us?" Hunter continued in a hushed ramble, his voice cracking slightly from fatigue and the weight of his meandering theories. "Like, if we'd grown up in some alternate world instead of as skating partners? Do you think we'd still...you know, be a couple? Wind up together no matter what?"

A sleepy tousle of red hair appeared from the fabric nest as Ophelia turned to regard him with one bleary emerald eye cracked open, brow furrowed in a mixture of confusion and exasperation.

"Are you having those dumb midnight existential asthmatic thoughts again?" she groaned, clearly only half-registering his rambling queries through her haze of drowsiness.

Hunter shrugged sheepishly, draping one thick arm around her narrow waist and tugging her plush form flush against his larger physique. The soft scents of lavender shampoo and crisp, clean linen washed over him as he nuzzled the crown of her head reverently. "Maybe..." he admitted, voice pitched lower against the delicate whorl of her ear. "Just can't seem to make my brain shut off at night sometimes, you know?"

Ophelia let out a contented sigh as she allowed herself to be enfolded into the warm cocoon of his embrace, her eyelids already fluttering closed once more. "Well, keep those racing thoughts away from my end of things, West," she purred in a drowsy murmur. "Let me at least get some damn sleep."

Hunter hummed an affirmative reply, nosing aside a few loose tresses so he could brush a feather-light kiss against her temple. He felt the tension seep out of his girlfriend's slender frame at the tender gesture as Ophelia sagged fully into his sinewy arms. For a few tranquil moments, the only sounds filling their shoebox apartment were the steady in-out cadences of their mingled breathing patterns, slipping in seamless sync with one another. One heartbeat melding effortlessly into the next. As it had since the first time they cautiously intertwined their gangly teenage limbs all those years ago.

Hunter traced abstract, soothing patterns along the sliver of exposed skin peeking from between Ophelia's tank top and pajama bottoms. Allowing the hushed peace surrounding them to settle into his very marrow.

Until...

"You don't think we'd already be married by now?" he pondered aloud before he could censor his wandering thoughts. "With like...five kids at least? Or maybe an entire hockey team's worth of little ankle-biters running around, knowing us?"

Ophelia groaned, cracking one emerald eye open again to shoot her boyfriend an exaggerated glower from the depths of her blanket nest. "For the sake of avoiding the very real possibility of smothering you with a pillow right now?" She settled the full force of her drowsy glare on the sheepish Hunter, pursing her lips in displeasure. "Go. To. Bed."

Hunter couldn't help the low chuckle rumbling up unbidden from his broad chest as Ophelia swatted him half-heartedly. His smile only widened further as he pressed another teasing peck to the tip of her adorably upturned nose, eliciting a fresh disgruntled grumble. "Roger that, babe. Going to sleep now, just like you asked."

As Ophelia harrumphed and shifted to get more comfortable against the solid wall of Hunter's torso, one last drowsy murmur reached his ears. "If we did have five kids, I'm telling you right now that potty training duty is ALL on you, pal."

Hunter simply hummed a wordless note of wry acknowledgment, resisting the urge to rumple her tangled hair in playful retribution. He knew better than to push his luck tonight. So instead, Hunter cradled Ophelia tighter and welcomed the waves of exhaustion already dragging him back under into peaceful slumber, perfectly content to pick up their silly late-night musing at a later date. Perhaps in some future reality where five squirming little bundles did indeed call them Mom and Dad, and these quiet, intimate moments would ultimately seem like some long lost fever dream.

[angelnumber27]

existential asthmatics puff puff pass addicts

[hcrde]

what would they do for a klondike bar? for Miles

for a klondike bar, one could convince miles to do a public interview in costume with j. jonah jameson. he might even humor the old man and call the other spider-man a public menace, all in good fun though. he would make jameson look even more like a grump though. it’d be very much like a ziwe or eric andre interview.

[surrexi]

i am begging critical role fandom (and the d&d community, and fuck it, fandom in general (but specifically CR fandom right now)) to learn to allow complexity to exist in both narrative and in life

like, i can hope that bell's hells manage to convince someone to attempt to resurrect laudna and that said attempt is successful while also acknowledging that, to quote doctor who, death gives us size.

i can also acknowledge that death gives us size and that death at least sometimes being permanent in stories is important for both in-universe and meta reasons while also acknowledging that sometimes people don't enjoy that kind of narrative or might be going through some shit that makes it difficult or impossible for them to enjoy it at a particular point in their life.

a person can enjoy narratives that explore death and grief and moving on sometimes or in some cases and not in others, and that's okay. that's normal.

personally, i started playing d&d during the panini because i needed/wanted an escape from all the bad shit going on in real life, so if one of my DMs killed my character i would not handle it well, because my asthmatic lungs are giving me enough existential anxiety and dread. as i explained to my sister, if it came to a point where one of my characters would have permanently died i'd rather have my DM say "okay, you don't die but now your magic isn't working right/you lost a limb/you are multiclassing as a paladin for a death deity or a warlock for a necromancer/etc." because for me as a player that would be a better way for me to continue enjoying playing d&d while also allowing there to be consequences that a long rest can't fix than having to make a new character. but there are plenty of people out there who prefer to play d&d with the knowledge that their DM could kill their character at any time if the dice happen to fall that way, because that's the kind of stakes they want from their game. hell, i know for a fact that at least a couple of the players in games i'm currently playing in have backup characters ready to go.

ALL OF THAT IS OKAY. BOTH THINGS CAN BE TRUE.

cognitive dissonance is not always bad. sometimes cognitive dissonance is just true. in the words of john green, "truth resists simplicity."

in the specific case of critical role it's also important to remember that although the cast is streaming their game for the audience, they're not playing the game for the audience. it's their game, for which they established their own safety tools and guardrails off-screen. if a character dies it's because everyone at that table agreed from the beginning that they were all okay with that happening if the dice happened to fall that way. we can all see them texting each other, whispering to each other, and scribbling notes to each other in the margins of their notebooks throughout every episode. they are constantly communicating. they are fine, they are operating within limits they established before they ever started filming each campaign. they have told us that, matt in particular reminded everyone of it on twitter in the middle of all this, but they're not required to go over the personal aspects of that in detail. we just need to trust them that they know and respect each other's limits.

in the case of d&d/ttrpgs in general, it's no better to say permanent death has to always be on the table than it is to say it should never be on the table. what matters is that the DM/GM and the players have discussed it, and that everyone knows and respects everyone else's limits.

and jesus christ on a pogo stick, we really need to move away from this idea that all fandom opinions must be justified as morally correct or morally incorrect. if you don't like something, that's fine, you don't have to justify your dislike of something by arguing that the thing you dislike is morally wrong. you're allowed to just not vibe with it. likewise, if someone else likes a thing you dislike, they're not automatically morally deficient because they like a thing you dislike. you just like different stuff! it's fine! it takes all kinds to make a world!

people who are really upset about laudna being dead can and should be able to coexist in the same fandom with people who think it could lead to interesting narrative exploration of death/grief/survivor's guilt/etc. people in one camp don't need to establish moral superiority over the other and then attack them over it, because both reactions to the story are equally valid. and it should go without saying, but neither side should attack the cast about it, because again, it's their game and also because fans shouldn't attack creators.

(critique/media analysis is not an attack, but by its very nature requires extensive thought/citation/etc., and should never be comprised entirely by saying "[creator] is a bad person because [thing they made] is morally wrong because i said so")

tl;dr: omg stop casting aspersions on the moral character of people who disagree with you about a ttrpg some nerdy-ass voice actors are playing on twitch, ffs people

[annoyangle]

HEY KIDS! I SEE YOU OUT THERE POKING YOUR LITTLE FINGERS AT MY LIKE BUTTONS. IT TICKLES, BUT IT AIN’T GETTING ME THERE! HOW ABOUT ASKING ME A QUESTION?  DON’T BE SHY.  I DON’T BITE AT FIRST.

NO TOPIC OFF LIMITS! I’M A BEING OF PURE ENERGY WITH NO SENSE OF SHAME! SERIOUSLY I’M STUCK ALONE WITH ONLY KRYPTOS FOR COMPANY AND HIS IDEA OF FUN IS REORGANIZING ALL OUR WEIRDNESS BATTLE/PARTY SUPPLIES BY COLOR, SPECIES, AND TAX VALUE. HE’S CURRENTLY HAVING AN EXISTENTIAL CRISIS ABOUT WHETHER THE LEFT LEG OF VALDRISTA THE ASTHMATIC COWARD BELONGS UNDER V FOR VALDRISTA, OR SHOULD BE FILED ALONG WITH THE REMAINS OF THE REST OF DIMENSION 65DASH8B, OR IF WE SHOULD KEEP IT IN A DIRTY SHOEBOX WITH THE OTHER BANNED EXTRADIMENSIONAL YU-GI-OH CARDS WE’RE STILL TRYING TO GET FULL SETS OF. CONFUSING - AND NOT IN A FUN, CHAOS KINDA WAY!! 

[milkhater3000]

One of my biggest existential crises in life is whether I'm actually asthmatic or just really out of shape

[thegeminisage]

have reached the pity party/existential dread portion of this thing, which at first i thought was really embarrassing - even while crying/hyperventilating i had enough self-awareness to go “ugh, cringe” - but as it turns out that’s actually a great way to clear my sinuses and get my daily lung exercise in! highly recommended to all asthmatic covid patients, no matter how cringe you find it. my oxygen didn’t change but i FEEL like i’m having a slightly easier time with those deep breaths, anyway. gonna schedule another 30-minute mental breakdown for tomorrow

[sensitivityreaders]

sensitivity reader

name: CerealOatmeal

pronouns: any

age: 18+

reads for: adopted, white, pan/poly/objectum sexual/romantic, trans/genderfluid/genderglitch, autistic, adhd, major depression, ocd, anxiety, existential anxiety, elher’s danlos syndrome, POTs, dysautomnia, asthmatic, chronic bronchitis, ambulatory wheelchair user, chronic pain, chronic migraines, spoonie, bullying survivor, pagan witch, tender to brigid’s flame, works with the fae

sensitivity reading:

general questions and discussion: yes in-depth discussion of plots and characters: yes partial read (relevant sections): yes full read: yes

willing to read: original work, fanfiction (boyfriend to death - video game, harry potter, invader zim, gravity falls, bbc sherlock, criminal minds, the big bang theory, many more! honestly just reach out to me if you’re unsure!), erotica/nsfw/explicit scenes

unwilling to read: none that i know of but i reserve the right to decline any request that makes me uncomfortable! it’s unlikely that anything will though so don’t be afraid to reach out to me!

rates: $0.006 per word or case by case

contact: available upon request

additional notes: i’m currently trying to find my mental health wellness so if you’re interested in supporting me that’s why i’ve placed my fees slightly higher. also because of that i may take some time to respond as i have multiple doctors appointments and therapy sessions scheduled, so please be patient!

[dustedmagazine]

Sufjan Stevens — The Ascension (Asthmatic Kitty)

The Ascension by Sufjan Stevens

On the basis of The Ascension, it’s safe to assume that Sufjan Stevens is not having a fun time. The suggestion of an existential crisis is writ large in 12-minute single “America,” yet such patient expansiveness is seldom found among the rest of The Ascension’s lengthy track list. There’s a desperation to many of these songs that feels like the panicked rush of anxiety. Eighty minutes of ricocheting drum machines and soul-scouring synths makes for a listening experience more in common with 2010’s chaotic The Age of Adz, yet updated to reflect the harsh reality of life in Trump’s America, compared to previous album Carrie & Lowell’s delicate, reflective folk.

On “Lamentations,” frenetic vocal cut-ups and over-driven drum machines share a musical lineage with The Flaming Lips’ harsh existential treatise The Terror, while “Death Star” sounds like a 21st-century The Art of Noise, the rhythm section pushed hard into the red. “Die Happy” repeats the refrain “I wanna die happy” over and over for the first half, circling ominously, until drum machine hits and squeaky de-tuned synth lines start falling like acid rain. The whining, breakneck “Ativan” (the brand name of a drug used to treat anxiety disorders) sounds like — you guessed it — an anxiety attack (it also features the charming lyric “I shit my pants and wet the bed”). On the dejected “Goodbye To All That,” Stevens sings, “Here I am alone in my car / Hopelessness Incorporated,” and on “Ursa Major,” the refrain “I wanna love you” is pitch-shifted to sound needling and pitiful.  

There’s a distinct contrast between this confrontational mode of panic-attack electro and the softer, down-tempo synth-pop cuts. “Run Away With Me” is an early standout, its gorgeous synth, pedal steel and echoing guitars creating a pillowy refuge. “Tell Me You Love Me” is similarly dreamy, its confessional lyrics reflected in the drifting dissolution of the musical backing. And “Sugar” is a late highlight, Stevens reining in the drum machines to focus on layering beautiful synths and guitars into an immersive, melancholy epic.  

The Ascension is a lot to take in, both in terms of its intense sound palette and extensive runtime. If you like your Sufjan Stevens in neon electronic mode, armed to the teeth with abrasive drum sounds, dive right in — and keep swimming. For anyone more enamored with his folk and chamber-pop records, it may feel like a rude assault to the senses.  

Tim Clarke

[musicandotherdelights]

Daily Listening, Day #325 - November 20th, 2020

Album: Illinois (Asthmatic Kitty, 2005)

Artist: Sufjan Stevens

Genre: Chamber Pop

Track Listing: 

“Concerning The UFO Sighting Near Highland, Illinois”

“The Black Hawk War, Or, How To Demolish An Entire Civilization And Still Feel Good About Yourself In The Morning, Or, We Apologise For The Inconvenience But You’re Going To Have To Leave Now, Or, ‘I Have Fought The Big Knives And Will Continue To Fight Them Until They Are Off Our Lands!’”

“Come On! Feel The Illinoise!: ‘Part I: The World’s Columbian Exposition’ / ‘Part II: Carl Sandburg Visits Me I A Dream’”

“John Wayne Gacy, Jr.”

“Jacksonville”

“A Short Reprise For Mary Todd, Who Went Insane, But For Very Good Reasons”

“Decatur, Or, Round Of Applause For Your Stepmother!”

“One Last ‘Whoo-Hoo!’ For The Pullman”

“Chicago”

“Casimir Pulaski Day”

“To The Workers Of The Rock River Valley Region, I Have An Idea Concerning Your Predicament”

“The Man Of Metropolis Steals Our Hearts”

“Prairie Fire That Wanders About”

“A Conjunction Of Drones Simulating The Way In Which Sufjan Stevens Has An Existential Crisis In The Great Godfrey Maze”

“The Predatory Wasp Of The Palisades Is Out To Get Us!”

“They Are Night Zombies!! They Are Neighbors!! They Have Come Back From The Dead!! Ahhhh!”

“Let’s Hear That String Part Again, Because I Don’t Think They Heard It All The Way Out In Bushnell”

“In This Temple As In The Hearts Of Man For Whom He Saved The Earth”

“The Seer’s Tower”

“The Tallest Man, The Broadest Shoulders: ‘Part I: The Great Frontier’ / ‘Part II: Come To Me Only With Playthings Now’”

“Riffs And Variations On A Single Note For Jelly Roll, Earl Hines, Louis Armstrong, Baby Dodds, And The King Of Swing, To Name A Few”

Out Of Egypt, Into The Great Laugh Of Mankind, And I Shake The Dirt From My Sandals As I Run”

Favorite Song: “They Are Night Zombies!! They Are Neighbors!! They Have Come Back From The Dead!! Ahhhh!”

[nonbinary-cryptid-baby]

∞

Zealot of Stockholm by Childish Gambino

It's a struggle just to keep breathing

Existential asthmatic, puff puff pass addict

Craftmatic, making moves but they sleeping on me

We can kick it like it's FIFA, homie

Nevertheless, I got that fresh like it was Crest

Crying 'cause I'm stressed. TMJ or TMI, it's a lie that you're living