hempen garments of woe

As usual here’s something about bluesky I don’t understand. I found some labelers that supposedly label accounts that post bigoted bullshit. Which is great in theory, but who is in charge of these labels? I can’t figure out how they’re meant to work. One is @shadowbanner.bsky.social.

Okay, I’m an idiot. I changed my mind entirely. I’ll go to the DMV downtown here because not only is it supposed to be a free ride, but even if I screw up and have to take an uber, it’ll be like half the cost.

“All this, for a mere thirty united states dollars. One score and ten,” he’ll say. “Where are you going?!” Thru a haze of tears, I’ll whisper, “I have to catch my ride. It’s picking me up at the corner of Broken Dreams Blvd and Woe Lane. For you see, I sold true happiness… for a mess of pottage.”

Okay, I’m an idiot. I changed my mind entirely. I’ll go to the DMV downtown here because not only is it supposed to be a free ride, but even if I screw up and have to take an uber, it’ll be like half the cost.

I mean Halloween is this week and imagine if I’d wasted $30 on a stupid ride home, and then I get to the toy show and Right there! Before my very eyes. There it is! there’s my heart’s fondest wish (whatever that may be, lmao idk), at some vendor’s table. Once I have taken my smelling salts and

Okay, I’m an idiot. I changed my mind entirely. I’ll go to the DMV downtown here because not only is it supposed to be a free ride, but even if I screw up and have to take an uber, it’ll be like half the cost.

For my dream last night, my brain worked overtime. It generated not just a 100% realistic depiction of my house, including clutter in the refrigerator and the broken wooden seat over the kitchen radiator, but it also generated a fake Steve Winwood-y song playing in my mother’s room on her alexa

Great mood, but I did, because I even miss times like that. At least I had my dad to talk to. But yeah, wow. I missed my calling. I should have play the guitar. I should have learned to play them drums. No but srsly, I should have learned to write songs for Steve Winwood. I’d be a mill-ion-aire

For my dream last night, my brain worked overtime. It generated not just a 100% realistic depiction of my house, including clutter in the refrigerator and the broken wooden seat over the kitchen radiator, but it also generated a fake Steve Winwood-y song playing in my mother’s room on her alexa

They’d send her right home. As long as she could say “yes” to questions like “are you independent at home, do you cook your own meals and do your own housework,” and “no” to all the questions about symptoms, they sent her home. I mean for fucksake, they may as well have just flipped a coin.

For my dream last night, my brain worked overtime. It generated not just a 100% realistic depiction of my house, including clutter in the refrigerator and the broken wooden seat over the kitchen radiator, but it also generated a fake Steve Winwood-y song playing in my mother’s room on her alexa

That up and get what was left of the milk into the fridge. When I finished, I said to my dad, “we’re gonna just have to wait until she’s completely incoherent and then call 911. If we try it now, she could still probably get her shit together enough to tell them we’re crazy and she’s fine.”

For my dream last night, my brain worked overtime. It generated not just a 100% realistic depiction of my house, including clutter in the refrigerator and the broken wooden seat over the kitchen radiator, but it also generated a fake Steve Winwood-y song playing in my mother’s room on her alexa

I was trying to clean up the house, and randomly carrying the orange shop vac around on my shoulders like a parrot. No idea what that was about. My dad got home and my mother had been high and acting insane, refusing to go to sleep, this was like day 3 of her being awake. When she talked, it was

For my dream last night, my brain worked overtime. It generated not just a 100% realistic depiction of my house, including clutter in the refrigerator and the broken wooden seat over the kitchen radiator, but it also generated a fake Steve Winwood-y song playing in my mother’s room on her alexa

Shit, the dream was so realistic that you could see the stains and cigarette holes on her bedspread. It was that one with the pink flowers, probably the last bedspread ever put on her bed. The fan was there as well, and even poor poor Planty, who I hadn’t thought of in years bc I really failed

For my dream last night, my brain worked overtime. It generated not just a 100% realistic depiction of my house, including clutter in the refrigerator and the broken wooden seat over the kitchen radiator, but it also generated a fake Steve Winwood-y song playing in my mother’s room on her alexa

It was so subtle and made so much sense that I didn’t notice it UNTIL I woke up part of the way and was in the “waiting room” between dream and reality, and I could still hear the song. It’s not a real Steve Winwood song, and the lyrics aren’t actually in English, but something close to Simlish

People who continue to express such dismay over the fact that so many dorks are using AI for “creative” stuff, clearly had some measure of hope for the people of this world that I never had. 💀 My take on it is, cool, some uncreative loser wants to use AI. Let ‘em. What does that have to do with me?