æppelfealu ne ƿeran æppelfealu

Terrible Poll Time!

As things get weirder, the avent of Sex Dolls are upon us...Before it was just some weird black dude named Dragon, making sweet love to a silicone Trans Female Doll (With a bright orange wig and a lower back tattoo that said "Where's the beef?").

My doll will have a bright PURPLE wig, cus I'm classy AF, and a vibrating thumb, don't ask!

For God's sake don't ask!!!

The question is, AND BE HONEST, cus someone is buying all these fucking things and YES women are in at a 57% rate EVEN as they claim they hate it.

In the next 5 years, do you see yourself buying, renting or using one?

Because these things are getting progressively more life like and if there's a Megan Fox model I'm buying (2) but with traits of being Black with Down's.

Meaning?

They'll love cheese sammiches, John Cena, but be loud, violent with bad credit scores.

Do NOT co-sign a car or a lease agreement for these fucking Black Megan Fox Dolls!

They'll spend all their money on nails, weaves and tattered used paperback copies of Thomas Sowell's lectures at Stanford University!

Prepare yourself Mr Policeman

Prepare yourself miste Policeman

Lately, I've been noticing again how I'm becoming emotionally hardened and how everything feels surreal and intangible. However, it's currently at a level of severity that I last felt 7-8 years ago, when I was emotionally dead and constantly wearing a mask that was stuck on.

I wake up at night with my head in chaos and wonder if I can even comprehend or understand the right answers at the moment.

Sometimes I just lie there and stare into the darkness, as if it owes me some kind of answer. But it remains silent. Just like everything else. It feels more like I'm just running through memories of myself.

It's strange... I'm still functioning. I get up, talk to people, do things, smile at the right moments. From the outside, it probably looks normal. Maybe even stable. But inside, it feels like I'm playing a role whose lines I learned by heart long ago, without even knowing why I'm on this stage in the first place.

This piece feels like a portal between decay and creation — death not as an ending, but as a doorway.

A fractured skull floats in the cosmos, crowned by a cracked, burning clock — time splitting open at the mind. From the hollowed jaw emerges a living island: red-capped mushrooms, moss, trees, and dripping earth suspended in space. It’s as if consciousness itself has broken apart, revealing that something wild and fertile grows inside what once seemed empty.

The contrast between bone and bloom, void and forest, collapse and rebirth speaks to cycles — the way endings compost into beginnings. Even in darkness, even in fracture, life insists.

Set inside an aged frame against weathered wood and cobwebs, the piece feels like an artifact discovered in an abandoned place… a relic of memory, time, and transformation.

A meditation on mortality.
A dreamscape of regeneration.
A skull dreaming of forests.

Keira Knightley Atonement. I have this book, but never read it. It's been sitting on my shelf for more than 5 years.

Blæc and æppelfealu of ƿigbord

I like the female booty meat myself.

You know that feeling of being scared to be happy even for a brief moment? Because that sensation when your happy little world crashes down and wrenches your entire gut and closes your thoat is the worst. And the bad always seems to come smashing down when you've just started floating again. So you avoid the crash by any cost. just not allowing youself to float up with happiness again. If everything remains in shambles maybe the bad won't come because ther is nothing left to shatter...
But sometimes you are dumb and faint glitter of hope makes you think maybe I'll try floating again maybe this time it won't crash. But it will.
Just one call and a nice and relaxed weekend that finally cheered me up a bit, became the start of probably the most difficult time I'll have to face...
I'm trueley terrified of whats ahead...