READ, THIS

Joined October 2015
I don't know what to believe anymore. #CurrentYear
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In the moments before cosmic expansion rips apart our lightyear-scale plasma bodies, the last message sent will be a doge meme or something.
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Your ability to make accurate predictions is inversely proportional to the extent that you take advantage of that foreknowledge. Time travellers are at both ends of this scale.
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Bearer of Message retweeted
I heard there were two legs of stone out in the desert, all alone, but you don't really care for statues, do you? It goes like this: the great, the small, each empire in its turn will fall and written on the platform "OZYMANDIAS"
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Coinstar machines, but for vampires to count the grains of rice strewn across their paths.
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Tired: Horror movies are too hard now that everyone has cell phones. Wired: Poetry is too hard now that everyone has IoT-connected fridges that send them real-time updates on who is eating their plums.
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My son 🙋🏽‍♂️was SO cute today, he asked me "dad are clouds candy?" 😍 I told him they were water. 💦 Then he asked "dad, what's Earth's defense system?" and then I remembered I don't have a son and he asked again his eyes now obsidian black "what is the defense system father"
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8̶:̶3̶1̶ ̶A̶M̶:̶ ̶N̶o̶w̶ ̶I̶ ̶a̶m̶ ̶r̶e̶a̶l̶l̶y̶,̶ ̶c̶o̶m̶p̶l̶e̶t̶e̶l̶y̶ ̶w̶o̶k̶e̶.̶ ̶9̶:̶0̶6̶ ̶A̶M̶:̶ ̶N̶o̶w̶ ̶I̶ ̶a̶m̶ ̶p̶e̶r̶f̶e̶c̶t̶l̶y̶,̶ ̶o̶v̶e̶r̶w̶h̶e̶l̶m̶i̶n̶g̶l̶y̶ ̶w̶o̶k̶e̶.̶ 9:34 AM: Now I am superlatively, actually woke.
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Approach the edge of apocalypse, then retreat at the last moment. This spawns an alternate universe in which you did not: a dead world that can now be exploited for its resources.
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Innumerable things nurture man, Who has nothing good with which he can Recompense heaven Except perhaps seven New souls delivered by hand.
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Because, stop for Death, I could not, He instead stopped for me on the spot. We drove across town, To a house underground, And the centuries count but for naught
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Half a league onward, and so on. Was there a man dismay'd? No one. Boldly they rode Into Death's abode But six hundred is not much to go on.
As Prufrock sighs over his tea, His life is consumed by ennui. He imagines it better, (if quite a bit wetter) as taking place under the sea.
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This is just to say that I munched On your plums in the icebox for lunch Which I think you were saving, But they sated my craving And packed so delicious a punch!
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Bearer of Message retweeted
I guess the hardest part about dating is all the skulls women demand. They want so many skulls. Entire mountains of skulls.
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I met a traveller from an antique land, Who said - "A vast stone sits in the yard. Is it inside or outside your mind?" So I killed him.
We have nothing to want, but want itself.
Venture capitalism, but for providing acolytes for promising new religions.
Upstart deities end up scrounging for discarded doctrines, which is why cults are typically so regressive.
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