unzip pup
literally every time I see this on my dash it fills me with Lovecraftian, cosmic dread
this is the most horrifying thing i’ve seen in a long time
I’m genuinely gonna have nightmares about this. Horrendous
Truxton (Toaplan - Genesis - 1989)
目立たない基地局
please log on to my twitter page to access this brave and iconoclastic new story telling form, the twitter poll RP
The Teachings of Frederick C. Trump To His Son, Donald, As They Traversed A Meadow On A Spring Morning
I
After a protracted silence of deep concentration, young Donald hesitantly suggests a judgment on the issue of the bird that falls squarely at the end of his father’s pointed forefinger.
“Winner?”
Ruefully, Frederick Trump shakes his head. Despite his evident disappointment, he smiles at his son once more, directing his finger anew at an oak tree, ravaged by time and slowly losing its struggle against the wind and gravity.
Young Donald’s face briefly disappears into itself as he attempts to pluck a correct answer from the depths of his person.
“Loser. The tree is a loser,” he tells his father, self-assured in the failure of the tree to overcome the natural elements.
Again, Frederick shakes his head. The tree is still there, he explains. It refuses to admit defeat. The tree is a winner.
Much of their walk takes this shape. A finger extended. An answer put forth. A slow shake of the head or a smile of approval. The finger describes a dizzying constellation of objects: a moss-covered stone, the picked-at remains of a dead crow, a dandelion, the sun. Each falling neatly into the universe so clearly bisected by Frederick’s philosophical scalpel.
Comfortable with this rhythm, Donald becomes complacent. He begins to believe he understands the world. When he finds himself the target of his father’s finger, he refuses to answer, afraid his father will confirm it.
II
“It’s a butterfly,” Donald offers, confident in his knowledge of what a butterfly is.
His father shrugs, shakes his head. There are millions of butterflies, he says. What is a single butterfly, he asks.
“It’s a really good butterfly.” Encouraged by a subtle, semi-interested incline of the head he continues. “It’s the best butterfly, there is no butterfly like this anywhere. You need to see this butterfly.”
Frederick Trump smiles, urges him to go on.
“It is the only butterfly in the world.”
Around young Donald, the world begins to shine. He is in the most perfect place ever seen by man. Every rock the mightiest rock, every birdsong the most beautiful song. He is the happiest boy who has ever lived.
III
Donald is tasked by his gently enquiring father with evaluating a leaf, its veins glowing, backlit by the morning sun.
“I think it’s good. It’s beautiful. It’s the most beautiful leaf I’ve ever seen.”
Frederick Trump looks at him sceptically. Who are you, he asks, to tell me of the quality a leaf? You are just a boy.
Donald is crestfallen, but he sees his father’s manner is warm, not reproachful. If the leaf is beautiful to you, his father says, surely it must be beautiful to others. A glimmer of understanding reaches Donald’s eyes, their previous sadness quickly vanished as he accepts his father’s words.
“This leaf is incredible. Lots of people are saying it’s perfect. I’ve been hearing from lots of very smart people that you will never see a leaf better than this. That’s just what I’ve been told.”
His father smiles. Donald smiles.
I was trying to look for this the other day. After listening to The Dollop on Trump it’s even more perfect.
Sneaking one past The Algorithm
You have to put this as your header or tumblr will delete your blog.
Take it in your heart
Take it in your heart, heart, heart, heart 🎵🎵🎶
I’m never going to get over this. The demon-possessed child with dance moves from the devil, while also dressed like my uncle. His dad giving him a lil’ pat on the chest right before he goes ham. The perfect 90s sunglasses indoors. The gays in the background. The perfect combination of slavic and 90s vibes in one video.
