h

sup juul mom, i was wondering if i Santiago Ducky may procure your bowl???? sb @ thecurryman23

you hate to say no? Are you always trying to be nice to others at the expense of yourself?
Well, you’re not alone. I used to hate to say “no” because I didn’t want to hurt the other person’s feelings. For example, whenever I got requests for help, I would tend to them even though I had important work to do. Sometimes the requests would take 2-3 hours each or beyond. At the end of the day, I would forgo sleep to catch up on work.
Over time though, I realized that saying yes came with a set of consequences. Every time I said yes, I would have to set aside time and mental energy which would be taken away from my existing needs. While okay when dealing with a small number of requests, as my site grew and my clientele increased, I became weighed down with a never-ending stream of requests.

RAT KING

The farmer finds one writhing in soil. Rat king: ring of black rodents tied at their tails, Rattus rattus, matted with blood in dirty circumstances—soil & suffocating excrement, gnawing the flesh of their brothers. The farmer eyes the Ferris wheel of rats. He strikes each one with a stick, slides cardboard underneath the king—calm as a scientist as he brings it inside. He sets it on the table, eats a TV dinner, chews half-thawed potatoes with eyes closed, remembers what his father said: see a rat king and you’re dead in an hour. The farmer pours himself some apple juice. No reason to be alarmed, he thinks. The rat king looks back: one king with twenty-two beady eyes, king as in king of chance under soil. Writhing universe. A death-induced blossom joined at the tail. See them as humans, twenty-two boneless legs.

[contiuned]

One hundred ten pale toes like a plate of raw sausages. Holocaust of rats leveling land like a bomb—eyeblink moment of subject to object, cotton/skin melting together, house to fragments we dared call home. Birthed itself. See a rat king and watch your molecules get divorced. Dance of death in a Swedish field, rat king of infinite atoms. King is a king is a king is a dirty rat, & since myth reminds us we’re near the grave, the myth says a rat king should make us cynical—but the farmer doesn’t fear death. A few rats knotted never hurt nobody. This is what he tells himself as he eats his potatoes, washes his plate, & finally blows out the candle.

ALER TALET INCOMING I AMNI ...


GTRRRRRRRR baited