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Happy new one and a rise
Of glass and hope to the run
Of twelve wilder, dream-full moons
That bring word: our time has come
Moss troll.
From a scandinavian forest.
Education, learned skills and books will never leave you, lose their patience or stab you behind your old high school on a blue winter night with the pencil you once lost and never found again.
The new year will be the year of walking into fairy circles, smiling at glowing red eyes in corn fields, leaving flower crowns on gravestones, befriending every eerily unblinking cat and generally exposing yourself to every slightly surreal seeming phenomenon because we have nothing to lose and eldritch beings to gain as friends.
4800 players, Beethoven’s 9th Symphony Speedrun
its not even music anymore it’s just a shockwave that kills you instantly
Art major: Music needs time and creativity to unfold its potential-
STEM major: Music needs enough acceleration to catapult itself into outer fucking space so the aliens finally find us and take over, you coward, you Ludwiggle of a Beetroot. Light up those Götterfunken, my dudes, we’re going to Elysium.
Moami 