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Walpurgisnacht

In German folklore, Walpurgis Night was believed to be the night of a witches’ meeting on the Brocken, the highest peak in the Harz Mountains, a range of wooded hills in central Germany.

Best wishes on Walpurgisnacht to all who observe the day.  May your will be done and your ends be achieved.

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::snork::

From I.Am.Mental:

I have all kinds of thoughts about people getting vaccinated. It’s a lot like wearing a mask… might save someone’s life.
Even yours.

Many people aren’t getting the shot based on the dumb fucks at fox news… and those shitbags have been vaccinated! Tucker and Laura and all the other little assholes got their shot. But they’re telling YOU not to.

Whatever. I know people who won’t get a shot. I can’t change their mind(s) but that’s not my goddamn job.

I read a post last week from one of my brothers. He believes (or says he believes) that the shot will ‘change your DNA’ and then the angels won’t recognize you when you get to heaven and they will turn you away.

M’kay.

I’ve read other really stupid thoughts about it, but my very favorite was on Twitter this week in several different posts I read. It’s weird. One person will come up with some crazy shit and other people will either retweet or add to it and make it their own.
But really.
Seriously.

“If you get this devil-made vaccine, you will TASTE GOD’S FURRY!”

Yeah, that’s how they typed it.
Still laughing over it.

So yeah. Don’t get the shot.

Not only will you be tracked by Bill Gates, glow in the dark, have a 5G network built in and probably DIE, you won’t get into heaven if you do!

And unless you want to taste God’s Furry, best to steer clear.

Ever wonder how people become so stupid?

Yeah. Me too.

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The Illustrated Man

He took his shirt off and wadded it in his hands. He was covered with Illustrations from the blue tattooed ring about his neck to his belt line.

“It keeps right on going,” he said, guessing my thought. “All of me is Illustrated. Look.” He opened his hand. On his palm was a rose, freshly cut, with drops of crystal water among the soft pink petals. I put my hand out to touch it, but it was only an Illustration.

As for the rest of him, I cannot say how I sat and stared, for he was a riot of rockets and fountains and people, in such intricate detail and color that you could hear the voices murmuring small and muted, from the crowds that inhabited his body. When his flesh twitched, the tiny mouths flickered, the tiny green-and-gold eyes winked, the tiny pink hands gestured. there were yellow meadows and blue rivers and mountains and stars and suns and planets spread in a Milky Way across his chest. The people themselves were in twenty or more odd groups upon his arms, shoulder, back, sides and wrists, as well as on the flat of his stomach. You found them in forests of hair, lurking among a constellation of freckles, or peering from armpit caverns, diamond eyes aglitter. Each seemed intent upon his own activity, each was a separate gallery portrait.

—Ray Bradbury, The Illustrated Man

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