Matt

@tacoriddles.bsky.social

242 Followers 648 Following

Atlanta based writer.

I need yall to get in hoochie daddy shorts this summer. We got legs to show boys.
A list of submissions with seven declines and one accepted.
“Well, I was just describing it.” “Well, it comes across as love.” “Sure, I guess I pay attention.” “Don’t you think maybe they are the same thing? Love and attention?”
Vinyl record of “Coltrane” by John Coltrane
Perfect brown and black tabby sleepin
Cowboy finger guns: I’m doing pretty bad
Heartbreak City Lyrics [Verse 1] This chamber’s made of echoes This house is a mirage The pavement’s only potholes And the streets will get you lost The sun is made of candle wax And the water’s made of beer It’s Heartbreak City over here [Verse 2] The bed is made of ice cubes The pillows disappeared The nights are made of sleepless And the days are made of tears I’m not scared of dying Just living my worst fear It’s Heartbreak City over here
Perfect but slightly chubby black and brown tabby cat showing her fluffy belly on a bed in front of a bookshelf.
The main thing that youth has going for it is porpoise-tight skin. Raw, wide-eyed newness is meaningless. Nostalgia for knowing nothing is asinine; you can’t recapture it and you don’t want to relive it. Better to sing a song of experience with your burning tiger’s heart.
Ben Wyatt from Parks and Rec holding a doll saying “Do you think a depressed person could make this?”
Perfect and beautiful and brown and black tabby cat standing on a desk near a bookshelf.
Looking up at the stars, I know quite well That, for all they care, I can go to hell, But on earth indifference is the least We have to dread from man or beast. How should we like it were stars to burn With a passion for us we could not return? If equal affection cannot be, Let the more loving one be me. Admirer as I think I am Of stars that do not give a damn, I cannot, now I see them, say I missed one terribly all day. Were all stars to disappear or die, I should learn to look at an empty sky And feel its total dark sublime, Though this might take me a little time.
John green labeled “thing that couldn’t possibly be about tb” hank green labeled “john”
The pope singing Seal’s “Kiss from a rose”
Poem reading: Laundromat Blues It made my thighs ache, your knees hooked over mine, mug resting on your sternum, free hand on phone. No pain is welcomed in the moment, in the making of sofa commercials, of imprints and intimacies, on cushions and cuttings clipped from our unremarkable unremarked upon touchings that pile up, laundry in the corner of shared lives.