M of Ragged Feathers @signalstation@raggedfeathers.com

Over on a Discord server, shrouded in mist and mystery, I've started writing text adventures where readers vote for where the story will go using emojis.

It all happens asynchronously so you can stop in and catch up on stories whenever you like, vote as you like, or quietly lurk.

If you want to check it out, here's an invite: https://discord.gg/2pxNWZ5

😀 --> I'll be there!
🙄 --> Yeah, no.
🤔 --> I'll think about it. In fact, I'm thinking right now!

We Are Updating Our Occult Privacy Policy

At some point in the last few years, we have:

) Viewed you through a scrying pool and/or mirror
) Crafted a double of you from blood and willpower and used it to manipulate your moods and actions and/or
) Sunk into a dark liquid pool, then rose again to the surface but the surface was your eyes, through which we saw all you saw, thought as you thought, as intimate as breath.

Due to new legislation, now we have to ask:
Can we keep doing all that?

Twitter's fangs are poison-coated and a bite continues to burn for hours after an attack. Common field remedies include applying super-heated metal to the wound to cauterize.

Mastodon's teeth are suitable to the slow-grinding of plant matter and will take your limbs clean off.

My teeth rotate in place, a descending pit of rasps and barbs, propelled by a series of interlaced muscular contractions and hate. But I am not a social network. Yet.

I am a phoenix, an unkillable weed, a scattered clutch of eggs, and the loss of witches.town and a.weirder.earth has only made me more powerful.

I use Mastodon as a place to write microfiction, mostly. Oddly horror-focused for someone who doesn't enjoy being scared.

I've written pseudonymous nonsense for Horrible Vacuum as George G.G. George (if you like witches/cannibals/humor) and everything else is at signalstation.com

I make music mixes, live in the SF Bay Area. Still alive.

Okay, so this platform doesn't support subscript, so I can't do it, but I was going to post the chemical formula for Methaqualone and maybe 1 chemist would ever see it and think it was mildly amusing but certainly not amusing enough to make a puzzle out of it.

Instead I've just done this. Which is even LESS funny.

(A single Methaqualone pill, at one time, could colloquially have been called a "lude" so it's a homophone.)

This is the worst. Why did I do this. Why am I still doing this. Why

I tried to do some tarot but all the cards say Wet Mop. Is this normal? Any advice for a new tarot user?

context: I am a damp, filthy floor

Weekend's almost here! Do you have all the latest and freshest flirts?

Help yourself to these gems!

"I can make you the Zeppelin Pope at the head of a typhoon armada."

"Hi, are you a human or human adjacent and desirous of company from other fellow non-robot companions who talk nice and it's not weird they don't have a smell?"

"How about butts, huh? All of 'em?"

SIGN UP NOW to receive the newest flirts straight from our flirt forge!

At a networking event today, met the guy who invented cave paintings.

"You know the one where, in the flickering light of your aurochs fat torch, it looks like the mammoth is moving? Yup, one of mine."

Nice guy. Said he was able retire on the residuals once every hominid started painting in caves. News to me!

) a powder that causes one's eyes to roll back like weighted doll's eyes such that one has to lie down to look straight ahead

) a melting powder that's safe for travel, but when smeared with an activating tool on a solid surface, liquefies it

) an injectable that compels the person injected to imprint, like a duckling, and want to follow/please the object of their focus

) a bomb that smells nice

For sale: Haunted house
5-800 bedrooms (unsure)
1 distant unapproachable bathroom
Maybe 3 stories, 1 of which is in the 1800s(?)
Priced to move. Is currently moving. Is approaching town 2 ft/week.
Great for parties! All exterior doors can be bolted shut from the outside.

This Is Fine.

The ol' nearing-the-end-of-day office selfie.

http://www.signalstation.com/geoff-my-personal-source-of-arcane-power/

Collecting yesterday's fantasy RPG musings, plus a link to @nickwedig 's amazing extrapolation, all in one place!

Ever wanted to play a warlock whose power comes from an annoying suburban dad-type?

single shoes by the side of the highway are landed UFOs, disguised (poorly), do not approach, pass it on

you: [image macro] Tag yourself!

me: [image of Schwartzenegger in Predator, covered in mud as the titular Predator passes by]

the Predator: [a weird rhythmic clicking sound]

The problem with Geoff as your magical patron is you sometimes feel like he's holding it over your head, so you can't turn down an invite to his BBQ, even though his kids are annoying and he overcooks everything.

He seems way too eager to hear about your adventures, and says stuff like "Yeah, I probably would have done it slightly different, but... I'm just glad the magic is getting some use, you know?"

"Never grow up," Geoff sighs, not even realizing the insult.

A D&D sorcerer is supposed to have a source of their magic, right?

What if it's Geoff? Geoff just... doesn't have time for adventuring anymore. Has a collection of artifacts, but you know, family has to come first. The best stuff is on display, but some is in storage. If an adventurer wants to borrow magical power, then sure... but only if they bring it back later! Just part of being a good neighbor.

"I don't know, I guess I've just outgrown magic?"

OK, Geoff.

Somewhere I saw someone write that they liked the idea that there was no race called "goblin." Goblins were a behavior, a style of dress, a lifestyle choice.

Ever since then I've been imagining an entire post-Tolkien landscape littered with ad hoc tribes of humans all declaring that they're different races. It's all humans everywhere.

"I was an ogre for a few years, but I got tired of the food, plus I met an elf on a blind date, so I've been an elf for, oh, 3 years now?"

The artist at work.

While I was snapping a photo of some graffiti in Oakland, my boss was in the middle of the street taking a photo of the back of my head.

The only reason the world hasn't ended isn't because the ceremony's incantation is written in an "unspeakable language."

It's perfectly speakable.

It just sounds ridiculous.

Lots of "bluh" and "duh" and "phbhbh" sounds in it, and the repeated phrase "I'm a big dummy who wants to end the world". If you robe-wearing weirdos could get over your egos, we could have this wrapped up pronto.