marionettes in hi speed.

Dear Tumblr.,

I’ve tried to tango with you, and maybe I’m expecting too much, and maybe I’ve seen too little in the way of quality here. But here’s my issue… you’re not the oyster I had hoped you would be. I don’t like the schizophrenia or the lack of substance. Besides for me coming here at 5am to poly-germinate some poetry and an update on Corey Feldman, it would seem the internet is up to it’s usual solloliquism in short-speak.

Now, I don’t mind a little spreading of the seed you see, tumblr. But I’d prefer a little more depth to your 31-squared flavors, and to get compelled for more then just these cheap one-minute stands. 

Call it my gestalt, but your style doesn’t have time for gestalt.. and it makes my brow daudle in an overly relaxed manner. I may name a dog gestalt, but that’s an entirely different subject.

I want to color you in tumblr. I want you to feel less like the juniors section of the internet and dollar store wafers being given to the most accepting bargain bin of pups. I want more and I want it a little more earnest, a little more true, and with a greater dialogue, and alot more in the way of anything real, anything with candor and grit.

I come to this site, the next-gen drive-thru for snark, and technicolor-robo-first bra seductions, and to be frank, it’s a little like examining the folds of someone who’s perpetually 23.

I admit that I’ve come here with half-cocked presence, but you’re just too much dollar menu-wit for me. Pretty, nubile, nimble and usually bordering on vacant.

I write on napkins sometimes, tumblr… and you are a bit like the napkin found crumpled in a forgotten drawer in a 6 floor walk up, 10 years before this shit went wireless, viral, fractal, and feral.