Sawyer!! @S0yah - Twitter Profile

S0yah retweeted

Maya

@mayahiga

3 days ago

for ur consideration🐛🐞🪳🪲🕷️🦋🐜

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S0yah retweeted

Woku 🏳️‍⚧️ @Lacksicle

6 days ago

"Blame the password sharers" yes blame the common man!! Fight one another!!! Be at odds with your fellow human while the big bosses and ceo's pocket all the cash!!!

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S0yah retweeted

🐱 @LegHvmper

11 days ago

Flightless mammal my ass this mf fly as hell

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S0yah retweeted

DiscussingFilm

@DiscussingFilm

11 days ago

Keanu Reeves will star as the lead in Masashi Kawamura's stop-motion animated film ‘HIDARI’. The film will be a feature adaption of this short:

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Who to follow

Olamiletrillion 😎

@Olamile82647036

I'm a lovely person...loved by everyone ❤️🥰🙏 Let's grow together {1❤️}

Crxzy

@ItsNotCrxzy

23, Content Creator, Developer, Artist. Section Five Studios Co-Founder, Logic, & UI Developer. @ReignBallistic Co-Owner, & Media Coordinator.

SH

@urologythoughts

Urologist with focus on BPH / HoLEP. Strongly opposed to killing patients

S0yah retweeted

Anonymous

@YourAnonNews

12 days ago

This should be an album cover

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S0yah retweeted

NOBUNAGA🇯🇵🏯_夏樹蒼依

@japan_nobunaga

14 days ago

Somewhere in America, a movie theater. The boy at the concession counter asked me a question about architecture, and called it butter. "You want that layered?" Layered. I looked at the popcorn. I looked at him. "Explain." "Instead of all the butter on top, I do butter, popcorn, butter, popcorn." He mimed the strata with a flat hand. He had explained this before. He would explain it again. A craftsman, patient with the public. I was not prepared. In my land, what is given is given; you do not direct the distribution of a blessing. Here, the boy stood ready to construct my popcorn in courses, like a stone wall — foundation, mortar, foundation, mortar — so that no kernel, however deep, would live unblessed. "The ones at the bottom," I said slowly, "are usually…" "Dry. Yeah. Not on my watch." NOT ON MY WATCH. The oath of a sentry, sworn over popcorn. This is who they have guarding the snacks. "Then layer it," I commanded, "as your conscience demands." He built it like a man who would be judged by it. Pour, pump, rotate. Pour, pump, rotate. Four stories. A tower of equal blessings. The film was fine. I do not remember it. What I remember is the eightieth minute, deep in the bucket, past the depth where popcorn hope usually dies — and finding the kernels there as golden as the first. The bottom of the bucket. As rich as the top. I confess I held one kernel up in the dark and simply looked at it. Butter on top blesses the surface. Butter in layers blesses the whole nation. I tipped the boy on the way out. He had already forgotten me. The best masons forget the wall, and begin the next one. Layered. Always layered. Some words you only need to learn once.

japan_nobunaga's tweet photo. Somewhere in America, a movie theater. The boy at the concession counter asked me a question about architecture, and called it butter.

"You want that layered?"

Layered. I looked at the popcorn. I looked at him.

"Explain."

"Instead of all the butter on top, I do butter, popcorn, butter, popcorn." He mimed the strata with a flat hand. He had explained this before. He would explain it again. A craftsman, patient with the public.

I was not prepared. In my land, what is given is given; you do not direct the distribution of a blessing. Here, the boy stood ready to construct my popcorn in courses, like a stone wall — foundation, mortar, foundation, mortar — so that no kernel, however deep, would live unblessed.

"The ones at the bottom," I said slowly, "are usually…"

"Dry. Yeah. Not on my watch."

NOT ON MY WATCH. The oath of a sentry, sworn over popcorn. This is who they have guarding the snacks.

"Then layer it," I commanded, "as your conscience demands."

He built it like a man who would be judged by it. Pour, pump, rotate. Pour, pump, rotate. Four stories. A tower of equal blessings.

The film was fine. I do not remember it. What I remember is the eightieth minute, deep in the bucket, past the depth where popcorn hope usually dies — and finding the kernels there as golden as the first.

The bottom of the bucket. As rich as the top. I confess I held one kernel up in the dark and simply looked at it.

Butter on top blesses the surface. Butter in layers blesses the whole nation.

I tipped the boy on the way out. He had already forgotten me. The best masons forget the wall, and begin the next one.

Layered. Always layered. Some words you only need to learn once.

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S0yah retweeted

NOBUNAGA🇯🇵🏯_夏樹蒼依

@japan_nobunaga

14 days ago

USA. A breakfast counter. The waitress recommended the biscuits and gravy, and when the plate arrived, I thought something had gone wrong in the kitchen. I say this with shame. The dish looked like a construction site after rain. Pale mounds. Gray ladle-fall. Speckles I could not identify. In my land, the eye eats first. A meal is arranged like a garden. This meal was arranged like weather. "Is it… finished?" I asked, carefully. "Honey, that's what it looks like." The man beside me was already eating his. He did not look up. "Just try it." I am a man who has charged hillsides at dawn. I raised the fork. I tried it. I must now formally apologize to the biscuits, the gravy, the waitress, the kitchen, and the entire breakfast tradition of the American South. It was magnificent. Warm. Peppered. The biscuit drank the gravy the way a field drinks rain — THAT is why it is shaped like that, you fool — and every mound I had insulted was a soft fold of comfort that my homeland, in eight hundred years, never once thought to invent. "Well?" the waitress asked. "I judged it," I confessed. "By its appearance. I am ashamed." "Everybody does, hon." Everybody does. A national dish that forgives you for doubting it. It expects the doubt. It waits for you on the other side of it. Do not judge the gravy by its face. Judge yourself, for hesitating. I order it every Saturday now. I no longer see the construction site. I see only the garden. It was a garden the whole time. The eye must be trained.

japan_nobunaga's tweet photo. USA. A breakfast counter. The waitress recommended the biscuits and gravy, and when the plate arrived, I thought something had gone wrong in the kitchen.

I say this with shame. The dish looked like a construction site after rain. Pale mounds. Gray ladle-fall. Speckles I could not identify.

In my land, the eye eats first. A meal is arranged like a garden. This meal was arranged like weather.

"Is it… finished?" I asked, carefully.

"Honey, that's what it looks like."

The man beside me was already eating his. He did not look up. "Just try it."

I am a man who has charged hillsides at dawn. I raised the fork. I tried it.

I must now formally apologize to the biscuits, the gravy, the waitress, the kitchen, and the entire breakfast tradition of the American South.

It was magnificent. Warm. Peppered. The biscuit drank the gravy the way a field drinks rain — THAT is why it is shaped like that, you fool — and every mound I had insulted was a soft fold of comfort that my homeland, in eight hundred years, never once thought to invent.

"Well?" the waitress asked.

"I judged it," I confessed. "By its appearance. I am ashamed."

"Everybody does, hon."

Everybody does. A national dish that forgives you for doubting it. It expects the doubt. It waits for you on the other side of it.

Do not judge the gravy by its face. Judge yourself, for hesitating.

I order it every Saturday now. I no longer see the construction site. I see only the garden.

It was a garden the whole time. The eye must be trained.

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S0yah retweeted

NOBUNAGA🇯🇵🏯_夏樹蒼依

@japan_nobunaga

15 days ago

USA. A Mexican restaurant. We had not yet ordered anything, and the food was already arriving. Chips. Salsa. Unrequested. Free. I stopped the waiter. "We have not earned these." "They just come with the table, man." They come with the TABLE. In my land, hospitality is a debt. Every gift creates an obligation, weighed carefully, returned in the proper season with interest of feeling. Here, the gift arrives before you have even proven you can pay for dinner. This is not an appetizer. This is a declaration: we trust you. Eat. I ate with the gravity the moment deserved. And then — I must report this calmly — the basket emptied, and a new one appeared. "Did we…?" "Refill," the waiter said. "It's bottomless." Bottomless. They have wells of salsa. The supply lines of this nation are beyond anything my ancestors imagined. My friend warned me. "Don't fill up on chips, dude." Too late. I had accepted three baskets. Honor demanded each one be finished — an unfinished gift is an insult. By the time my actual food arrived, I was a ruined man. I was not hungry. I was not comfortable. I had been defeated by a courtesy. Generosity that arrives before the request cannot be repaid. It can only be survived. I know the rule now. I have made my peace with the basket. One basket. Two at the most. Who am I deceiving. There is no number of baskets I would refuse. The trust of a nation is in that salsa, and I intend to honor all of it.