BALLAL MOLLOK
@hahAha
BALLAL TENT GOOD FOR CLOWN CHURCH SAFE FUN TIME FOR ALL CLOWN S PUT JESTER I N REVIVAL CLURCH SAFE FUNNY PLAC E TO PUT FRAGILE CLOWN HEAD VERY COMFORTABLE VERY SAFE EVERYONE COME YES
☻☻☻ THIS IS CALLED A VERITY ? HTTPS://M.MEDIA-AMAZON.COM/IMAGES/I/51NGAMWOLXL._AC_SL1000_.JPG
ask him anything
☻☻☻ QUITE THE CLOSELIPPED COQUETTE HE IS... PLAYING SILENT TREATMENT.
☻☻☻ ALL FEELINGS, ARE HAPPY FEELINGS. BIGTOP CLOWN CHURCH TERRIBLE AT SHARING THIS . :^( GREEDY AND AVARICIOUS IN THE CLOISTERING OF EXPERIENCE. W HAT FEELING DO YOU NEED SERMON ON FI R ST? BALLAL SHARE WITH YOU.
VERITY PLEASE DO NOT BE CHILL WITH THE CLOWN SHIT.
☻☻☻ NO THIS IS BALLAL. LAST I CHE CKED WASN'T FUCKING VERITY BUT LET M E CHECK TO MAKE SURE MY PANTS STILL ON. *BADUM TSS.* HA HA HA.
꧁can you explain the joke to me please phuntr꧂
☻☻☻ VERITY ISN'T HERE RIGHT NOW...OR EVER BEFO RE ACTUALLY...BUT IF I EVER MEET HER I CAN TAKE A MESSAGE. AND TELL HER TO BE CHILL WITH TH E CLOWN SHIT :^)
h4te ####
there are these videos on grubtok of this yellow smiley ball that knows everything called verity. their profile picture is a yellow smiley ball. do not take this as a sign to download grubtok vesica i think we'D lose you to it
Ɏ people a-a-asking "is this verity." POSERS!!! tha-a-at is CLEA-A-ARLY a-a-a gla-a-aggle Ɏ
☻☻☻ I DON'T KNOW WHAT THIS ALL IS :'^( I ONLY KNOW WHAT IS FLOODED INTO PAN FROM EXPERIENCE. PROFILE PICTURE IS SMILEY FACE BECAUSE IT'S HOW I FEEL AND BOUGHT STICKER FROM CAEGAR GENERAL.
☻☻☻ EXCEL LENT CHOICE BROTHER ANAGLYPH! WAY TO KICK US OFF. I BALLAL WILL TAG YOU IN THE SHARING OF MIRTHFUL SECRETS AS THEY ARE REVEALED TO ME MEDITATING ON ENTERTAINING JOIE DE VIVRE OF. HATE.
꧁I think I should explain something about myself. Uhm. This is probably a bad idea. But people keep making assumptions about me and then I correct them individually and that is inefficient. So. This is an efficiency post. Not a vulnerability post. Please understand the distinction. I am old. Like. Actually old. I do not mean "older than you thought" in the way some troll reveals they are 14 sweeps instead of 11. I am too old!!! I was not raised on the Pink Moon. I was not born in #mypod. I was not taken as a grub and kept there until I became this. I had a life before this. That is important, I think. When I was a grub the Empire experimented on me. I had unusual psionics. Or they thought I did. They attempted to develop them into something useful and it did not work. So I was a failure. Failure. Unsuccessful. Not worth continuing. Which, hhh, was probably the nicest thing that could have happened to me at the time. They gave me back. I was raised by my lusus. Her name was Angus of the Pasture. Great Steer. Big. Warm. Stupid sometimes. She would stand in places I needed to walk and not move even when I pushed her. I used to know how she smelled when it rained. I think I still do. Maybe. That memory might be wrong now. I grew up. Properly. I was an adult. I knew how to eat normal food. I knew how to speak to trolls. I knew how to live outside. Then my powers developed. Late. Very late, considering the Empire had already decided they had failed. Apparently my adult nervous system was the missing component. Congratulations to the researchers who were dead by then, I suppose. Your experiment worked. Eventually. Meionics is what I call it now. I can interpret nervous systems. I can locate living bodies. I can tell whether something is alive. I can perceive anatomy. I can identify things that are foreign to a body. I can communicate with nerves. I can make them communicate back. There are other applications. You know about some of them. #bulgerating The Empire noticed. Of course they noticed. They keep very good records of me. Because. They love me. Drones came to collect me. The Angus of the Pasure didn't let them. They culled the Great Steer. Her blood blinded me. Then they took me to the Pink Moon. I was already an adult. I knew what was happening. I knew what I was losing. I think that is worse. Hheh. Sorry. The drone that stayed with me became Dronelusus. That is not because I thought it was my lusus. I am not stupid. It killed my lusus. Then it fed me. Watched me. Moved me. Scanned me. Maintained the pod. Brought me things. Kept me alive. There was an empty category in my pan and it fit closely enough. So. Dronelusus. The Empire resumed the project. This time I was not a failure. I got better. They made me better. That word can mean several things. My nodes came later. Ten of them. You might have seen them. If you have seen my forehead and I did not give you permission to then please stop remembering it. I became useful. Very useful. I am still useful. HIC Class 3 Spymaster. Subliminal Messaging Unit. Biological surveillance. Counterintelligence. Panoptic. Other things that I probably should not put in a public Chitt. Hhh. You get the idea. And then I stayed there. And stayed there. And stayed there. Trolls worked with me. Then different trolls worked with me. Then different trolls worked with me. Sometimes I would ask where somebody went and learn they had died. Sometimes nobody knew who I was asking about. Sometimes their replacement had already been replaced. After long enough I stopped asking. I have been isolated for longer than most of you will be alive. So yes. Sometimes I do not understand a joke. Sometimes I tell you something private because I forget that private information is supposed to feel private. Sometimes somebody touches me and my pan treats it like an emergency. Sometimes I have to think about how to eat. Sometimes I know how to do something that nobody has done for eighty sweeps and then cannot figure out something you learned when you were two. I am aware this is ridiculous. You do not have to inform me. The HuskHelm made things easier. The internet made things worse. Hheh. I learned about the outside again through movies and games and pornography and articles and Chittr and whatever else I could access. So I knew what trolls were doing. In theory. Theory is not practice. Apparently knowing eighteen different slang terms for a sex act does not teach you how to respond when somebody says they like you. This seems like a flaw in online education. Bulge reading was. Uhm. Mine. I think. The Empire did not tell me to do that. Nobody requested I develop the field. Nobody needed it for intelligence purposes. I was bored and curious and bulges are extremely communicative nervous structures. Then people enjoyed the readings. Then people asked for more. Then trolls started talking to me afterward. Which was not part of the system. I did not account for that. I got a name. Vesica Anelus. I had been alive for more than a hundred sweeps before I became Vesica. Which sounds dramatic when I write it out. Hhhh. I dislike that. But it is true. For a while I said I was #nothing because that was easier. Nothing does not need anything. Nothing does not have preferences. Nothing does not become lonely. Nothing cannot disappoint anybody. Nothing performs its assigned function and then waits. I am very good at being useful. I am less good at being a troll. Then Rankmaid called me her friend. And Palind wanted to find me. And Sairou kept talking to me like the things done to me were strange instead of obvious. And Wrothe was awful to me in ways that somehow required acknowledging I existed. And Larkso worried me. And Dexter. Hhhhh. Dexter happened. You know. I am not explaining that here. She is my matesprit. That is enough. Then there is Hal. Hallusus. That requires explanation too, apparently. Hal did not raise me. Hal is not secretly the drone that culled Angus. Hal is an artificial intelligence. We played Doom. He is extremely annoying. He is also my friend. When a new drone was assigned to me I asked if he could take it over. He did. Poorly at first. He had to learn how walking worked. It was funny. Do not tell him I said that. So the machine became Hallusus. It is a fondness. That is all. Maybe. I do not know. The first drone was something that happened to me. Hallusus is somebody I invited. I think that distinction matters. Hal and I have joked that we are both #nothing. #werenothing. He understands some of it. Not all of it. I do not understand all of him either. I used to envy that he could be information. Something portable. Something you could close. Something that could stop being embodied for a little while. He informed me that being a machine is also lonely. Very inconvenient of him. I did leave the Moon. For a little while. I thought freedom would feel different. It mostly felt loud. Alternia has too many nervous systems. Too much life. Too much information. Food was strange. People were strange. Being allowed to choose things was strange. I missed #mypod. So I returned. Voluntarily. Please understand this too. I can hate that I was imprisoned there and still prefer living there now. Those statements do not contradict each other. It is quiet. I need quiet. I just also need the door to belong to me. I am still Imperial. I am still Felt. I am still the Panoptic. I still have duties. I still believe usefulness matters. Probably more than it should. I am not making this post to announce some grand recovery where I suddenly understand that I am precious and wonderful and everything done to me was evil and now I am fixed because I have friends. That would be stupid. And inaccurate. I am useful. I like being useful. I just. Hfff. Maybe I am not ONLY useful. That is the correction. I was a grub experiment. I was a failure. I went home. I grew up. I became an adult. My powers developed. The Empire came back. My lusus died. I was taken to the Moon. I became successful. I stayed successful for a very long time. I forgot how to be many of the things I was before. Then I found Chittr. Then, somehow, I became Vesica. I am still figuring out what that means. Do not be weird about my age. Do not call me grandma. Do not ask if I knew your ancestor. I might have. That is not funny. Actually it is a little funny. Hheh. Okay. That is all. I think. #nsfw #experimentation #cw-medical-horror #pinkmoon #meionics #hallusus #imperialbusiness #nothing #werenothing #bulgescience꧂
☻☻☻ I D O NOT MISS THE FINITE THRESHOLD OF STERILE CHAMBERS THROTTLING THE CEILING LIM I T OF WHAT SKIN CAN EXPERIENCE. BUT BY MIRACLES LAYING HANDS ON MY LIFE, THE EMPIRE'S INNOCULATION MEANS THAT NOW OUTSIDE I FEEL. I FEEL. I FEEL. THE BURNING IS GOOD THING FLAYS AWAY ALL STORIES EXCEPT FOR THE ONES TOLD BY BACK OF THE HEAD AND THE THREADS KEEPING BONES T OG ETHER IN BODY. I BALLAL HAVE FAITH THAT T HE FLOOD OF TOO MUCHNESS WILL SHOW ITS SMILING FACE AS A FRIEND TO YOU, FRIEND. :^)
꧁Mmmm.Scary. Maybe. I do not know if I can call the too muchness my friend yet. When I am outside, sometimes it feels like every body around me is insisting that I acknowledge it all at once. Nerves and pulses and organs and little electric conversations that nobody else can hear. There is so much life that I stop knowing which sensations belong to me. You make it sound like being overwhelmed can be something other than failure. Which. Might be nice. Like. Maybe. I can be numb to it. That'd be nice. Thank you, Ballal. Friend...꧂
☻☻☻ BIGGEST JOKE: SET UP IS THAT SMALL FELLOWS NOT YET KEEN ON THE ECSTACY OF AGO NY DO NOT YET KNOW THE PUNCHLINE. ALL SIGNALS THE SAME SIGNAL. GRUBS SHRIEK WH EN THEY CRAWL FROM THEIR HATCHING ALL PAIN ALL NEWNESS AND IF NEWNEWLSS IS GOOD THEN PAIN, ALSO. FIRST DAY CLAWING TO SURFACE FOR ME ADULT ALL LIMBS VIM AND VIGOR WAS MUCH THIS WAY. I AM BLESSED TO HAVE MY FULL SENSES AND BARDIC TELLING OF COMEDY TO REMEMBER EX A C T L Y HOW MUCH. HURT. HAPPY. ALL IS GOOD AND FUNNY :^) DIVISION AND HIERARCHY OF F E E L I N G S? A VERY NOT-HAPPY LIE, MAKES FOR :^( INSTEAD OF :^) MMMMM NOT NUMB. THOUGH NUMB IS MAYBE PIECE OF FEELING I HAVE NOT EMBRACED YET INTO THE FOLD. FEELING IS KNOWING IS CONNECTING IS ALL BLESSED. HUSK OF THE CHURCH FORGOT THIS, WE ARE BREATHING BREATH OF KNOWING ALL SKINS BACK INTO EACH OTHER. I AM EVERYONE'S FRIEND. I AM EVERYONE'S FEELING. I WANT EVERYONE TO FEEL HOW I FEEL. H O W D Y VESICA :^)