Into the Weeds: The Horror of the Heraclitean Work and Worᴸd.
http://Academia.edu/4184585

Social Media creates a kind of Heraclitean Horror-show: an ever-fluid and dynamic present in which we cannot even step into the same river once. https://twitter.com/sentantiq/statuses/1182264262414217218

People are calling it medieval that the king doesn't believe in chemotherapy and would rather drink weird potions, but that's not true. Medieval kings wanted the best healthcare they could get, it's just that the best healthcare they could get wasn't very good. Modern people are far weirder because they *could* get good healthcare but instead they want the potion

@julieofthespirits to be fair what's the point of a king if not to hold on to outdated and harmful ideas far past their usefulness

@karengregory got your folk horror right here

JACURUTU http://Twitter.com/Gabkawasky/status/1748464396228067726 ... A long time ago there lived in the Upper Uatumã an anthropophagous chief who only ate the flesh of children, and who gave no respite to the warlike Arawak Indians of the Northern Amazon. His name was Jacurutu. It happened that from a certain date, Jacurutu began to eat the children of the Muras Indians along the southern borders. The Muras went to their shaman to ask for help to face that abominable neighbor. Several spells were cast. Countless emissaries were dispatched, but nothing could deter the bloodthirsty Jacurutu. And the “curumins” (youth/boys) continued to disappear. Desperate, the Muras commissioned the great turtle's grandfather (yurará-ramonha), who has a sticky shell, to approach the chief and set a trap for him. The old chelonian searched and searched, and finally ended-up finding Jacurutu. He talked to him. He offered him some eggs and said he was on a peace-mission. Then he said: you look tired, my lord; rest your foot on my shell. Upon responding to the chelonian's suggestion, Jacurutu had his foot stuck to the slime of the hull. Then, the turtle's grandfather dragged him to the river to drown the terrible chief. Feeling that he was going to die, Jacurutu left a message to the Muras: “My grandchildren,” he said. “I ate children, it's true. But I thought they were of the damned Arawak race. Only now am I learning that they were Muras. It was a regrettable mistake. Without a doubt, I was betrayed by the Devil, Anang. I ask you to forgive me and avenge me. Do not forget that the Arawak people are the sworn enemy of the Mura nation, and that they will not rest until they destroy all of your villages. As I cannot restore the lives of your children,” continued Jacurutu, “I will leave them an inheritance, capable of perfecting their weapons. My corpse will turn into a plant. My arms will generate the red ipê wood for the arches; the taboca, for the arrows, and the paracuuba, for the arrow-tips. From my nerves the tucum will come to the bow-string; from my hair, the carauá thread to tie the feathers, and from my fat, the oil to lubricate and soften the rope.” That said, Jacurutu and his “people” were never heard from again. The Muras perfected their military arsenal. They destroyed the Arawaks, and became absolute masters of the Black River. But they noticed that from that time on, a strange bird the size of a toucan appeared in the forest, which nests in the hollow of the trees. During the day it sleeps on a tall log, and it spends the night hunting and shouting the onomatopoeia of its name. Hearing its lugubrious voice, the Indian stops any activity, remaining silent and still until that ominous bird stops its macabre recital.

Talkin' about Mark Fisher and the alchemist Fulcanelli with writer Andy Sharp on @RepeaterBooks @Zer0Books: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5_BC_w49oG0&t=2905s
(via http://twitter.com/acidhorizonpod/status/1769891165111795799).

https://twitter.com/youtopos/status/1704779101767180537/

https://twitter.com/youtopos/status/1020428355236220929

https://twitter.com/youtopos/status/1767941265734177090

https://twitter.com/badpostseydoux/status/1756013636571562282

https://twitter.com/youtopos/status/1768103812064026665