• thoodleoo

    some good date ideas:

    • attempt to retrieve your date from the underworld by convincing the god of the underworld to give you a chance with your beautiful songs
    • wait 20 years for your date to return from the trojan war while fending off dozens of suitors
    • throw discus together, only to accidentally hit your date in the head and kill him
    • turn into a tree with your date when you die because the gods favor you and granted your wish to never be apart
    • try to meet up with your date secretly and then kill yourself when you think that your date has been eaten by a wild lioness
    • carve a beautiful statue and then pray to the gods to make it live so that you can date it
    • Posted on janvier 12th, 2019 originally by thoodleoo
  • cursedspite

    from Andrei Tarkovsky’s diaries, 7 November, 1973

    • Posted on janvier 12th, 2019 originally by cursedspite
  • manuari

    Meester Met de Papegaai, The suicide of Lucretia, 1525

    • Posted on janvier 12th, 2019 originally by manuari
    Posted on janvier 12th, 2019 originally by murpha
  • pemberlaey

    my kink is melodramatic declarations of love from 19th century novels

    • Posted on janvier 12th, 2019 originally by pemberlaey
  • saskdraws

    when you think you’re hungry, but you’re actually just dehydrated 

    • Posted on janvier 11th, 2019 originally by saskdraws
  • ayahuma

    • Posted on janvier 11th, 2019 originally by ayahuma
  • lesbwian

    tbh when Jameela Jamil was calling these celebrities the fuck out and she said “How much money do you need? Really how much money do you need? How much money do any of these huge influencers who are worth millions or billions sometimes… How much more?” i felt that in my bones

  • 3rdfloorwestside

    When she called the Kardashians “double agents for the patriachry” for profiting off a patriarchal narrative and selling women self consciousness, I felt that on a spiritual level.

  • mail-time1369

    https://youtu.be/HNuwaUUSZMM

    • Posted on janvier 11th, 2019 originally by lesbwian
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  • storyop1

    https://instagram.com/p/BcPXa5ygP4c/

    • Posted on janvier 11th, 2019 originally by storyop1
    Posted on janvier 11th, 2019 originally by chamiedian
    writer aesthetics
  • fscottfitzgerld

    john keats: the lavender in sunsets, flowers in the rain, sunlight slipping through clouds, lazy summer afternoons, the heavy scent of musk, flickering candlelight reflecting off the gold titles of books, fireflies on a cool summer night, being wrapped in fresh bedsheets, the ache of wanting what you can never have, dripping sunlight like gold, loving someone so exquisite, soft lips and soft whispers, fingers through hair, names of lovers carved in trees, broken glass, the insistence of being perpetually dreamy

    f. scott fitzgerald: mahogany wood, crisp winter skies with cold bright stars, the solitude of an early autumn morning wrapped in fog, empty bottles on stacks and stacks of books haphazardly placed in a messy room, pale bruised arms reaching out into the darkness, cigarette smoke just barely hiding the scent of alcohol, a wall of books all poetry and old and weathered, a bad thunderstorm occurring at the end of a beautiful day, the way tragedy strikes in your heart but ends up stopping your breathing for a moment,  your favorite sweater, parties spilling into four a.m. with the stars above spinning and dancing, the contrast of blood against snow, a purple split lip oozing blood, black eyes fading to blue to pale skin, the butterflies of falling in love for the first time, the statues falling apart over time in cemeteries, the romanticization of self-destruction

    franz kafka: the weight of dread that sits heavily in your stomach when thinking about the future, decrepit houses cloaked in mystery from children telling stories of people who died there, the way not even light can escape a black hole, the rich smell of old books,  delicate veins in the wrist, ghosts filling lungs, shattered bones, raindrops on the tongue, rusting metal, nostalgia that aches, the way hope feels like a plastic bag over your head

    h.p. lovecraft:  the anxiety felt when staring into an unknown cave, pouring rain and mud, a child’s fear of the dark, thinking so many questions about your existence as you stare at the vast expanse of never ending ocean,  the silence of three a.m.,  danse macabre by camille saint-saens playing on a record in an empty house, the possibility of aliens and the weird feeling it gives you that you can’t explain, unexplainable phenomena, strange lights in the sky in the dead of night, ouija boards and urban legends

    jack kerouac: the brisk pine air of being on a mountain, travels without a destination, those nights where you’re missing three hours of memory, screaming to a lifeless desert about how you’re so alive, coffee shops late at night, car rides at night spent speeding and laughing in the dark, naps spent in the sun,  novels highlighted and underlined with notes and epiphanies in the margins, the way uncertainty sits on the shoulders, ignoring flaws and loving life, wind through hair, depression as fog in the brain, impossible ideals, a quiet sunrise, walks alone, when you think about trying to discover all the secrets to the universe, dazzling people, open lands stretching out into infinity, falling in love with being alive

    edgar allan poe: the ocean’s horizon inseparable from fog, hollow bones, a preserved heart held in hands, twinkling stars above an old graveyard, the way everything turns to dust, silent black birds with eyes full of wisdom, self-inflicted flames, perfection depicted as a rotting corpse, death as bricks in the heart, lips barely brushing against each other, glassy glazed eyes, biting into a lemon,  heart-shaped bruises, rotting flowers on a grave, dried blood and spilled liquor, the hush of dusk when it begins raining, the intimacy of a secret

    • Posted on janvier 11th, 2019 originally by alcoholicanarchist
  • rubyfruitgirl

    boy: do you have any fantasies

    Me: I get my PhD so I can make reservations at fancy restaurants under “Dr. & Mrs.” then when they expect a man to show up, my gay ass will stroll in instead: hot intellectual wife on my arm. She’s wearing a cocktail dress & is also a doctor. Im smoking a Cuban cigar. their heteronormative wigs is snatched…

    • Posted on janvier 11th, 2019 originally by rubyfruitgirl
  • flowerais

    when you think you have nothing left you still have the moon, sunsets, your favorite music, paper to write on, warm clothes, new starts and your cute self

    • Posted on janvier 10th, 2019 originally by flowerais
  • acutelesbian

    A lot of people ask me what my biggest fear is, or what scares me most. And I know they expect an answer like heights, or closed spaces, or people dressed like animals, but how do I tell them that when I was 17 I took a class called Relationships For Life and I learned that most people fall out of love for the same reasons they fell in it. That their lover’s once endearing stubbornness has now become refusal to compromise and their one track mind is now immaturity and their bad habits that you once adored is now money down the drain. Their spontaneity becomes reckless and irresponsible and their feet up on your dash is no longer sexy, just another distraction in your busy life.
    Nothing saddens and scares me like the thought that I can become ugly to someone who once thought all the stars were in my eyes.

  • fat-thin-skinny

    this fucks me up every single time

  • acutelesbian

    I never expected this to be my most popular poem out of the hundreds I’ve written. I was extremely bitter and sad when I wrote this and I left out the most beautiful part of that class.

    After my teacher introduced us to this theory, she asked us, “is love a feeling? Or is it a choice?” We were all a bunch of teenagers. Naturally we said it was a feeling. She said that if we clung to that belief, we’d never have a lasting relationship of any sort.

    She made us interview a dozen adults who were or had been married and we asked them about their marriages and why it lasted or why it failed. At the end, I asked every single person if love was an emotion or a choice.

    Everybody said that it was a choice. It was a conscious commitment. It was something you choose to make work every day with a person who has chosen the same thing. They all said that at one point in their marriage, the “feeling of love” had vanished or faded and they weren’t happy. They said feelings are always changing and you cannot build something that will last on such a shaky foundation.

    The married ones said that when things were bad, they chose to open the communication, chose to identify what broke and how to fix it, and chose to recreate something worth falling in love with.

    The divorced ones said they chose to walk away.

    Ever since that class, since that project, I never looked at relationships the same way. I understood why arranged marriages were successful. I discovered the difference in feelings and commitments. I’ve never gone for the person who makes my heart flutter or my head spin. I’ve chosen the people who were committed to choosing me, dedicated to finding something to adore even on the ugliest days.

    I no longer fear the day someone who swore I was their universe can no longer see the stars in my eyes as long as they still choose to look until they find them again.

  • fr3ight-train

    This is so fucking important and I think it’s something I needed right now

    • Posted on janvier 10th, 2019 originally by acutelesbian
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  • finita-la-commedia


    “I love you. Infinitely and inexpressibly. I’ve woken up in the middle of the night and here I am writing this. My love, my happiness.”

    –  Vladimir Nabokov, from a letter to Vera (January 19, 1925), featured in “Letters To Vera” by Vladimir Nabokov (Russian, 1899-1977)

    • Posted on janvier 10th, 2019 originally by finita-la-commedia
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