I Think That The Hamilton Musical Is Objectively The Funniest Thing That Could Happen To That Man's Memory.

“You can never get a cup of tea large enough or a book long enough to suit me.”

— C.S. Lewis

SOMETHING CLAWS OUT FROM THE CENTER OF YOU, THE FOUNTAIN OF PHILOSOPHY NESTLED IN THE SUPERIOR VENA CAVA BLEEDS SHARP AND SICKLY. FLECHETTES OF PUTRID SERRATED BONE LIKE THE JAVELINS OF SOME FETID GREEK HERO CONDEMNED TO THE PATHETIC CLOACA OF HISTORY. BREATHE. DIE. REPEAT.

ONE BEAUTIFUL SUMMER MORNING THE CRACKS WILL HAVE HEALED AND THE TROJANS WILL STAY INSIDE YOUR WOODEN EQUINE BELLY WHERE IT IS SAFE AND DARK WHERE THEY WILL SPOIL INTO GENTLE OBLIVION, FERMENTING SWORD AND BONE INTO GRIT AND SLUDGE. IT WILL STAY LIKE THAT FOREVER. IT WILL.

"WILL IT EVER BE SOFT?" SOMETHING CRAWLS UP YOUR BACK. VERTEBRAE TWITCH INWARD, BENDING AND SNAPPING TO RECOIL LIKE WHEN YOU WERE BURNED WITH THE CURLING IRON. "YES." IT WHISPERS, "TENDER. LIKE A VIRGIN. LIKE VEAL."

― Louise Glück, October

One time I shared a post that contained (unbeknownst to me) incorrect information about how big anglerfish are and people sent me anon hate about it for years and accused me of being the center of a conspiracy to spread fish-based misinformation, I would occasionally get messages in my inbox out of the blue like "You're a terrible person for telling lies about fish and I hope you die," and I think that that more than anything else is the real Tumblr Dot Com experience

thinking about why horatio keeps calling hamlet “my lord” even though it’s so clear that hamlet respects horatio as an equal. it’s not out of propriety, because hamlet tells him that he doesn’t have to do it. horatio would follow hamlet into hell without a second thought, and the only thing that stops him from doing so in the end is hamlet’s word. he’s too loyal to ever disobey even hamlet’s slightest wish. so if hamlet wants them to speak like equals, why does this remain? i think it’s a term of endearment more than anything. because horatio’s love is devotion. he is hamlet’s, forever and always. maybe “my lord” is the closest he can get to “mine”. again and again and again i am yours and you are mine, every time that they speak. you are miserable, you are desperate, you are constantly in doubt. you are mine. you are banished, you are a murderer, you are dead. i am yours. horatio reveres hamlet. he can’t help it. he also loves him. he can’t help that either. so, it’s my lord. his respect with his possession. because horatio knows that there are pieces of hamlet that are his alone - to carry, to love, to live with when he’s gone. it’s a reminder that horatio is hamlet’s, yes, but also a reminder that hamlet, despite it all, is his.

rawest fucking hozier lyrics in no particular order:

i’d suffer hell if you’d tell me what you’d do to me tonight

heat of her breath in my mouth; im alive

i’d be the choiceless hope in grief that drove him underground

idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on his sword

and when the earth is trembling on some new beginning with the same sweet shock of when adam first came

every version of me dead and buried in the yard outside

the stench of the sea and the absence of green are the death of all things that are seen and unseen

if I was born as a blackthorn tree i’d wanna be felled by you, held by you, fuel the pyre of your enemies

some like to imagine the dark caress of someone else, I guess any thrill will do

before the wave hits, marveling at god; before he feels alone one final time and marries the sea

betray the moon as acolyte on first and fierce affirming sight

i have never known peace like the damp grass that yields to me, I have never known hunger like these insects that feast on me

screaming the name of a foreigner’s god; the purest expression of grief

sweet and right and merciful, i’m all but washed in the tide of her breathing

but you don’t know the hell you put me through; to have someone kiss the skin that crawls from you

so i try to talk refined for fear that you find out how i’m imagining you

my head was war, my skin was soaked, I called your name ‘til the fever broke

be still, my indelible friend, you are unbreaking

remember me, love, when i’m reborn as a shrike to your sharp and glorious thorn

Sky & Clouds painted by Théodore Gudin ☁️

Benjamin Alire Sáenz, "To the Desert"

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