She/her | 20 | Mostly failing to "hold my balance on this spinning crust of soil."
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Latest Posts by autumnal-hues - Page 2
“How are you?” Oh I’m fine just thinking about Don McLean’s American Pie. And Don McLean’s Vincent. And Don McLean’s Sister Fatima. And Don McLean’s Winterwood. And Don McLean’s Wonderful Baby. And Don McLean’s Crying in the Chapel. And Do
fatima aamer bilal, excerpt from moony moonless sky’s ‘you have always been a performer, never just a person.’
In another universe, my mom doesn’t get married off into this mockery of a family. Her youth doesn’t get over even before she has the chance to feel it. Her ankles aren’t bound by chains. I’m never born. She is free. She is happy.
I sometimes wonder if my mom would’ve had a better life had she ended up with a different man,I know that would cease my existence,but I hope she knows that I would give up every fickle of my existence to make sure she has the life she deserved.
Growing up in a dysfunctional joint family really f*cks you up in ways that leave you scarred forever.
every year someone on this hellsite invents a new way to dehumanize and trivialize people who do not believe in religion or supernatural things and then it gets hundreds of notes its sooo amazing lmao
Every "Title of your sex tape" joke in Brooklyn Nine-Nine
"Kind, sober and fully dressed", Jake to Amy
"I'm sorry about tonight", Jake to Amy
"It's not your fault, I was terrible", Jake to Amy
"I'm horrible at this, when can we stop", Jake to Amy
"Ah, well done", Jake to himself
"I'm with someone and nothing is going to happen", Jake to Amy
"This better not bite me in the ass", Jake to Amy
"Uh oh, hope it doesn't get too sexual", Jake to Amy
"Blast of cold air coming out of that box", Jake to Amy
"Why doesn't your mouth work", Jake to Amy
"I hope it wasn't a mistake", Jake to Amy (right after they fuck for the first time)
"I just got it out of the vent to rub it in your faces", Jake to Amy
"One more 'but' and you're in contempt", Jake to the judge at his trial
"I'm so confused, I don't know what's happening right now", Jake to Amy
"I'm shaking right now, I'm definitely going to cry" Amy to Jake
"Seriously, what is taking so long?" Jake to Amy
"My mother has a fantastic basement", Jake to Holt
"I came alone", Jake to Jimmy Figis
"That's not how holes work", Jake to Boyle
"Why don't we take this map and this sextant and chart a course to the restaurant", Holt to Boyle
"Did not work at all but I love that you attempted it" Jake to Holt
"Jake and Amy are getting married tonight", Boyle to himself
"Sorry, that came out weird", Jake to Holt
"It's hard for some people", Jake to a therapist
"It just slipped out", Rosa to Boyle
"I came as fast as I could ", Jake to Amy
"There's not even any soft parts in the middle we could pull out", Jake to Hitchcock and Scully
"Grabbed whatever and yanked", Boyle to Dr Oliver Cox
"Just show me the tip", Jake to Holt
"She's coming, hide!" Jake to Holt
"Quite hard upon me", Jake to himeself
"Demon in your jeans", Jake to his father
"Cockpit Larry and the mile-high stewardi", Jake's dad's actual sex tape
Weird that Doug Judy and Gina aren't on the list 🤔 🤔
it's been a while since i did a book review post but i'm not sure if i can be normal about this one boys
cloud cuckoo land by anthony doerr is a novel about the preservation of a (fictional) diogenes play of the same name. but it's actually a book about five of God's most autistic soldiers and the ways in which this play shapes their lives. but it's actually a book about how books and stories give our lives meaning in the face of unthinkable horrors. but it's actually about the hope that his niece will feel better.
this book says it's all worth it. even the shit parts. maybe especially the shit parts. it says if you can make it to the end of the story maybe something beautiful will be waiting for you there.
All the light we cannot see
Some of my fav passages ♡
At dusk they pour from the sky. They blow across the ramparts, turn cartwheels over rooftops, flutter into the ravines between houses. Entire streets swirl with them, flashing white against the cobbles. Urgent message to the inhabitants of this town, they say. Depart immediately to open country. The tide climbs. The moon hangs small and yellow and gibbous. On the rooftops of beachfront hotels to the east, and in the gardens behind them, a half-dozen American artillery units drop incendiary rounds into the mouths of mortars _______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Open your eyes, concludes the man, and see what you can with them before they close forever _______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
What do we call visible light? We call it color. But the electromagnetic spectrum runs to zero in one direction and infinity in the other, so really, children, mathematically, all of light is invisible.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
What is blindness? Where there should be a wall, her hands find nothing. Where there should be nothing, a table leg gouges her shin. Cars growl in the streets; leaves whisper in the sky; blood rustles through her inner ears. In the stairwell, in the kitchen, even beside her bed, grown-up voices speak of despair.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Marie-Laure listens to honeybees mine the flowers and tries to imagine their journeys as Etienne described them: each worker following a rivulet of odor, looking for ultraviolet patterns in the flowers, filling baskets on her hind legs with pollen grains, then navigating, drunk and heavy, all the way home.
How do they know what parts to play, those little bees _______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
She holds out a hand, and sparrows land one by one on her arms, and she tucks each one into her coat. _______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
On the rue de la Crosse, the Hotel of Bees becomes almost weightless for a moment, lifted in a spiral of flame, before it begins to rain in pieces back to the earth.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Time is a slippery thing: lose hold of it once, and its string might sail out of your hands forever.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
To shut your eyes is to guess nothing of blindness. Beneath your world of skies and faces and buildings exists a rawer and older world, a place where surface planes disintegrate and sounds ribbon in shoals through the air. Marie-Laure can sit in an attic high above the street and hear lilies rustling in marshes two miles away. She hears Americans scurry across farm fields, directing their huge cannons at the smoke of Saint-Malo; she hears families sniffling around hurricane lamps in cellars, crows hopping from pile to pile, flies landing on corpses in ditches; she hears the tamarinds shiver and the jays shriek and the dune grass burn; she feels the great granite fist, sunk deep into the earth’s crust, on which Saint-Malo sits, and the ocean teething at it from all four sides, and the outer islands holding steady against the swirling tides; she hears cows drink from stone troughs and dolphins rise through the green water of the Channel; she hears the bones of dead whales stir five leagues below, their marrow offering a century of food for cities of creatures who will live their whole lives and never once see a photon sent from the sun. She hears her snails in the grotto drag their bodies over the rocks.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
But God is only a white cold eye, a quarter-moon poised above the smoke, blinking, blinking, as the city is gradually pounded to dust.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
We all come into existence as a single cell, smaller than a speck of dust. Much smaller. Divide. Multiply. Add and subtract. Matter changes hands, atoms flow in and out, molecules pivot, proteins stitch together, mitochondria send out their oxidative dictates; we begin as a microscopic electrical swarm. The lungs the brain the heart. Forty weeks later, six trillion cells get crushed in the vise of our mother’s birth canal and we howl. Then the world starts in on us.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
“I have been feeling very clearheaded lately and what I want to write about today is the sea. It contains so many colors. Silver at dawn, green at noon, dark blue in the evening. Sometimes it looks almost red. Or it will turn the color of old coins. Right now the shadows of clouds are dragging across it, and patches of sunlight are touching down everywhere. White strings of gulls drag over it like beads.
It is my favorite thing, I think, that I have ever seen. Sometimes I catch myself staring at it and forget my duties. It seems big enough to contain everything anyone could ever feel. _______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
All your life you wait, and then it finally comes, and are you ready?
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Time is a slippery thing: lose hold of it once, and its string might sail out of your hands forever.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
That great shuttles of souls might fly about, faded but audible if you listen closely enough? They flow above the chimneys, ride the sidewalks, slip through your jacket and shirt and breastbone and lungs, and pass out through the other side, the air a library and the record of every life lived, every sentence spoken, every word transmitted still reverberating within it.
We rise again in the grass. In the flowers. In songs.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
“I am only alive because I have not yet died.”
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All the Light We Cannot See
“I have been feeling very clearheaded lately and what I want to write about today is the sea. It contains so many colors. Silver at dawn, green at noon, dark blue in the evening. Sometimes it looks almost red. Or it will turn the color of old coins. Right now the shadows of clouds are dragging across it, and patches of sunlight are touching down everywhere. White strings of gulls drag over it like beads. It is my favorite thing, I think, that I have ever seen. Sometimes I catch myself staring at it and forget my duties. It seems big enough to contain everything anyone could ever feel.” ― Anthony Doerr, from All the Light We Cannot See.
That scene with Zeno and the kids talking about their cloud cuckoo lands just BROKE ME!!!! I cannot imagine the terror of having someone threatening them with a gun nearby, having to keep their voices down and not make any sound, Zeno trying to calm them and running away with the bombs, and yes, I'm not okay :(
Also when Konstance finds out about the reality of the Argos program, the Easter eggs left by Seymour with his owls, and how much Konstance yearned to see Earth again and feel things and be there, I'm just :(
Also Anna and Omeir's story, how they are just perfect together, and their family <3333333 Anna telling the cloud cuckoo land story for their kids, man, I'm ugly crying right now :(
That ending with all the kids now grown up and with their family, and Seymour apologizing to them and taking them back to the library, and to everything they knew before, and Konstance getting out of the Argos and starting a new life, and Anna and Omeir and their family *sobs*
mAN, THIS BOOK JUST FUCKING BROKE ME
Do yourselves a favor and go read cloud cuckoo land, by Anthony Doerr, please *sobs harder*
Frederick said " your problem is that you still believe you own your life" and then he decided he wasn't going to commit the same calamity as the others. The bravery. The irony
I haven't even fully digested all the light we cannot see yet (which is why im going to watch the Netflix series later) but Anthony doerr the writer that you are!!!! I have never read so many excellently entwined narratives and if ATLWCS was doerr's foray into writing novels with alternating perspectives then cloud cuckoo land has to be his magnum opus because HOWWWW do you write three seemingly separate stories spanning across SPACE AND TIME with so many completely different perspectives (like 6) only to weave them together into one narrative all connected by the magic and power of storytelling. HOW. HOW. cloud cuckoo land is an ode to storytelling just like station eleven is! It's about stories can save us. and there's nothing I love more than stories and their metatextual commentary/meta narrative on storytelling
its been 2 months since i read cloud cuckoo land by anthony doerr and i havent really talked about it cause its not "fandomizable" or whatever but i started thinking about it again out of nowhere today so i gonna get my thoughts out here.
as you may know for the past several months ive been really into finding obscure music to listen to. not because i want to feel elite or superior or win the obscure music competition, but because its such an intimate experience to me. its like the artist is reaching across time and space to deliver me the song personally and entrusting it to me and I have to take care of it and share it with the people in my life so it can be loved and grow up big and strong. its especially true for songs that are 15 or 20 or 30 or more years old cause it makes me wonder where the artist is now and how theyre doing. their musical career may not have taken off, but it made its way to me all these years later. its touching, you know?
now imagine instead of a song from a decade or two ago that you can stream on spotify, it's a manuscript that's thousands of years old. five times over, across millenia, somebody discovered a story that was doomed to be lost forever and singlehandedly worked to rescue and preserve and share it so that it could keep on living, because it was important to them. whether the story is "good" or not, hell whether its even complete or legible, is not what matters. what matters is that for their own reasons, some part of it resonated with each of them, and they felt a responsibility to pass it on so it would not die with them.
to put it more crassly, cloud cuckoo land is basically a story about lost media. the need to preserve and record and recover information no matter how trivial it may seem is such a human thing to do and i love that
Seeing a negative review of a book I hate: my beloved brother in arms, the smartest and most beautiful person in the room, we are staring into each other's eyes and there is a place in my heart just for you. nobody understands you like I do
Seeing a negative review of a book I love: I spit on you. You are intellectually and morally beneath me. Clearly you didn't understand the book because you're thick in the head. May moths eat your garments.
Cloud cuckoo land is such a good book in a way I can’t explain
when Richard siken said “these, our bodies possessed with light” and when Anthony Doerr said “So how, children, does the brain, which lives without a spark of light, build for us a world full of light?” and when Leonard cohen said “there is a crack in everything, that’s how the light gets in”
I wish I could describe how this book made me feel. It’s almost astronomical, the array of emotions and feelings that emerged straight from the soul as I flipped each page. The detail, the love, the uncertainty - to describe it with the fewest words, it’s magnificently unpredictable.
The characters, each one of them, inscribed something deep within my spirit. The love and bonding between Marie-Laure and her father, Etienne and his demons, and Werner and his sister, Frederick and his birds, and his powerful resentment towards something wrong - his power. Madam Manec with her peach jams and the big pot where she carried all the love. The big museum with its exhibits, all those herbarium sheets and fossils, and the curse of a diamond that was equivalent to eight Eiffel Towers that should've been thrown out into the deep trenches of the oceans long ago, but only an insane would throw eight Eiffel Towers into the unknown. Papa, with his crafty hands, built the whole of Paris with his bare hands. Marie-Laure is so unaware of what everything around her looks like, yet she hears the very minor details. Jutta, the little girl who had a mind of her own, who had words of her own, and her elder brother, who was nothing by himself, who really lived under the shadows of others, had a heart so weak to resent, too weak to fight, that the heart decided to do what everyone else was doing - a heart scared of rebellion. Frau Elena served the abandoned children till her very last breath, showering those nameless breathing corpses with so much love. Von Rumpel and his war - his war with the world, his quest to find the cursed diamond, his greed, his unfathomable hatred, his desire and passion for war and victory, his dying body, his quest for immortality that the diamond is rumored to confer on anyone who possesses it, his selfish greed, his undying fear of the unknown,and, his trembling fear of death.
The depths that this particular book touched are unmatchable. It feels like loose sand slipping through your fingers, and the helplessness that comes with it - the haunting beauty of the magnificent pain of separation, of lost identities, and of lost people. It’s remarkable. Anthony Doerr, you are a genius.
fatima aamer bilal, excerpt from moony moonless sky’s ‘i am an observer, but not by choice.’
[text id: my fist has always been clenched around the handle of an invisible suitcase. / i am always ready to leave. / there is not a single room in this world where i belong.]
Christopher Nolan: The Man Who Wasn’t There by Daniel Carlson
1.
So, we’ll start with the fact that all movies are make-believe. It’s a bunch of actors on a set, wearing costumes and standing with props picked out by hordes of people you’ll never see, under the guidance of a director, saying things that have been written down for them while doing their best to say these things so that it sounds like they’re just now thinking of them. We all know this—saying it feels incredibly stupid, like pointing out that water is wet—but it’s still worth noting. There is, for example, no such person as Luke Skywalker. Never has been, never will be. He was invented by a baby boomer from Modesto. He is not real.
And we know this, and that’s part of the fun. We know that Luke Skywalker isn’t real but is being portrayed by an actor (another boomer from the Bay Area, come to think of it), and that none of the things we’re seeing are real. But we give ourselves over to the collective fiction for the greater experience of becoming involved in a story. This is one of the most amazing things that we do as humans. We know—deep down, in our bones, without-a-doubt know—that the thing we’re watching is fiction, but we enter a state of suspended reality where we imagine the story to be real, and we allow ourselves to be moved by it. We’ve been doing this since we developed language. The people telling these stories know this and bring the same level of commitment and imagination and assurance that we do as viewers, too. The storyteller knows that the story isn’t real, but for lack of a better way to get a handle on it, it feels real. So, to continue with the example, we’re excited when Luke Skywalker blows up the Death Star because he helped the good guys win. For us viewers, in this state of mutually reinforced agreement, that “happened.” It’s not real, but it’s “real”—that is, it’s real within the established boundaries of the invented world that we’ve all agreed to sit and look at for a couple of hours. Every viewer knows this, and every filmmaker acts on it, too. Except:
Christopher Nolan does not do this.
2.
There’s no one single owner or maker of any movie, and anyone who tells you different has their hand in your pocket. But there’s an argument to be made that when somebody both writes and directs the movie, it’s a bit easier to locate a sense of personhood in the final product. (This is all really rough math, too, and should not be used in court.) Christopher Nolan has directed 11 films to date, and while his style can be found in all of them, his self is more present in the ones where he had a hand in the shaping of the story—and crucially, not just that, but in the construction of the fictional world. Take away the superhero trilogy, the remake of a Norwegian thriller, the adaptation of a novel, and the historical drama, and Nolan’s directed five films that can reasonably be attributed to his own creative universe: Following (1998), Memento (2000), Inception (2010), Interstellar (2014), and Tenet (2020). These movies all involve themes that Nolan seems to enjoy working with no matter the source material, including identity, memory, and how easily reality can be called into question when two people refuse to concede that they had very different experiences of the same event. Basically, he makes movies about how perception shapes existence. How he does this, though, is unlike pretty much everybody else.
Take Inception. After a decade spent going from hotshot new talent to household name (thanks to directing the two highest-grossing Batman movies ever made, as well as the first superhero movie to earn an Oscar for acting), he had the credit line to make something big and flashy that was also weird and personal. So we got an action movie that, when first announced in the Hollywood trades, was described as being set within “the architecture of the mind.” Although this at first seemed to be a phrase that only a publicist could love, it turned out to be the best way to describe the film. This is a film, after all, about a group of elite agents who use special technology to enter someone’s subconscious dream-state and then manipulate that person’s memories and emotions. The second half of the film sees team leader Dom Cobb (Leonardo DiCaprio) and the rest of the squad actually descend through multiple nested subconsciouses to achieve their goal, even as they’re chased every step of the way by representations of Mal (Marion Cotillard), Dom’s late wife, who committed suicide after spending too much time in another’s subconscious and lost the ability to discern whether she was really alive or still in the dream-world.
I say “representations” because that’s what they are: Mal is long dead, but Dom still feels enormous guilt over his complicity in her actions, and that guilt shows up looking like Mal, whose villainous actions (the representation’s actions, that is) are just more signs of Dom not being able to come to grips with his own past. It’s his own brain making these things up and attacking itself, and it chases his entire crew down three successive layers of dream worlds. You get caught up in the movie’s world as a viewer, and you go along because Nolan is pretty good at making exciting movies that feel like theme-park rides. You accept that Dom and everybody else refer to Mal as Mal and not, say, Dom. Dom even addresses her (“her”) when her projection shows up, speaking to her as if she’s a separate being with her own will and desires and not a puppet that he’s pretending not to know he’s controlling. It’s only later that you realize that the movie is in some ways just a big-budget rendition of what it would look like to really, really want to avoid therapy.
Which is what makes Nolan different from other filmmakers:
None of this is actually happening.
Again, yes, it’s happening in the sense that we see things on screen—explosions, chases, a fight scene in a rotating hallway that’s still some of the best practical-effects work in modern action movies—but within the universe of the film, none of what’s going on is taking place in the real world. It’s all unfolding in the subconsciouses of Dom’s teammates. In the movie’s real world, they’re all asleep on a luxury jet. They’re “doing” things that have an outcome on the plot, but Nolan sets more than half the movie inside dreams. It’s a movie about reality where we spend less time in reality than in fantasy. Half the movie is pretend.
For Nolan, filmmaking is about using a dazzling array of techniques to create a visual spectacle that distracts the viewer from the fact that the real and true story is happening somewhere else: in the fringes we can’t quite see, in the things we forget to remember, or even in the realm of pure speculation.
3.
Keep reading
Rewatched The Good Place for the first time since s4 dropped and. Oh my god. The Good Place said "people are a result of their environment but we always have a moral responsibility to be better" and The Good Place said "every day the world gets a little more complicated and it gets a little harder to be good" and The Good Place said "even in the face of total nihilism, when nothing you do will matter, you still have to at least try. Because trying is better than the alternative" and The Good Place said "if you have bills to pay and shit to deal with you don't have time or energy to become a better person" and then The Good Place really said "people get better when they get external love and support. How can we hold it against them when they don't " and THEN The Good Place really said "no one is irredeemable. Everyone can try to be better today than they were yesterday" AND THEN! The Good Place said "Heaven is just enough time with the people that you love" OH MY FUCKING GOD.
When Everything Everywhere All at Once said “The only thing I do know is that we have to be kind. Please, be kind, especially when we don’t know what’s going on"
When the Good Place said "Why choose to be good every day when there is no guaranteed reward now or in the afterlife… I argue that we choose to be good because of our bonds with other people and our innate desire to treat them with dignity. Simply put, we are not in this alone.”
When Jean-Paul Sartre said ”‘Hell is other people’ is only one side of the coin. The other side, which no one seems to mention, is also 'Heaven is each other’. Hell is separateness, uncommunicability, self-centeredness, lust for power, for riches, for fame. Heaven on the other hand is very simple, and very hard: caring about your fellow beings.“
The Iliad: Funny Moments
The year was 850-750 BCE. No phones or underwear in sight. Pants were for the uncivilized only. Unibrows were attractive. And then, one day, Homer decides to write the first Greek Mythology Fanfiction ever, called "Troy Story".
Here is a list of moments from the Iliad which I personally consider to be quite hilarious:
1. Early on in Book 2, before the enormous list of Greek fighters and ships:
Agamemnon tries to motivate/test the army by claiming that he's given up and they're going home. This backfires, as a stampede for the ships ensues.
In response, Athena comes down and gives Odysseus a pep talk. He promptly and unceremoniously takes Agamemnon's scepter out of his hands and runs around brow-beating and occasionally actually beating men who were turning from the fight. It all comes to a head when he takes the scepter and beats the crap out of the Argives' resident disfigured hunchback who was doing nothing but making jokes at the Argive leaders' expense. In fact, the narrative itself stops and mentions that the scene was so hilarious, the soldiers in-story were laughing raucously.
Within Agamemnon's speech, his roundabout method of explaining how badly the Greeks outnumber the Trojans: let's say they have a truce, and each side takes a census, and each group of ten Greek soldiers gets one (male) resident of Troy to pour their wine. "There would be many tens of men lacking a pourer of wine."
2. At one point early in the story Paris steps out among the Trojan soldiers, described as looking like a god, and dares any Greek soldier to come up and face him in battle. Menelaus steps forward to answer the call—and Paris promptly flees back behind his soldiers.
3.Menelaus beating Paris up with his bare hands, while the latter still has his sword. The dramatic way in which it's written makes it a tad more serious, until you remember that Menelaus is choking Paris with the strap of his own hat.
4. Throughout the book, the Greeks continuously throw spears at Hector, but Apollo just deflects them into his charioteer instead, before Hector just picks up another random guy off the battlefield. This happens numerous times throughout the book that it's almost a running gag.
5. The Greeks send an embassy to beg Achilles to come join the fighting again. At first he receives them in friendship, but when he's heard them out, he has Patroclus start passive-aggressively preparing a bed for the only member of the embassy he's invited to spend the night, to signal to the others it's time for them to leave. Thus proving that "it was so nice to see you, but wow, look at the time, we should be getting to bed!" is a tactic Older Than Dirt.
6. When Hera seduces Zeus to distract him, he describes how attractive she is by comparing her with some of the other women he's slept with. It takes about 20 lines in the original Greek.
7. During the battle between the men and gods, Artemis squares up with Hera after her brother decides against fighting Poseidon. You'd think Artemis, the epic huntress and receiver of human sacrifice she is, armed with a powerful bow and fitting the Action Girl trope to a tee would utterly wreck the seemingly frilly, stuck up, less capable Hera. Hera instead chastises Artemis for being a brat biting off way more than she can chew, gives her a verbal tongue lashing before snatching Artemis's bow away before she can get a shot off to give her a lashing with that. Artemis gets wailed on so badly she literally is sent running away crying home to her daddy Zeus.
8. One tangent mentions Hades making a grand entrance at Pylos, only to be immediately shot with one of Heracles' arrows, forcing him to abandon the fight and flee to Olympus to heal. Later, Poseidon makes an earthquake so strong Hades jumps out of his chair in fear that the Underworld will be exposed due to the quake.
9. Early on in the epic, King Priam calls to Helen to explain to him who is leading the Greek army - Agamemnon, Odysseus, Menelaus, etc - because Priam doesn't know who they are. The Greeks have been at war with his kingdom for nine years before this point. One would imagine who had such a role would be at the forefront of his thoughts or that he would at least bother to remember their names, especially since a Pre-Iliad episode had Odysseus and Menelaus before him arguing that Helen be returned.
10. After a long discussion of their ancestries, Glaucus and Diomedes shake hands and exchange armor as a pledge of Sacred Hospitality. The narrator notes that Glaucus got ripped off, because his armor was worth over ten times as much.
11. A wounded Sarpedon thinks he's about to die and begins giving Hector a Bury Me Not on the Lone Prairie speech. Hector, who he'd been arguing with several verses back, runs right past him without answering.
12. The standard heroic epithets being used at incongruous times. Godlike Paris hiding from Menelaus, godlike and enduring Odysseus running away while Diomedes yells at him to come back, Menelaus being called "beloved of Ares" while Ares is trying to get him killed, glorious Ajax the Lesser taking a spill face-first into ox dung...
13. Menelaus is shot and wounded. Agamemnon immediately begins mourning his brother and gets through a whole speech before Menelaus can get a word in edgewise to explain that he's still alive.
it's been a while since i did a book review post but i'm not sure if i can be normal about this one boys
cloud cuckoo land by anthony doerr is a novel about the preservation of a (fictional) diogenes play of the same name. but it's actually a book about five of God's most autistic soldiers and the ways in which this play shapes their lives. but it's actually a book about how books and stories give our lives meaning in the face of unthinkable horrors. but it's actually about the hope that his niece will feel better.
this book says it's all worth it. even the shit parts. maybe especially the shit parts. it says if you can make it to the end of the story maybe something beautiful will be waiting for you there.
on mourning an ending that isn’t an ending
gang gang schiele, hyukoh / reddit user fridge_escaped on determinism vs free will / tenet, christopher nolan / margaret atwood / war of the foxes, richard siken / tumblr user fairycosmos / angels in america, tony kushner / champion, marie lu
Rohit Gurunath Sharma has always deserved the world. Can't express how heartening it is to see him getting showered in all the love.