Razor-winged-butterfly - Mayhem

Salma Deera, Letters from Medea

A concept.

But an unquenchable love for you has never left me...

{Quotes: Alejandra Pizarnik, Approximations/Simone de Beauvoir, from Diary of a Philosophy Student: Volume 2, 1928-9; Sunday, October 7/chen chen, nature poem in ‘when i grow up i want to be a list of further possibilities’/sue zhao/ Sylvia path / Maggie Nelson, Bluets/Richard siken/Ingeborg Bachmann, In the Storm of Roses from ‘The Poem for the Reader’, tr. Mark Anderson ,paintings: pinterest}

Lorde // Hop Along, Queen Ansleis // Frank Dicksee // Anne Carson // Lady Bird // Denise Levertov

I have no idea how to rest. 🧍🏽‍♀️

I don’t know what I am without my textbooks. 🧍🏽‍♀️

  ― Billy-Ray Belcourt, A History of My Brief Body

[text ID: To love someone is firstly to confess: I'm prepared to be devastated by you.]

Dead Academia content even though I just found this aesthetic and don’t know what it contains:

• Solving your own murder with the help of your academic rivals!

• You hear ethereal, almost ghostly, singing from the auditorium that turns into shrieking from shredded vocal chords.

• Performing ancient rituals to the spirits to ensure you ace your exams (not demonic or evil, I’m Filipino spiritual don’t make this seem evil/from a colonizer lens).

• From your peripheral vision, you see that one portrait of the academy’s founder scowling— at you perhaps?

• You and your classmates’ research paper on unsolved murders has gone a bit too far— you grimace at the crimson dripping from your hands.

• You could’ve sworn that he was dead, face-down in the rose bushes outside the dormitory. Yet he’s here, eccentric and enthralling with honeyed words pouring from his lips. You stole his heart and now he’s here to take yours.

We fold the sheets as we argue facing each other, we eat soup in identical bowls, shes sitting on the sofa while i sit on the floor looking anywhere but at each other. I listen to her talk softly to my niece a minute after she scolds me for not ironing her clothes properly. And yet the sadness i feel can only be healed by a mothers love. Its sicken and sadening.

Litany in Which Certain Things Are Crossed Out by Richard Siken

“Go out and do something. It isn’t your room that’s a prison, it’s yourself.” - Sylvia Plath