They Should Invent A Way To Send Anon Hate To Your Dad

Happy Ides of March’s Eve! Remember to leave outside your door a knife and a glass of wine tonight for Brutus to collect!

Art is jealous, she doesn’t like taking second place to an indisposition.

Vincent van Gogh, The Letters of Vincent van Gogh

bsd ships x textposts pt.2

on tragedy, fate, and inevitability.

oresteia, robert icke // theatre of the oppressed, augusto boal // song of achilles, madeline miller // the book thief, markus zusak // antigone, jean anouilh // revisiting mockingjay ahead of the hunger games prequel, entertainment weekly // romeo and juliet, shakespeare // h of h playbook, anne carson // war of the foxes, richard siken // the road to hell (reprise), hadestown // planet of love, richard siken // they both die at the end, adam silvera

Voices of the Past by Ly Ber

We're gonna see her soon (((:

told my girlfriend that if she proposes i want a secondhand wedding ring. i explained i don't want to contribute to a vanity-based industry like diamond mining, and that it would be important to me to continue marriage traditions in a way that causes minimal environmental and personal harm. she asked me if i was just trying to roll the dice on obtaining a haunted object, and i told her i can want two things.

Ballad of a beautiful woman

I wake up in a strange room, the sheets are sticky and the clothes are dirty.       Last night my body was not mine. We met in a bar, he offered me a drink and told me I was beautiful;       that I was hot. He told me: “I enjoy your company. Come with me.” He brought me to an art gallery, he showed me what he liked, he asked for my thoughts. He kissed me, he tied my wrists: he told me to beg,       he called me a whore. He hit me, I didn’t like it. He hit me again.       I asked for more.

It’s morning and I wake up in another bed. This man was less rough, he kissed my skin and caressed my body;       he said that a woman like me deserved worship. We met again. And again, and again. He became more talkative during sex. He started saying that I had a perfect body, that I was a gift from the gods,       that I was made for him. When I told him I was moving he begged me to stay.       Two weeks later he was at my door.       He broke in.       I was on the bed.

I wake up in the middle of the night. I’m alone. Many men approached me during the evening, each of them with a lascivious look.       I turned them down. I laid in my bed and I cried.

      There is no love for me in this world. Only pity and shallow lust.

“The little dot we live on.” The Book of knowledge. v. 7. 1912.

Internet Archive

the saying you cant miss what you never had is so insane to me.... like um actually i am always missing what i never had. theres so much missing... i miss everything