I’ve Got Sunshine On A Cloudy Day

i think as a society we should bring back fancy dinner parties where you listen to classical music and discuss the shakespearean sonnets and the romantics & philosophical debates held by literary societies full of dedicated students who are passionate about critical theory and aestheticism & poetry readings in jazz cafés that last well into the night and leave you with a sense of having shared an intimate experience with strangers because all of you have felt the same words echo in your soul

I had a nice Saturday morning studying Latin.

I also finished my notes on ‘Caliban and the Witch’ and let me tell you, there’s nothing better than a good scoop of feminist Marxist theory to start the day.

when Charles Bukowski said "and when nobody wakes you up in the morning, and when nobody waits for you at night, and when you can do whatever you want. what do you call it, freedom or loneliness?"

emma. (2020, dir. autumn de wilde)

bags @ louis vuitton fall 2021

over the moon with the joy of autumn and old books lying on my desk.

you’re either mentally stable or your favourite comfort movie is Dead Poets Society

What do you mean you've never had imaginary interviews in your head where the interviewer would ask you deep questions about life, love and human existence and you would give even deeper answers and the audience would give standing ovations and some people would even tear up????

I started reading The Secret History because I fell into the trap that is dark academia (a very good trap indeed), but I had actually heard of the it before and only by seeing the cover of the book had I recalled one of the most poignant memories of my recent life.

Some moons ago, past midnight on a September evening, I was sitting on the floor in the bedroom of a boy I so greatly admired. He sat on the end of his bed with his head between his knees and a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He was recovering from one too many drinks, as a few hours prior, my friend and I were helping him get home from a party and forcing him to drink water so he wouldn’t die from alcohol poisoning. She had already left, leaving the two of us alone, him sobering up. From his phone speakers, classical music played, and he spoke to me about songs I would like, as well as book recommendations. He then said something about the book he was reading at the time, and that I’d like it very much, but I couldn’t make out who the author nor the title from what he was saying as he had his head between his knees. Nor could I pay proper attention because although I don’t drink, I was in a drunken stupor of being alone in his presence.

It was some moments later that he shuffled over and made a gesture for me to sit next to him. And so I did, and he wrapped his blanket around the two of us and rested his head on my left shoulder. I don’t remember if either of us had said a word, but the music kept playing. Two pieces remain with me: Gymnopédie No. 1 by Erik Satie, and Song on the Beach by Arcade Fire. I almost cried because of how truly happy I felt.

Nothing more happened between us that night. He fell asleep on my shoulder, and I had to go home. But before leaving I noticed that the book he was talking about was on his nightstand. A book none other than The Secret History by Donna Tartt. “… [A] group of clever, eccentric misfits at an elite New England college discover a way of thinking and living that is a world away from the humdrum existence of their contemporaries … ”

He was right. I did enjoy the book. As for him and I, that’s another story that I won’t delve into. It’s one that pertains more to tragedy than comedy.