[archaelogy]

gonna re - make my icons & then re - format all my previous posts

[archaelogy]

can i successfully manage running 4-5 blogs ?  absolutely not but anyways : @andolini  ( vito corleone ,  main ) @sadhill ( no name, 2nd main) @archaelogy  ( jonathan joestar ,  here) @consacrare  ( giorno giovanna )   &  u can find me on discord ,  mandinha#6944 !

[just-art5]

Street in Paris by Edouard Castres - 1872

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

I bow to the daydreams I buried myself in,

Hannu Mäkelä, tr. by Herbert Lomas, from Contemporary Finnish Poetry: “Dream On Happiness Number 5,”  (via paper-fairy)

[archaelogy]

        ✭        ❝       it would be a shame if we allowed a few rotten apples to give a bad name to the whole barrel  .       ❞

     @mageshot​​     ✭

[archaelogy]

        ✭        fields with rags of melting snow    spread across the pastoral  .      shadows moved with the sun’s decline as smoke rose from his mouth     &&     moved through the slow dusk pushing back into the paper skyline  .      dull with the onset of some gray glaucoma the fog thins     &&     he throws the cigarette to the ground     &&     smothers it with a toe  .      in the silence spare for the rustle of deadgrass sits the truth of the world  .     in the murmur of the trees   ,     in a language they don’t speak  .

        ❝       he thinks he’s going to live forever  .       ❞

     @culthcnt​​     ✭

[archaelogy]

🥀 magnticwitch‌:

                ❛  OH AREN’T YOU A HANDSOME LITTLE THING . ❜        mariah walks with a certain confidence , the surety of death in louboutins heels . she cradles her sharp face between arcylic tipped fingers . when she looks at men , she sees how much they could possibly be worth . IS IT WORTH HER TIME TO TRY AND GET PAST THESE BARRIERS ?  an inhale , clove smoke exhaled deeply between her teeth . maybe that’s what her mouth tastes like ; pretty red lips curved into a smile . but there is the slight hitch of her brow , she reads something familiar in the way that his neck his corded under his collar .         ❛   have we met before , habibi ? ❜

          ❪  ꘎ ♛ ━━━ @archaelogy​ touched the outlet .

cigarette smoke stretches     &&     twists like a ghostbird    he extradites from the perch of a parted mouth   ,     a writhing bloodless thing hazing before the laminate gold of his face     &&     dissipating in sunlight  –  the blushing fool bartering recognition of the red flower crawling on to his cheek for ersatz tuberculosis  .      a lone wing torn     &&     caught in his throat has taken     &&     double knotted his trachea in spite   ,     limned with a hyphae of razors so when he coughs against his sleeve each lodges deeper into their scaffolds  .

ash drifts from the discarded bud     &&     he clears his throat with almost a timid laugh  .        ❝       i don’t believe i’d have forgotten if we had  .       ❞

[archaelogy]

i’m putting this blog on hiatus / semi - hiatus.  i’ll be off almost entirely for at least a few days.  if u have my discord you can find me there.

[archaelogy]

[archaelogy]

      @hiniyaketa​ :                   ❝ you found me. good eyes. ❞ — (from reuben!)

the wind howled  .      not a metaphor   ,     not a figure of speech  .      either the brute clambering against the old walls     &&     prying in from the windows has a distinctive voice or the voice rode piggyback on the brute while the edifice rattled all but where the ossature is cement grooved with spools of weather across the blighted culm surface  .       perspiration dripped     &&     sang from the mouthpiece roof of the great relic hybrid flute of his endeavor  .      each silver joint looked like steel in the iron blue night     &&     in each shadow squatted the motley faces of his paranoia with a growth putrescent polyps on their jaws     &&      bulging eyes entrenched in sockets limned by desiccated flesh cracked into ocotillos with bloodclot blossoms  .      chalked skeletons jostled to cinder     &&     agonized mouths adjacent with cavitied teeth  .      if there’s a hell then it’s not one of fire but eternal abandonment in the carapace of these anonymous fossils  .

softened echoes of tumbling chalices     &&     chinas down some entryway obscured by implacable darkness     &&     the clamour of expedited dissolution   ,     the sputtering of curious clay stele statues dissolving with neglect absolved in every which direction across the musty marble floors diffusing chips of gray     &&     cruor red  .      a brassed glove shielded the candle from the stowaway zephyrs pilfering the agonizing architecture ignominious with age   ,     squinting through the tenebrosity the flame cannot divide instead recoiling with some unfathomable apprehension called cowardice  .      this great melodrama of a man in the last chapter of his life     &&     another perpetually at the last page of his  .      though absconded from his face the many limbs of of the corridor’s vestiges     &&     the souls in tinmen bodies have long since pulled jonathan’s heart to drum on failure     &&     now the hampered dust landing on his arms take on insect legs     &&     skitter up to his neck   &&    into his shirt  .      he’s not fearless  .      he’s never been that  .

❝      you’re not exactly hiding  .       ❞       he stops not far from the man  .      not close either  .      the truth is that had he not spoken jonathan would still be pondering whether he’s just another sepulchral figure among the many he’d passed    ,      dead on words lodged in their larynx  .        ❝       doesn’t seem as though you’re hiding at all  .       ❞        why are you here   ?

[archaelogy]

𝘉𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 .

     independent  &  private jonathan joestar ;  by mandinha.

[archaelogy]

welp.

[nemfrog]

Constellations. A fourteen weeks course in descriptive astronomy. 1870.

Internet Archive

[wishbzne-deactivated20210526]

“What am I supposed to know of what is to become of me, in the absence of rhyme or reason?”

— Alejandra Pizarnik, from Extracting the Stone of Madness

[archaelogy]

      @mangaeka​​ :                   ❝ i used to dream about getting eaten. ❞

when he woke in the walls of a foreign room    he’d found at his window night beyond implacable darkness  .      a set of candles to the right of him in front of the window stretched     &&     twisted with the reflection of the pierglass across the curtains     &&     both were unsettled     &&     shivering as if something had torn through the vermiculate pattern of the mesh screen  .      something jonathan couldn’t fathom or see  .      he’d made the fatal mistake of being oblivious to the mute calibers that reached in despair     &&     instead focused on the dream he’d woken from   ,     where ignited his house had swallowed him  .

the situation’s inverted  .      now the thing is a face in the shadows     &&     not in the window transpiring from headlights     &&     fourlegged a highshouldered countercat paws past their feet     &&     their skyward noses fail to see it  .      jonathan silently flips through the newspaper gaped in front of him long enough to question if he’s heard the artist at all  .      the watch on his wrist ticked past a century  &  ticks past another in the course of a minute   .           ❝        by any chance have you had a dream like that recently  ?         ❞

[archaelogy]

it’s kind of humorous that jonathan spent such a long time studying the mask  &  writing his archaeology thesis on it ,  &  all he missed was figuring out what it actually does ,  which lbh he wouldn’t have ever found out.  &  then dio figures it out in under a day bc he just went  &  tacked it on2 somebody.

[loumargi]

R. Masson Benoit,