THIS IS OUR FATE.

desire is desire, and here i am, pooled and thirsting.

[cirenworth]

─── ABOUT.

cress , she/her , 24

multifandom blog [art, literature, film, etc.]

tracking #usercress

[kitchen-light]

“Not all writing is cursed, but surely all of it is haunted. Literature is a catacomb of past readers, past writers, past books. Traces of those who are responsible for creation linger among the words on a page; Shakespeare can’t hear us, but we can still hear him (and don’t ghosts wander through those estate houses upon the moors unaware that they’ve died?). […] Of all of the forms of expression that humanity has worked with—painting, music, sculpture—literature is the eeriest. Poetry and fiction are both incantation and conjuration, the spinning of specters and the invoking of ghosts; it is very literally listening to somebody who isn’t there, and might not have been for a long while. All writing is occult, because it’s the creation of something from ether, and magic is simply a way of acknowledging that—a linguistic practice, an attitude, a critical method more than a body of spells. We should be disquieted by literature; we should be unnerved.”

— Ed Simon, from his essay “Who’s There?: Every Story Is a Ghost Story”, published in The Millions, August 18, 2021

[theoptia]

Emil Cioran, from The Book of Delusions

Text ID: the regret of not realizing the pure life in me, [...] of having been tormented by regrets, despair, obsessions and tortures; [...] of having been tortured every moment by the fear of nothingness, the thought of nothingness and the fear of existing.

[theoptia]

Emil Cioran, from The Book of Delusions

[pintoras]

Marie Bashkirtseff (Ukrainian, 1858 - 1884): Still life with bottle (via Sotheby's)

[letsbelonelytogetherr]

— Melissa Cox

[midwestbandito]

can you find me (unreleased song that was available to buy for exactly seven (7) days before being wiped from the internet entirely, only accessible by shared download file, until one day, slowly, the echoes were heard resurfacing in edits of the beauty of nature, including the beauty of human nature and all its art -- can you find me? even if you try to obscure me from the world and remove all traces, my drag path still exists, etched in the surface of our shared space)?

[opossum-handz]

[maliusaidh]

[mournfulroses]

D. H. Lawrence, from a letter featured in The Selected Letters of D. H. Lawrence

[metamorphesque]

The Course of Empire is a series of five paintings created by the English-born American painter Thomas Cole between 1833 and 1836, which depicts the growth and fall of an imaginary city. The Course of Empire comprises the following works: The Course of Empire – The Savage State (1); The Arcadian or Pastoral State (2); The Consummation of Empire (3); Destruction (4); and Desolation (5).

[akindplace]

This too shall pass. You have survived a lot and you will survive this too. This too shall pass. This too shall pass. This too shall pass. It will take some time and it’s not easy and it’s not fair, but there is still hope.

[adampvrrish]

i wish i could touch my red string of fate. i'm about to start yanking this motherfucker towards me.

[persianmom-deactivated20251026]

agonizing over all the time you wasted or lost is useless. it’s gone now. you survived in the only way you knew how. doesn’t your survival deserve some recognition too?

[persianmom-deactivated20251026]

like toni morrison said, “sometimes you don't survive whole, you just survive in part. but the grandeur of life is that attempt. it’s not about that solution. it is about being as fearless as one can, and behaving as beautifully as one can, under completely impossible circumstances.”

[chongoblog]

Ngl blocking people who have never interacted with you and have no reason to ever do so feels wonderful. Like...I don't like your vibes, so I choose to never see you again and also you don't get to see my blog. Bye bitch <3

[notgreatbob]

''i wasted those years'' who cares. you lived the only life you could've lived in those moments

[ashstfu]

and in the next fifty years, you will ache and you will glow. you will fall in love with people who don’t stay and still carry their names like pressed flowers in the folds of your memory. you will eat meals alone and meals with people who make you laugh so hard you forget the sting of silence. there will be mornings you can’t get out of bed and nights where you walk home humming under a sky so wide it forgives you. you’ll cry in public and smile at strangers and sometimes it’ll be the same thing. you’ll hear a song that reminds you of someone you promised you’d never forget and you’ll realize you already have, a little. you’ll outgrow versions of yourself you once thought permanent and mourn them like old friends and still you will keep going. you’ll see sunsets that make your chest tighten. you’ll be held when you least expect it. you’ll feel the cold on your face and remember what it means to be alive. and it won’t always be gentle but it will be yours.