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thefoolrewritten

“Like a plague, you infected my thoughts. Every day activities became an ode to you.”

——wearing me down until i couldn’t so much as walk on my own.

brokenporcelainclown

Sorry i cant go out tonight im decomposing

static-smoke

serpentwife-deactivated20200820

girls night out

shittyavatarideas

avatar of the eye but it’s me and the other techies watching the mic levels go up and knowing you’re talking backstage

#i’m sorry to all the tech kids #i know we’re awful for this #it’s just #so hard not to talk backstage

goatmason

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Saw this post by @bifrostarchivist and gave an attempt to make the laugh track!! Sadly Nikola doesn’t have a full laugh so it’s a bit disjointed but hey, that’s the Magnus Archives for you :y

shittykinaesthetics

Shitty Nikola Orsinov aesthetic: that dude from silence of the lambs is in the middle of filing a dmca notice and takedown order. you’ve encroached on his schtick for the last fucking time, clown, he told you the skin suits were his thing

lliliiarts

mum said it’s my turn to kidnap the archivist!

lookoutsea

22ratonthestreet

that’s how it went right

#SDLKFDFNSDKJFNELSG

exitwound

i used to think that icarus’ death was just a tragic accident—the kind so prevalent in greek mythology, where the hero survives the most dangerous part but tragedy befalls in the most unexpected/preventable way as a result of hubris/arrogance/carelessness. but icarus’ fate was no accident. tragic, yes, but also beautiful in its inevitability: a tribute to the inexorable entanglement between love and death, desire and destruction, intimacy and decay — all of which are ultimately just forms of want and loss. after all, everything has a price, an equal and opposite reaction.

desire is synonymous with fire. it’s something i think mortals are only capable of experiencing in tiny doses: little fires in our guts, live wires down our spine, warm flushes across our cheeks. like taking very small sips of too-hot tea, desire must be drawn out over a lifetime of intimacy—lest it burn us up completely. but apollo feels things with all his immortal intensity: he is pure fire and light and heat. i am not sure there exists a purer form of love than that of the sun.

this is why icarus’ fate is no accident, nor another allegory on the dangers of hubris. it was inevitable from the start. the same way achilles’ virility and vitality was paid for with his death at such a young age, the heat from apollo’s fleeting, fatal moment of desire for icarus is the same as a lifetime’s worth of slow-burning love between two mortals.

i like to believe that icarus didn’t lose his life—not exactly. he just lived it all at once in a single, blazing moment of intimacy with the sun.