Happy Place

"I have so much chaos in my life, it's become normal. You become used to it. You have to just relax, calm down, take a deep breath and try to see how you can make things work rather than complain about how they're wrong."

[daishannigans]

COUNTDOWN TO THE GOLDEN CIRCLE: 4 Weeks — On Being a Gentleman It’s like Charlie said: I’m just a pleb. Nonsense. Being a gentleman has nothing to do with the circumstances of one’s birth. Being a gentleman is something one learns.

[llehapus-blog]

ppl: we want characters with flaws who make mistakes!

ppl, looking at a character who has flaws and makes mistakes: wow that's problematic why do people like this character?? :/

[stylishlook]

http://stylishlook.tumblr.com/

[yourlookbookmen]

Men’s Look

Most popular fashion blog for Men - Men’s LookBook ®

[ramonameisel]

Love is to find someone who aches and falls in love with your pain.

- excerpt of 4 times his brothers talked to him and one time he listened, published in A Hundred Forevers | r.m

[tyrellweillick]

[pagewoman]

That Monday morning feeling

by Alison O’Neill

[nordicsublime]

.bannermandesign.com

[pagewoman]

[pagewoman]

Harvest Mouse

 via Ellie Harrison

[its-darkinsidee]

Michael Fassbender portada & photoshoot para The Rake

[vivraidamour]

Scenes from the Bible:  Cain and Abel (Genesis 4: 1- 10)

“Listen! Your brother’s blood cries out to me from the ground!”

[meiselr]

1000 Picspams Challenge | #445 - The Seven Deadly Sins

[thewinedarksea]

the four horsemen of the apocalypse → war

when he broke the second seal, i heard the second living creature saying, “come.” and another, a red horse, went out; and to him who sat on it, it was granted to take peace from the earth, and that men would slay one another; and a great sword was given to him.

—revelation 6:3-4

for @archistratego

[aavillainess]

s u p e r b i a he is the epitome of sin, it seeps from his skin, no one can escape his skeletal touch, the death in his bones, he will make the city bleed until it runs raw. a v a r i t i a there are hearts in his hands, fire in his mouth, and he will not stop his want for death and blood, he will not stop killing, or craving, not even for the gods. l u x u r i a there is a spot of crimson slipping down a pale neck, his scarlet mouth dries, and his hands wish to reach out for a little taste, but he is patient, he can wait for the world to sleep. i n v i d i a there is another crimson stain at the mouth of london, an artist with the taste for iron and scarlet red on white canvas, but he is the only that can tell a story in this city. g u l a he consumes blood by the gallon, liquid death, day to day, but it is never enough, nothing satisfies, nothing lingers, and the black abyss of his soul aches, endlessly, for more. i r a do you know how to scream? he whispers, then do it for me. it’s soft, like the silk of his shirt, like the breeze, like his hands wrapped around the base of her neck, threatening to squeeze. a c e d i a the body remains, seeping crimson into the ground, he does not bother to move it, they will find it in the morning, just as he will find another. 

s a l i g i a for @ibuzoo | london bleeding | (aavillainess)

[elucipher-deactivated20151112]

what can you tell me about the seven deadly sins?

I. luxuria.  the light has been coming in for an hour, a pale heat across your shoulders. his face is gentle but your skin remembers his cardinal mouth and his teeth. when he wakes, his fingers will murmur at your nape and down your soft-strung spine, and he’ll say, with the grin of the living, more?

II. gula.  there are parties with champagne that tastes as light as laughing; and too much bread and coffee on mornings after; sticky sugared slices of apple pie in a corner cafe; pad thai in hot brown paper, shared while your soul grows fat with love; and the clattering feasts of many brought under one roof: when the evening draws down and the night presses at our windows, we come, we sit, we eat.

III. invidia. the water on the window draws cuneiform glyphs, and you are making coffee and listening to her sing, low and sweet as rain. in a while he will come in, wet and rowdy, and touch her with hands you have failed to hate, and break the pane of this quiet thing—but not yet, not yet.

IV. acedia.  you sleep and sleep, and wake with grey head and bones. the day is lead and sickened, and there are shadows on the surface of things. you falter between the hours. it’s a haunt you’ve seen in other faces, before the bearer stows it away, and the words clutter on your tongue—you too?

V. avaritia.  —not yet enough of a sunset after rain and saffron-lit pavements, a hundred evening voices, warm hand tugging your hand, a violin played underground for coins, a train-car and the ghosts that faces wear, all the dark and patient streets to your house, a quarter-moon and silvering air, a scarf unwound red in a hallway, perfume faded on wrists, and your fingers in black hair. you don’t know if you’re hollow or heavy with longing. you have always been hungry. 

VI. ira.  after he hurts her, you take her to the hospital. you take her ten roads home. you bring her books and sweet-williams. you wait. on the sixth day she calls: not enough evidence. her voice is colourless. on the ninth day you see him in a courtyard—you are shouting, and startled to find his blood on your hand. when she asks you about it her mouth lifts, briefly.

VII. superbia.  at the end of the year you will go down, through gorse and salt-stiff grasses, to where the sea drags its torn hem over the sand. you are a tall spine and a head that does not bow, and you have seamed with gold the fissures in your heart (that old idol). between waves the water is like glass; you don’t flinch from mirrors. you will go on from there, having armed yourself with brazen love that becomes its own nourishment, unashamed in all your atoms.

[empires]

L I L I T H

first wife of Adam in jewish mythology

requested by anon

[lhzthepoet]

“You’re the Mother of all Monsters.” The woman screams clutching her child close, so consumed in her grief she doesn’t see that the body in her hands has long since taken his last breath. ‘Yes.’ she agrees, ‘A monster I am.’ She glances at the sky and smiles slightly. Mother or Father the term is not true, because she didn’t make herself this way. ‘That honor was you.’ she says to the sky. Lilith, Mother of Monsters.

“What was Eden like?” One child asks as she leads them in their descent. She remembers Adam, the sting of rejection a slap on his face. She closes her eyes, and she can remember how menacing the garden had seemed. There were thorns in the bushes and snakes in the trees. “Cold.” She answers, “Cold and cruel.”

“Why do you have to take her?” The same line over and over, each time from a different source. “You think I chose to be this way?” She angrily barks out. The other women doesn’t comprehend, sobbing a single line, the words stinging like a holy verse. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. She takes her by the shoulders. “You think there is such a thing as fair.” She shakes her with every word, “that I rob you of your child, like I was robbed of my own?” The body drops from her hand, as the fury leaves her. “I was robbed too.”

“How did you become this way?” The mother of a sick child asks. She’s hoping for peace for her son, happiness free of illness that only Death can grant. “I refused a man.” Her eyebrow is raised. “I refused a man, and was made a demon for it.” It is dark, and in the dark she can remember the sharp cuts of the wind as she was pushed down. She can remember the cracks of her bones when she finally reached the ground, and how she lay there in a heap for weeks unable to move and barely able to breathe. “I refused to be a submissive wife, a senseless twit.” A twisted smile graces her lips. “You see the steps to Heaven are painted red. There’s rules you have to follow; otherwise you might as well be dead.”

“Do you miss the stars?” Adam asks when they pass each other on Earth. She glances to the sky and for a moment misses the taste of salvation, and the music that holy God damn music. “Do you miss Eve?” She bites back instead. To ache and crave for the impossible is a waste of her time. The naivety Adam is drenched in doesn’t suit her, though he has the decency to look guilty now. “What was it like for you?” he asks, avoiding the question, “What was it like when you fell?” She licks her lips and doesn’t miss how his eyes trail her tongue. “Lonely.”

“Did you love Him?” Eve asks after seeking her out. She thinks about the burns on her skin and the cuts along her back. Eve edges closer, her fingers move like ghosts down her arms. “I did.” She nods, “I loved him right until he pushed me off the edge.” Eve cries like the child she is. “Then why?” Why. Why. Why. Her lungs shake as the sigh tumbles from her mouth. “Because He didn’t love us as much as we loved him.”

Lilith  // L.H.Z