What is the point?
I don’t want to live this life anymore.
I hate so much.
I don’t want to be here anymore.

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Kiana Khansmith
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Janaina Medeiros

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@minge-bucket
What is the point?
I don’t want to live this life anymore.
I hate so much.
I don’t want to be here anymore.
In her essay Tik Tok the great philosopher Ke$ha declared that ‘the party don’t start till I walk in.’ which is clearly meant to convey that any recreational gathering is not truly a party until Ke$ha herself arrives.
But what if Ke$ha were to leave the party for some period of time only to then walk in again? This paradoxical scenario in which a party must simultaneously already exist and not exist yet is known as Ke$ha’s Quantum Party and has stumped theoretical physicists for decades.
Ke$ha clearly states that “when I leave for the night I ain’t comin’ back” (Animal 2.4), and furthermore, that “Tonight, Imma fight/‘Til we see the sunlight” (2.13-14), implying that she will neither depart nor desist from celebration until the following solar recurrence; moreover, she asserts in the refrain that “…the party don’t stop, no” (2.16), sagely reassuring us that no spacetime-rending event will occur.
A+ academic work here
I want to be free again. I hate being taped in a marriage that never feels like it’s getting any better. I’m hurt and angry and lost.
"When Shelley's corpse washed ashore, a friend identified it by a copy of Keats's 1820 volume in the coat pocket, which he knew Shelley had taken with him. Then, after cremation in which Shelley's heart, hardened by calcium, did not burn, this same friend snatched it from the embers and presented it to Mary Shelley, who kept it thereafter in her desk, wrapped in a copy of 'Adonais."
Here’s your morbid literary fact of the day.
jesus christ, i will never be this goth.
Mary Shelley’s father taught her to spell her name by taking her to the graveyard and having her trace the letters on her mother, Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley’s gravestone.
NO ONE will ever be as goth.
didnt she also have sex on said grave
She lost her virginity on her mother’s grave yes
… that’s it we can all go home, peak goth was achieved before we even started.
JSTOR confirms it: http://www.jstor.org/stable/3177447
Mary Freaking Shelley is None More Goth personified.
@mama-germany Achieve maximum goth
@saarebitch
If I fail to reblog this, assume I’m stuck in my crypt, and someone needs to come help me.
She also wrote a post-apocalyptic science fiction novel focusing on the extinction of the human race and the meaninglessness of existence. In 1826.
Oh, and this isn’t especially goth, but my God, I respect her for this:
In 1827, Mary Shelley was party to a scheme that enabled her friend Isabel Robinson and Isabel’s lover, Mary Diana Dods, who wrote under the name David Lyndsay, to embark on a life together in France as man and wife.[126][note 13] With the help of [American actor John Howard] Payne, whom she kept in the dark about the details, Mary Shelley obtained false passports for the couple.[127]
The more I learn about Mary Shelley the more I love her
Idk helping your trans friends change names is pretty goth
loving and supporting your lgbt friends is the new goth
BE LIKE MARY SHELLEY
I T I S T I M E
This person is what I want to be as a parent.
yeah, pretty much
Mirror calligraphy.
Calming.
Gorgeous.
archive aesthetic from @tidychaos (5)
Flirting is hard.
s/o to all the lactose intolerant people out there
Top Ten Spookiest Classical Pieces
Perhaps I’m feeling macabre, but tonight I’m digging out my favorite spooky classical pieces and listening to them. So I thought putting together a top ten list of these would be fun while I drink my scotch. Note: These are not really in any particular order. I love them all.
1. Beethoven: Piano Trio in D major, op. 70 no. 1, “Ghost” - 2nd movement. Rattling of chains, shrieking of spirits; the nickname of this trio fits it well. The first and third movements are good as well, but only the second movement is really spooky. 2. Schubert: Der Leiermann (from Winterreise). A heartbroken young man sings about the hurdy-gurdy, an outcast who sits just outside the village and plays his instrument while dogs snarl at him and people ignore him. Particularly chilling is that this is the last song of an hour-long cycle, and it drones on without clear resolution, ending with the line: “Strange old man, should I go with you? Will you accompany my songs on your hurdy-gurdy?” 3. Mussorgsky: Night On Bald Mountain. You may know this one from Disney’s Fantasia, which is featured during the Witches’ Sabbath sequence. 4. Schubert: Der Erlkönig. Based on a poem by Goethe, this song tells the chilling story of a father and his ailing child riding through the woods on horseback, while a malicious spirit tries to lure the boy away, unseen and unheard by the father. 5. Saint-Saens: Danse Macabre. Death plays his fiddle in the cemetery, rousing all the skeletons from their graves and dancing with them until they have to slink back at the first light of dawn. 6. Brahms: Ballade in D minor, op. 10 no. 1, “Edward.” Based on a Scottish ballade, the story is of a mother who knows that her son has murdered his father - she just wants to hear him say it himself. 7. Shostakovich: Viola Sonata. Shostakovich composed during the height of Soviet censorship, and his music almost always has a hunted, almost panicked feel to it. He composed this viola sonata just a month before his death. 8. Shostakovich: String Quartet no. 8 in C minor, op. 110. Between the frenzy of the second movement and the insistent “knocking on the door” of the fourth, this quartet can really put you on edge. What makes this music even freakier is Shostakovich’s musical signature (D E-flat C B) throughout the work. 9. Mussorgsky: The Hut of Baba Yaga the Witch (from Pictures at an Exhibition). This one always sounds like Baba Yaga’s “Hut On Chicken’s Legs” is chasing me through the woods, but that might just be my wild imagination. 10. Scriabin: Piano Sonata no. 9, “Black Mass.” Some of the directions that Scriabin writes in the score are “mysteriously murmuring”, and “with a sweetness that becomes increasingly poisonous,” which is a pretty apt description for much of this work. It begins mysteriously, then builds in tension until it all explodes in some kind of orgiastic climax. It ends just as enigmatically as it begins.
He’s 100% done with my shit.
Still wishing I was back at Your & Owls Festival, I can not wait for next years! ~ #festivalfashion #sg_au
All I want to do today is stay in bed, smoke billies and play video games. I just wish I had a pal to keep me company. 😩 ~ #suicidegirls #sghopeful #sg_au #sgaustralia #greenhair
Hey, so fun fact, depression and anxiety don't exactly go away, it's a never fucking ending daily struggle. It's an unwanted house guest who invites themselves over by kicking in the door at the most inconvenient times only to point out all of your minuscule flaws non stop. They redecorate your walls with an always lingering stench of failure and disappointment and turn all of your friends and family against you. They never move out. Ever. But here's the thing. Sometimes they don't say anything for a while, sometimes they go on little holidays, they let you have time to yourself where you can pick up the pieces, learn to love yourself again, and air out your home and fill it with confidence and self love, they give you time to listen to your loved ones and believe them when they're reaching out to you, and things get better, they really truly do. But holidays don't last forever. They eventually come back, they always come back. Sometimes they come in full fucking force breaking down your walls, ripping you to shreds and leaving you a crumpled self loathing heap on the floor, but mostly they start slow, little things at a time, cutting and digging inch by inch until you're right back to living in darkness afraid to leave your bed and terrified to face the world. Depression is a desease, it can fucking kill you if you let it, and it's a daily struggle to not give up. I have days where I just want the world to swallow me up, I have weeks on end where I won't even leave my house to get the mail, I am covered from head to toe in never healing cuts and bruises that laugh at me in the mirror. I look at my reflection often and can not stand who is looking back at me. Everywhere I go I hear whispers convincing me I am not worthy of love, I am not worthy of anything. But I'm still here. I haven't given in. I will paint my body and cover my hate filled blemishes. I will scream self love at the top of my lungs till my throat fills with blood. I will build my walls strong. I will fill my house with light. I will not let it win. I am not dead yet.
This weekend I was incredibly fortunate enough to be reviewing #yoursandowlsfestival I had the sickest experience checking out a heap of rad new bands I had never heard of before, and because I saw so many honeys rocking the mesh and lace on day 1, I couldn’t help but jump head first into this “no clothes at festivals” thing on day 2 and holy heck was it an epic time! I’m going to start making this an every day thing from now on! Haha ~ •Original photo taken by the amazing @kimrudnermusicphotographer #festivalfashion #sg_au #yoursandowls