fangs arent useful but they sexy so

[edinburgh-by-the-sea]

winter's tenuous sky

[shadowhaert]

to love like a dog

ada limón, roadside attractions with the dogs of america // emily wilson, the odyssey // u.k // andrew kane, how to be a dog // mitski, i’m your man // u.k // u.k

[kosmogrl]

[campcomputers]

heyyyy does this make sense and does it make sense if I say its about love and pain

[lucidloving]

@roach-works // Melissa Broder, "Problem Area" // Mary Oliver, "The Return" // @annavonsyfert // Koyoharu Gotouge, Demon Slayer // Haruki Murakami, Dance Dance Dance // David Levithan, How They Met and Other Stories // Tennessee Williams, Notebooks

[transmechanicus]

I love the idea of dead gods. Not in the sense of “hey i killed something supernaturally strong” but in the sense of “i killed it and it’s still a god.” It is still worshipped. prayers are still answered. miracles are performed in its name, even as it lies pierced by a thousand swords and burning with chemical fire. even as it drifts through vacuum, decapitated and bleeding molten rock. in cosmic spite of being shot through each eye and hurled into a plasma reactor, it still radiates the power of the divine in a way that primitive death cannot smother. the nature of godchild is not so simple as to be tied to the mortality, or immortality, of any living being.

[bogleech]

In science that's called a whalefall :)

[mirthalia]

dead gods on the bottom of the mariana trench

[corvidaedream]

i love the idea of ghosts not being dead people but just places where time is kind of thin

like one of my friends & his girlfriend have a ghost in their very old new england house that’s apparently an old timey little boy who does shit like jump on the bed and slam doors but if they tell him very sternly “daniel, stop that” the activity stops immediately

and i love the idea that years ago theres this rowdy little 19th century boy just being alive and playing in his room but if he gets too loud sometimes, the ghostly form of my 21st century friend shows up and is like “Hey! Cut it out.” and then vanishes and no one believes this child

[fuckyeahchinesefashion]

bed rooms on xiaohongshu

[metamorphesque]

To fall in love is to create a religion that has a fallible god.

Sappho | Leonardo Bistolfi | Safet Zec | Richard Siken | Brokeback Mountain (dir. Ang Lee) | Emery Allen | Ron Hicks | Jorge Luis Borges | Holly Warburton | Richard Siken | Joseph Lorusso

[perfectlullabies]

kurt got us all thru elementary/middle schools didn’t he

[thatbitchsimone]

that twink from glee?

[perfectlullabies]

COBAIN. KURT COBAIN

[figdays]

Sweater Knitting Patterns // amarinalevin

x // x // x 

x // x // x

x // x // x

[septemberkisses]

— José Olivarez, from "Getting Ready to Say I Love You to My Dad, It Rains," Citizen Illegal

[knivesandsorrow]

Mikey Way | November 3rd, 2007 [x]

PalaSharp - Milan, Italy

[ritikajyala]

My brother cracked my rib one morning and gave me half of his orange in the evening.

I remember being younger and sometimes wishing to be a single child, to have all the attention and gifts and time but when he was away from home for the first time, I remember crying and stroking his side of the sofa as if blurting out my first wish- for him to be home, without thinking twice, without a shadow of doubt. Even the genie cried. Growing up with a sibling is like being the only people on a stranded boat, constantly figuring out how you can live with them and questioning how you could ever live without them.

One evening, in a fit of anger, I told him how I never wanted him to be my brother and he yelled that he didn't ask for it either. The air smelled like kerosene and my chest was filled with arsenic. I was raging and threw his favorite toy aeroplane down the window, 7 stories of guilt and shame. He cried all night and I wanted to cut off my right hand, the hand that hurt my baby brother. I didn't know if he was ever going to forgive me or even talk to me. The next morning at breakfast, he didn't look at me or say a word, I felt like my chest was about to explode and guilt clouded my vision. But then, I felt a hand quietly holding half of an orange my way.

The only people on a stranded boat. How do you live with them? How could you ever live without them?

-Ritika Jyala, excerpt from The world is a sphere of ice and our hands are made of fire

[sohokick-deactivated20230201]

A Bookmark Near the End He loves history. He wanted to write a biography of John Quincy Adams. I, shamefully, knew almost nothing about John Quincy Adams, so I went online and bought every biography of him I could find. One day, he called me, claiming that we wouldn’t work out long term. He said he loved me but that we had different interests. “What does love mean to you?” I said. “That’s an impossible question,” he replied. I, however, find love to be quite simple. Love is the stack of biographies on my nightstand with a bookmark near the end. — Julia Nicole Camp NYT Tiny Love Stories, 2/11/2020

[ephemeralhorror]

broad daylight in horror is massively underused

[ephemeralhorror]

there’s a constant feeling in nighttime horror of “this is an unnatural, liminal situation you’ve stumbled into. once you make it to the other end, or if everyone were to know the truth, you will be free of it.”

once the sun crests the horizon, however, there’s an unspoken shift in the underlying tone. this aberration of the natural order has come under all scrutiny and it is still there. you continue to cry for normalcy, but the world does not acknowledge what you believe it should be. no amount of truth or time will end this, and in my favourite of executions the very framing and narrative itself doesn’t acknowledge the dissonance. 

it all comes back to alienation, in the end. always.

[ephemeralhorror]

if nighttime horror evokes a sense of isolation through salvation being just out of reach, then daytime horror evokes it through the realization that it never existed to begin with. that the walls and locks were all paper-thin artifice. that this is now tomorrow. forever.

broad daylight in horror is seeing the yawning abyss and knowing there’s nothing to wake up to.

[boomcomplains]

I think about this a lot because I grew up on the high plains.

I maintain that while the forest is terrifying because it’s dark and you don’t where you can be attacked from, the plains are more horrifying. Imagine seeing a creature just coming toward you on the horizon. You never lose sight of the abomination as it comes closer and closer. You know it’s there the whole time. You look around, and there is no where to hide. You can only run until you can’t run anymore.

[b1rdonawire]

college is like. i am the stupidest person in the world. i am a god. i am universally loved. these people only tolerate me because they live with me. everyone in this library desires me carnally. i am repulsive. i am myself. i am as far from myself as i have ever been. i am an adult and i have never left the womb.