Feb 11
gonna spend valentines day failing limbus bossfights because i am alone as of a certain pass on
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seen from T1
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seen from T1
seen from China
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gonna spend valentines day failing limbus bossfights because i am alone as of a certain pass on
.
BLUE STEEL MJF✨️
What's at Your OC's core?
WARPED METAL. it's not working out the way you want it to. no matter how hard you try to look scary, the very picture of karmic retribution, your efforts will inevitably fall short. you're out of place here, a broken doll and a used marionette. there's nothing to gain in pretending you can't be hurt like anyone else. there's nothing to gain in pretending you aren't human, that you're made of twisted steel and distorted memories. embrace your humanity. embrace your vulnerability. give in to trust.
Tagged by: @straysupe Tagging: @prayerlearned. @catalinacisneros. @muutos. @avemaria. @arcadeian - whoever else!
I am the terror that flaps in the night… I am the scourge that stains your inbox…
...The terror that flaps desperately, wings flailing as it attempts to gain purchase on air.
You root for it, almost. The effort, the passion in its strained movements. Nature fighting nature--it's own will against the earth's all encompassing magnetism. It's relatable to some of us. The idea of pushing against an unswaying force. Knowing that your own capability is laughable when coming to the things you fight.
And yet.
It will fall eventually. All things do.
A wing's hope hardly amounts to gravity's power.
And terror? That hardly has a chance to float.
aha, okay, it's... getting dark. I have no idea where base is, I... think I've gotten turned around. Maybe it's time to call for help...
...
...I cant get a message through.
Sexuality implies death, not only in the sense in which the new prolongs and replaces that which has disappeared, but also in that the life of the being who reproduces himself is at stake. To reproduce oneself is to disappear, and even the most basic asexualised being is rarefied by reproduction. Those who reproduce themselves do not die if, by death, we understand the passage from life to decomposition, but he who was, by reproducing himself, ceases to be what he was – because he doubles himself. Individual death is but one aspect of the proliferative excess of being.
Georges Bataille, “Emily Brontë”, in Literature and Evil, trans. by Alastair Hamilton
