#wtiter

[dumblr]

“Why are you so insecure with my love for you?” 

“Because I've never had anyone love me the way you do, or care for me the way you do. I'm afraid that this might be a dream and that your love is too good to be true.” 

[scotianostra]

December 13th 1585 saw the birth of William Drummond of Hawthornden, the noted Scottish poet.

Drummond received his early education at the Royal High School of Edinburgh, and graduated in July 1605 as M.A. of the recently founded University of Edinburgh. His father was a gentleman usher at the English court (as he had been at the Scottish court from 1590) and William, in a visit to London in 1606, describes the festivities in connection with the visit of the King of Denmark, who must have been visiting his sister Queen Anne, as featured in yesterdays post.

Drummond spent two years at Bourges and Paris in the study of law; and, in 1609, he was again in Scotland, where, by the death of his father in the following year saw his accession to the lairdship of Hawthornden Castle at the age of twenty-four allowed William Drummond to give up the study of law and devote himself to the collection and study of literature and the writing of poetry. He published several books of poetry in his lifetime, and maintained friendships with literary figures of the day, including Ben Jonson. 500 volumes from his substantial collection were gifted to the University of Edinburgh.

Visitors to the the Drummond home, at Hawthornden castle included the English play-wright Ben Jonson and Dr. Samuel Johnson and James Boswell . There is a tradition that King Robert the Bruce and Sir Alexander Ramsay of Dalhousie once found shelter in the caves underneath it. Another cave nearby is known as Wallace's Cave, after William Wallace.

The castle remained home to the Drummond family until 1970 and is now owned by philanthropist Drue Heinz, publisher of the Paris Review and widow of H.J. Heinz, former Chairman of the American "57-varieties" food company. Part of the castle forms private quarters for writers, patronised by the likes of Alastair Gray and Ian Rankin, writers can stay there free of charge as a retreat.

William Drummond is remember in a sculptured head on The Scott Monument. The castle is in a secluded spot on the outskirts at Bonnyrigg and not too far away from the more well known Roslin Castle and it's more famous chapel

[yourdailyqueer]

Ádám Nádasdy

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Gay

DOB: 15 February 1947

Ethnicity: White - Hungarian

Occupation: Linguist, poet, writer, professor, translator

[pjg2950]

Spinning Top

I am a spinning top.

Rough edges spinning so fast as to look

Smooth to the untrained eye .

Turning toward family duty.

Listening to reason why I shouldn’t do this.

Your too old ,unfit

Why don’t you just say fat , ugly:

I know your ashamed of this huge loss map of flesh.

The food doesn’t judge me.

It comforts me

Suffocate my screams of protest.

 Listens as it slides down into

my yawning soul of black and blue.

Fear of what will happen if I whittle down.

They will come back to hunt me down

To abuse me with searching hands :

Smiles drop like moldy jelly beans with their lies.

Inside this custome made of flesh,

I am safe,

Judged by family and myself.

[chaosandwonders]

“If you want a relationship that will last then seek out someone who can have a mature conversation with you when there is an issue, instead of seeking out other people when they’re frustrated.”

-Chaosandwonders

[vlepestok-n]

Love is about feeling like a flower, blossoming every morning and reaching for the rays of sun

[azasalamandra]

El Gato Negro

Las calles de aquel lugar, a aquellas horas de la madrugada, solían ser oscuras y húmedas, y como toda ciudad grande, tenía callejones innombrables que era mejor evitar.

Sin embargo, el gato deambulaba con tranquilidad trotando por aquellos lugares. Tenía un andar elegante, aunque extraño para un felino. Su pelaje, de un negro brillante, había pasado por mejores momentos, y lucía más bien poco bajo las amarillentas luces de las farolas.

Cuando giró la esquina saltó un pequeño muro con gran facilidad, y se dejó caer al otro lado. Aquella calle sin salida era extremadamente pequeña, sucia y maloliente. La humedad que se concentraba en los adoquines de las paredes formaba grandes surcos de moho verdoso y grisáceo y las luces de las farolas, por lo general útiles en aquellos callejones de mala muerte, parecían olvidadas en aquel lugar. Tan sólo dos de ellas sobrevivían en aquella dejadez permanente, iluminando como buenamente podían el pequeño espacio que habitaban.

Pero había algo más. Una sensación que pesaba en los hombros y se introducía en todo ser vivo debido al hedor insufrible del azufre y la muerte. El oscuro felino se aproximó al epicentro de aquel horroroso olor: un antiguo pozo abandonado que,quién sabe, quizás proporcionó agua para alguna de las casas más viejas de aquel lugar. Muchas de esas viviendas, antaño pertenecientes a familias de poder que gozaban de grandes hogares con lujosos jardines, habían sido derruidas para construir nuevas fincas donde vivían aglomeradas muchas personas. Y algunas de las antiguas bellezas que poseían aquellos jardines, quedaban abandonadas por las nuevas plazas como un viejo recuerdo de un tiempo donde fueron algo más que un trasto inútil.

Pero aquel pozo era diferente, pues contaba su propia historia. 

Como si la presencia del animal hubiese iniciado un ritual, del pozo comenzó a emanar una sustancia oscura y vaporosa, que se alzaba hacia el cielo formando surcos y dibujos en el aire. Alguien comenzó a llorar en la noche, y tras ese lastimoso quejido se unió un segundo, y después, un tercero. 

No fue mucho después cuando del pozo comenzó a salir una procesión de almas agonizantes.

El gato negro estiró sus patas delanteras en una graciosa postura y se sentó a esperar. Él sabía mejor que nadie las aberraciones que venían al mundo desde ese lugar. El pozo de los condenados parecía la boca de un monstruo, escupiendo almas desechas y lamentos ahogados. Pero el gato no conocía mejor sitio para cobijarse del frío, y huir de las palizas e insultos que recibía por ser lo que era. A la larga, vivir entre muertos le llenaba de gozo más que hacerlo con los vivos... 

Y teniendo en cuenta su columna vertebral partida desde aquel accidente de coche, era muy probable que aquel asqueroso lugar fuera su nuevo hogar…

Ahora, todas las almas giraban alrededor del pozo en una macabra danza, mientras algunas se desgarraban la cara con las uñas, otras se tiraban del cabello y las que menos se dejaban caer al suelo para arrastrarse por la calle como serpientes.

Pero tras ellas,envuelta en un haz de luz, un cuerpo esbelto oculto en un sedoso vestido salió del pozo con delicadeza. Sus finos pies descalzos tocaron el suelo, y aquella silueta quedó sentada en el pozo con una sonrisa angelical en su rostro.

El gato se alzó de sus patas traseras para aproximarse más a ella y frotarse en su brazo, mientras de su garganta nacía aquel ronroneo ronco que aún le quedaba tras su muerte. Una mano gentil acarició detrás de sus orejas y su cuello, haciendo que el gato se estremeciera de puro placer.

Jamás en toda su vida como criatura viva había recibido tanto cariño de un ser humano.

-Mi pequeño Bambino, hoy has venido a visitarme.- era tanta la suavidad de su voz, que algunas almas dejaron de lamentarse para parar a escuchar las palabras de aquella criatura tan diferente a ellas. Ella apartó su cabello rubio del rostro, y uno ojos del color del fuego se perdieron en las oscuras cuencas del gato.- Debes tener tanta hambre…-

El maullido del gato negro, pese a ser de un animal muerto, sonaba delicado, como el maullar de un gatito pequeño cuando espera ser alimentado. Las almas comenzaron a impacientarse, danzando a mayor velocidad alrededor del pozo.

La hermosa criatura alzó la vista al cielo, buscando una luna parcialmente cubierta por la altura de los monstruosos edificios que parecían querer tragarse el cielo.

En todas aquellas feas casas vivía tanto alimento…

Ella sonrió, mientras alzaba el pequeño cuerpo del gato y lo acunaba entre sus blanquecinos pechos. Abrió la boca, y tras aquella hilera de perfectos dientes salió  un hedor a putrefacción. Pero poco le importaba ya al gato. Él se acurrucó en su regazo, acarició con su morro la barbilla de la joven y se dejó llevar por la ternura de aquel monstruo disfrazado de virtud.

Ella sonrió complacida mientras se colaba en la primera casa. Esa noche había Luna de Sangre.

Y era la hora de alimentar a su gato.

[starbuckscallsmemonica]

If I could be anywhere, for just a moment

"It's cold." I shivered as I managed to mumble the words out. With little to no idea of what world I was in.

I was surrounded by tiny, floating bubbles of mist, illuminating the trees and path covered by a soft white blanket. Each step I took felt like quick sand sinking beneath my feet and yet I felt nothing short of tranquil.

I walked as far as my feet would take me.

"Let me sit." I came to a stop near an albino tree and dusted some snow off of the leaves. It appeared as if the leaves were a sign of some sort. I tugged at the stem of a leaf and was shocked to find how hard I needed to pull in order for it to stay in one piece.

I twisted the light feather and in one gentle tearing motion, got it out.

I immediately felt calm and sleepy.

"Maybe I'll take a short break. Who knows how much further I need to walk."

Little did I know how big this place was.

I sat by the end of the tree, resting my back and head on its thin, ghostly trunk.

I felt myself giving in to sleep and thought that nodding off for a short while won't hurt anyone - not that there was anything here.

-

I heard footsteps and an invigoratingly loud clashing of voices.

A light blinded me as I began waking up.

"Oh dear, are you alright?" I heard someone ask.

Was that for me?

I no longer felt the cold blanket enveloped around my body or the albino tree's fragility against my back.

Where was I?

"Quick, sit her up." I heard another voice.

As I opened my eyes I saw a grey figure. No eyes, no ears, no clothes.

As I was being propped up and lifted, I felt my body go stiff. Starting from my legs, I couldn't feel my feet and tried my best to bend them.

To no avail, I felt the rigidity reach my waist and in no time my neck.

"We've got five minutes. Quickly put these on them." I looked around to find the owner of this voice.

Weirdly enough, they were lifting me like nothing. A piece of plastic at best.

It was a woman. Long, brown hair. Dark emeralds for eyes.

"Do I have eyes?" I thought.

"On the box to the right." The woman exclaimed.

I looked to the right. She was going to impale me on a metal rod.

Just as I was about to scream, my face went stiff and I couldn't move my mouth. Lucky for me, I couldn't feel anything below my eyes.

To my right I saw the same silhouette as before. Nothing like the woman carrying me.

No, this person was not moving.

I noticed that the figure was missing their left hand.

"Oh, here it is! It must have fallen on the ground from the other one."

The woman reached down on my right side and picked up a plastic hand. She pushed it into the figure's wrist.

"There. Now for clothes! Only two more minutes to opening."

My eyes moved to face the front. There was glass. A long pane of a window.

I could feel the bottom of my eyes going dry and the movement of my pupils limited.

In front of me, a similar windowed exhibit existed. On top, it read, "Myer". A line of bodies, just like the one next to me, were dressed in long floral gowns and shiny jewellery.

I saw a second of darkness as the woman put something on me. It was a red dress. How beautiful. If only I could twirl in it.

"Did you check the mannequins?" I heard the woman say.

"Yep. Okay. We're good to go." The other voice ringed in my ears before I could no longer feel any part of my body.