آخر بنات البدو @thelastbedouin - Tumblr Blog

goodreadss

500 Years of Female Portraits in Western Art, movie

Why no one ever send me a questions!

Am i that uninteresting!!

Do Not Heart this post . <\3

#unhearted

imjacksparrowtheoneandonly-blog

stark-and-lightman

sagababy

The Lady of Shalott by John William Waterhouse

xx

I love this fervent tête-à-tête in regards to my tags “gyspy woman!” (Despite the pretentious assumption that the term “gyspy” should strictly refer to Romani culture.) In truth, the term gyspy, (in addition to meaning “a member of traveling people with dark skin who speak Romany) is also synonymous for wanderer, and nomad— also: somone who lives life unconventionally. That is not to mention Waterhouse’s depiction clearly emulates the Lady in clothes reminiscent to stereotypical gypsy attire and aesthetic (bell sleeves, long unruly hair, exotic rugs)— I am not sure that it is too far-fetched to claim this picture has resemblance to the woman of gypsyish persuasion! Indeed, The Lady of Shallot was not of Romani decent, but certainly her attire, cursed nature, and wanderlust desires emulate the fanciful notion of “gypsy women.” As Tennyson would have it,

She knows not what the curse may be/

And so she weaveth steadily/

And little other care hath she/

The Lady of Shalott.

And Yes my friend, I have read the poem. I believe it’s required when receiving your Masters in English.

writers be like

reader: omg I'm so curious what happens next chapter!!

writer: me too haha!!

punlovsin

People who live by the sea, understand eternity.

Erica Jong, People Who Live (via the-wolf-and-the-mockingbird)

gayb-istan

wordsnquotes

Poetry comes from the highest happiness or the deepest sorrow.

A. P. J. Abdul Kalam (via wordsnquotes)

retrogressives

The last thing I expected loving you to feel like was waging a war. Yes, there were landmines spread around us but your arms like were bomb shelters and I couldn’t help feeling safe. Everything was fine until it wasn’t. When the first bullet tore from your machine gun mouth, I finally knew what heartbreak sounded like. I finally knew what it was like to be thrown into a fight that you’re not prepared for. And it is something you don’t understand. You don’t understand how it feels to wake up to catastrophe. To wake up to see all you’ve known go up in flames and the person you called home turn into an army. I wonder if my voice sounds less like a song and more like a warning siren. Maybe that’s why you felt right in starting this war. See, you kissed me and I grew afraid of victory. You kissed me and you swallowed my surrenders. You kissed me and our tongues were like battlefields. All loss and loss and loss. My heart was a hand grenade and you started loving the sound a pin makes when it drops. Don’t you dare ask why I’m choking up explosions.

quitethefallacy , Battlefield Tongues (via quitethefallacy)