the Earth laughs in flowers

🌾mehak•CA•25🌾

[cineemaa]

moonstruck (1987) directed by norman jewison

"Loretta, I love you. Not like they told you love is, and I didn't know this either, but love don't make things nice - it ruins everything. It breaks your heart. It makes things a mess. We aren't here to make things perfect. The snowflakes are perfect. The stars are perfect. Not us. Not us! We are here to ruin ourselves and to break our hearts and love the wrong people and die. The storybooks are bullshit."

[hav-frue]

[boltlightning]

oh my god. og my god. the symbolism of it all

[farewell-to-lorien]

Illustrations for Yasunari Kawabata's The Sound of Waves | Shiosai | 潮騒, by Lâm Tùng Nguyễn.

[simena]

Eva Roemer

[eroticaremix1]

Loving One Direction in 2013 is the most fun I ever had on the Internet, nothing will ever compare

[pop-punklouis]

i know this has been said in various ways by many people, but this genuinely needs to be a wake up call for how dehumanizing and objectifying fame is and can be. a dark rabbit hole that can swallow someone up without any empathy, and the malevolent presence just laughs as it watches one try to dig themselves out with any means necessary before kicking them as they fall back down, time and time again.

the industry is a broken system. that isn't news, but how much blood has to stain the hands of those who were meant to protect young stars, to mentor young stars, to uplift and encourage young stars before something is actually done. tears can be wept. posts can be made. guilt can be had. but when will enough be enough? when will there be real investigations? when will there be an entire uprooting of the foundation that has steadied this toxic, abusive industry for decades? when will this be taken seriously enough?

no one should become hollow shells of their former selves, constantly seeking validation and peace at the bottom of bottles or through capsules of pills or scattered in the powder of substances. no one should be running an endless race to find who they once were. no one should become an adult who does horrible things who once was a kid who had an innocent heart and dreams. no one should grow up in an environment designed for them to fail underneath those with power and guiding lights who do not protect them when that was their number one job.

every young star who dies at the hands of the spotlight dies first by the irresponsibility and crude nature of those who were meant to safeguard them and keep them from harm's way. and that should infuriate you. because it constantly infuriates me.

[littlereddoghouse]

[drapedinink]

[lustingupon]

@_seasonsbystories

[195195119511951-deactivated2021]

In the first poetry workshop I ever took my professor said we could write about anything we wanted except for two things: our grandparents and our dogs. She said she had never read a good poem about a dog. I could only remember ever reading one poem about a dog before that point—a poem by Pablo Neruda, from which I only remembered the lines “We walked together on the shores of the sea/ In the lonely winter of Isla Negra.” Four years later I wrote a poem about how when I was a little girl I secretly baptized my dog in the bathtub because I was afraid she wouldn’t get into heaven. “Is this a good poem?” I wondered. The second poetry workshop, our professor made us put a bird in each one of our poems. I thought this was unbelievably stupid. This professor also hated when we wrote about hearts, she said no poet had ever written a good poem in which they mentioned a heart. I started collecting poems about hearts, first to spite her, but then because it became a habit I couldn’t break. The workshop after that, our professor would tell us the same story over and over about how his son had died during a blizzard. He would cry in front of us. He never told us we couldn’t write about anything, but I wrote a lot of poems about snow. At the end of the year he called me into his office and said, “looking at you, one wouldn’t think you’d be a very good writer” and I could feel all the pity inside of me curdling like milk. The fourth poetry workshop I ever took my professor made it clear that poets should not try to engage with popular culture. I noticed that the only poets he assigned were men. I wrote a poem about that scene in Grease 2 where a boy takes his girlfriend to a fallout shelter and tries to get her to have sex with him by tricking her into believing that nuclear war had begun. It was the first poem I ever published. The fifth poetry workshop I ever took our professor railed against the word blood. She thought that no poem should ever have the word “blood” in it, they were bloody enough already. She returned a draft of my poem with the word blood crossed out so hard the paper had torn. When I started teaching poetry workshops I promised myself I would never give my students any rules about what could or couldn’t be in their poems. They all wrote about basketball. I used to tally these poems when I’d go through the stack I had collected at the end of each class. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 poems about basketball. This was Indiana. Eventually I couldn’t take it anymore. I told the class, “for the next assignment no one can write about basketball, please for the love of god choose another topic. Challenge yourselves.” Next time I collected their poems there was one student who had turned in another poem about basketball. I don’t know if he had been absent on the day I told them to choose another topic or if he had just done it to spite me. It’s the only student poem I can still really remember. At the time I wrote down the last lines of that poem in a notebook. “He threw the basketball and it came towards me like the sun”

[parkchanwoohoo]

i took an edible in the hopes that it would make me more lighthearted and have more fun watching this trashy reality tv show with my friend, but i think it just unlocked a hitherto inaccessible level of rage previously only experienced by pictish warriors

[foulserpent]

oh my god

[ibetteracethatinterview]

[evilgirls]

i’ve literally never been more obsessed with a tiktok comment

[theorangepdf]

visiting your grandparents when you’re not a kid anymore is like. this place was magical to me as a seven year old. it looks like a normal house now. i can remember thinking there was something hidden in the garden. there’s a feeling buried here i may never be able to reach again.

[thursdaygirl002]

interiors i like

[pathologising]

1 table spoon vanilla abstract