“en gallop” @vespertiene - Tumblr Blog

john seraf, he/him, twenty-five listography letterboxd 📻 fragrantica 🐇 ‎

this is mostly a sideblog to @serafinomostro as well as a place to share bits of uncategorized writing/general musing both in & out of character. if you’ve found yourself here, mutuals are of course welcome to follow and interact ⁠♡

angelhive

Simone Weil, ‘Contradiction’, in Gravity and Grace (1947).

mementomauri

I do have a fondness for how gothic and erotic lit had a certain barrier to entry. Like I do love more ppl getting into the vampire chronicles and I'll always be happy to have more Loustat fans but those books are weird and melancholic and erotic and philosophical and constantly testing boundaries and asking questions. And it feels like ppl are expecting or wanting "the vampire diaries but gay". The books have uncomfortable moments and the characters will do and say and believe things that make you double take but so much of the books are just "how moral can I be when nothing matters and I'm immortal?"

This isn't just a tale of gay vampires. It's a haunting philosophical treatise about life, mortality, morality, death, depression, incest, rape, love, regret, and the Pain Of Time. It can be fun and it can be gross and it can be wonderful but it's not for the timid.

#a billion times this

timetowar

The Disasters of War No. 72/80: The Consequences, Francisco de Goya, ca. 1815.

gouged-doll

i live in a glass house. i don’t throw stones. or maybe i do. i live in a glass house. i do not dare change clothes, or touch myself, or speak my secrets, lest the act of living become pornography. or maybe i do. i live in a glass house. it has no doors to let others in, no corners to hide, no shadows to sleep in, no sun—only light. the view is beautiful. i live in a glass house. i cannot leave. i live in a glass house. the view is beautiful. i feel terror in the night, when i cannot see out, but i know they look in. when they look in, we trade places. i see myself. they look. i become the view. i feel myself. applause. i feel not myself. applause. the view is lucrative. this is not my house. i live in a glass city. i live in a glass house. i lie in a glass coffin. death is no longer a subject. it is an object—an abjection, a point in time, past now. childhood reaches out, tracing memories with glass fingers, this is not my house, days move like particles, pixelated, weightless and heavy. i hear and see everything. i hear and see and nothing. only light. light— which radiates but does not illuminate. light which circulates. light which casts no shadow. no time for shadows. no time for culture. time is death. culture becomes its subject… [cont.]

#forever fave

pankadoll

I'm back with the boys 🙌 Missed the paper

#wow 🥹#fave

theoptia

Jean Genet, from Fragments of the Artwork

theoptia

Anne Carson, from Plainwater: Essays and Poetry

Text ID: Two hundred and ten million years of desire wash through me. Blood-eater.

#armand <3 always

pinkblanc

Hans Holzer, America's Haunted Houses, 1991

majestativa

It should be recalled that for Bataille, a specter or ghost is not the equivalent of the fully decomposed corpse, but is conceived in the register of decay. In other words, the specter is the uncanny embodiment of fleshly corruption, [...] an irrepressible memento mori. And if Weil is Bataille’s spectral friend, it is only as she returns, like a daimonic intercessor, as the reality of bodily decay and death, and thus the nullification of illusion.

Decay and death are indeed central to Weil’s concept of incarnation, a concept that paradoxically is no less spectral in nature than Bataille’s fantasy of Lazare. Weil promotes what might be called a practice of incarnation, a practice that has as its goal the eradication of illusion. Illusion, according to Weil, is a kind of error in perception; it is the mistaking of what is merely imagined for reality itself. The ‘‘test of what is real,’’ on the other hand, is that ‘‘it is hard and rough’’—that it is painful, in body and soul. ‘‘What is pleasant,’’ says Weil, ‘‘belongs to dreams.’’ To overcome the evasions of dream and illusion, Weil says that ‘‘we must become incarnate. . . . Man has to perform an act of incarnation, for he is disembodied by his imagination.’’

JEREMY BILES — Ecce Monstrum: Georges Bataille and the Sacrifice of Form, (2007)

“standing on the seaweed water / semen stains the mountaintops” was and is insane

#il mio dolce figlio di la serenissima <3