hell is empty

caitlin • 17 • dark academia • intj • tennessee williams>

[weeping-wild]

i lied, put your clothes back on. let's talk about the trivialisation of female rage and therefore the continued ignorance of privileged people to the struggles of women in the modern governmental, judiciary, you name it, systems. 'feminine rage has been explained as an ancestral and inherited response to the struggles, oppressions, and wrongdoings that women have been subjected to'. female rage is the expression of pure anger of women in situations and roles that they have been put in and stuck in by society which is experienced uniquely *by women* because of these systematic societal roles that they have been placed in. maybe it's not that deep, but maybe it is; yes, i get your lipstick container not connecting quite properly is annoying, but the systematic oppression of women is still happening. it can't be ignored. look at saudi arabia, afghanistan, the united states of america. the gender pay gap, pink tax, abortion rights, medical misogyny. female rage is important. it's what makes the world listen. don't let society trivialise it and make it seem like womens' only issues are minor inconveniences to do with makeup and shopping.

[weeping-wild]

The last few straggling days of summer before I really get into my autumn mood. Been writing a lot of essays and really starting to lock in on my schoolwork again now.

[weeping-wild]

Trying to continue in my academic pursuits as Chappel Roan plays in the background..

[weeping-wild]

The art in my week..

Craning my neck, I'm looking up

I'm grieving all that I gave up

Eyes focused on a pin of light

Arcturus beaming on a summer night

— Arcturus Beaming, The Crane Wives

Royal Albert Hall for Swan Lake 22/06!

[weeping-wild]

“Marrow made a wife of Eve

No one gave up a rib for me and mine

My heart did expose to the elements

Calloused and untouched by a man's design”

(source - Pinterest)

“Brick and mortar between my bones

Built a kingdom fierce and fortified

My name fading from the yellow page

Stones are laid upon the mountainside”

(source - Pinterest)

“Time has changed the metaphor

Now dust is not the origin of bone

Little girl, don't let them sell you any armor

All your ribs are still your own.

Oh, my precious child

How lucky you are

(how lucky you are)

Handed down a shield for your tender parts”

— Ribs, the Crane Wives (Foxlore)

[psilocervidae]

Crane Wives songs will be like *folk guitar intro* ooowoahhhhhhhh ooowaoahhhhh. I am a wolf in the river. I am worried that I'm too volatile to ever be in a stable relationship. *guitar interlude with some percussion now* ooowoahhhhhhhh ooowaoahhhhh. There is ash in my hair. I am so tired all the time. I think I'm a bad person.

[weeping-wild]

— Bust of Mary Wollstonecraft, Trinity College, Dublin

''Taught from their infancy that beauty is woman's sceptre, the mind shapes itself to the body, and roaming round its gilt cage, only seeks to adorn its prison.'' — Mary Wollstonecraft, A Vindication of the Rights of Women

[weeping-wild]

Perfume: The Story of a Murderer (das Parfum: die Geschichte eines Mörders) - Patrick Süßkind

''Odours have a power of persuasion stronger than that of words, appearances, emotions, or will. The persuasive power of an odour cannot be fended off, it enters into us like breath into our lungs, it fills us up, imbues us totally. There is no remedy for it.''

''For people could close their eyes to greatness, to horrors, to beauty, and their ears to melodies or deceiving words. But they couldn't escape scent. For scent was a brother of breath. Together with breath it entered human beings, who couldn't defend themselves against it, not if they wanted to live. And scent entered into their very core, went directly to their hearts, and decided for good and all between affection and contempt, disgust and lust, love and hate. He who ruled scent ruled the hearts of men. ''

[understands]

[simena]

HENRI PRIVAT-LIVEMONT

[dallaswinstons]

@storyseekers event 17: art in books — the picture of dorian gray (insp)

every portrait that is painted with feeling is a portrait of the artist, not of the sitter. the sitter is merely the accident, the occasion. it is not he who is revealed by the painter; it is rather the painter who, on the coloured canvas, reveals himself.

[weeping-wild]

When Terry Pratchett wrote this:

"I am intrigued, Geoffrey," she said. "Why do you want to be a witch, instead of a wizard, which is something traditionally thought of as a man's job?"

"I've never thought of myself as a man, Mistress Tiffany. I don't think I'm anything. I'm just me," he said quietly.

[weeping-wild]

October is the crescendo of the year - the building drama and intrigue, the flurry of life and warmth and cool autumn storms that we all thirst for behind closed doors. October is the comfort of a mug of hot chocolate, the wonder and awe of storms and nature as nature prepares to die. October is my favourite month, for a lot of reasons.

These are only some.

[weeping-wild]

How's it feel?

How's it feel to be so loved yet so alone?

- Sex Sells // Lovejoy

[weeping-wild]

There's September Midnight Rain now. It's calmer than it was earlier, when thunder growled and cracked, and more tranquil than yesterday, when a proud storm raged until 3am, lighting up the dark sky beautifully.

It's nights like these that I sleep with my windows and curtains open, when I open myself to nature's reassurances.

Earlier, there was that End-Of-Summer rain. 22° outside, and raining. It was the most pleasant experience I've had in a while

[firstfullmoon]

Virginia Woolf, A Writer’s Diary, August 18th 1921

[text ID: And so this August is wasted.]

[weeping-wild]

when I say dark academia is my aesthetic, i mean that my heart aches for wild, dark, autumn forests. i mean that i yearn for german biscuits and hot chocolate by a fire place while i get lost in the impossibility of writing whose authors had a mind that understood emotion in the way fee can. i mean that i crave books and lyrics and writings that resonate with me, that reach parts of me no-one's ever seen. i mean that i love the idea of talking about your emotions and explaining them to such a raw extent that the contents of your heart and mind are left in the ink and paper, so that other people can bleed with you too, any time, or any place. i mean that i treasure history, that words hold insurmountable meaning to me. i mean that the romantic poets and writers and painters and musicians captured the essence of my heart and mind centuries before they existed. i mean that i want to learn to be as wise as them, that my heart and mind crave and ache and yearn to write something that achieves such monumental meaning to even those who aren't looking for it. i mean that i want to lose myself in the reality of our world, in the complexity of humanity. i mean that i want to look at the world face to face and show people the meaning and the incredibility that they walk past every day.