I like medieval history and modernist literature
what to wear when…margaret of anjou.
what, were you snarling all before i came,
ready to catch each other by the throat,
and turn you all your hatred now on me?
…can curses pierce the clouds and enter heaven?
why, then, give way, dull clouds, to my quick curses!
Ari, plump lips ever plumper from a busy night
hair mussed after his hands,
at the sight of the empty half of the motel bed.
Her wallet, 18-karat bracelet and pride
are missing from the nightstand.
She, with her Southern hospitality,
fell for the sting.
But it’s her heart that swells.
Nessa is haunted by her little girl’s laugh,
echoing round her too-big house,
at odds with the shrieks
of her last burning moments.
When her husband comes home from deployment,
she takes one look at the hands
that did not open the smoking doorway in time,
The red homecoming carpet, well,
his arteries provide that.
Penny buries herself in yarn,
pokes holes in her hope with her needles,
tries not to think about how many Bobs and Jacks and Jerrys
will be at the bereavement group.
Penny always brings her knitting.
The widowers always lie.
She always thinks he’ll come back.
you know why the story’s always the same? because it only went down the one way.
GET TO KNOW ME MEME: [5/15] movies » Les Misérables
By the witness of the martyrs, by the Passion and the Blood, God has raised you out of darkness.
LOWERCASE LETTERS ARE FOR THE LOWER CLASS
and here we have a capitalist
Did you just.
let us all take a moment to appreciate that all of human history and human language and the universe itself aligned to make this joke possible
this is the most adorable thing i have ever seen kms
➥ Greek Mythology❝ Cassandra was the daughter of King Priam and Queen Hecuba of Troy. Her beauty caused Apollo to grant her the gift of prophecy. In an alternative version, she spent a night at Apollo’s temple, at which time the temple snakes licked her ears clean so that she was able to hear the future. When Cassandra refused Apollo’s attempted seduction, he placed a curse on her so that her predictions and those of all her descendants would not be believed. While Cassandra foresaw the destruction of Troy (she warned the Trojans about the Trojan Horse, the death of Agamemnon, and her own demise), she was unable to do anything to forestall these tragedies since no one believed her. At the fall of Troy, she sought shelter in the temple of Athena, where she was violently abducted and raped by Ajax the Lesser. Cassandra was then taken as a concubine by King Agamemnon of Mycenae. Unbeknownst to Agamemnon, while he was away at war, his wife, Clytemnestra, had begun an affair with Aegisthus. Clytemnestra and Aegisthus then murdered both Agamemnon and Cassandra. Some sources mention that Cassandra and Agamemnon had twin boys, Teledamus and Pelops, both of whom were killed by Aegisthus. She is a figure both of the epic tradition and of tragedy. ❞
Didn’t you know that the stars love and hate, that a nova is a passion, and that a dead star is just like a dead human or a dead machine? The trees have their lusts, and I have heard the drunken laughter of buildings, the urgent demands of highways…
The Greeks Believed in Apricots as the Cure for Unrequited Love
If I can’t have the boy, at least I can have his clothes.
They leave their sweaters, their jackets, their blue jeans draped
over my bed like petals, filling the bathtub, rising to the surface
of the water like buoys. My therapist once pontificated
that loving someone who is already with another
is misplaced energy. She placed an apricot in my hand
and made me roll it between my palms,
its soft downy skin like velvet across my fingers.
The Ancient Greeks believed that apricot pits
were all the words a dead person meant to say but didn’t,
hardened into a dense stone
hidden deep within that pale orange flesh.
Today, though, desire renders me speechless.
There’s nothing more to say that hasn’t already been said.
When they leave, the boys never exit the normal way:
they have to jump out the window, slide down the roof,
pick the lock on the back door with an extra
bobby pin. Love makes people do strange things.
And the day I held that apricot, I learned
that there’s no room for small talk.
If you love someone, let them know.
Even ghosts have things they wish they’d said.
isn’t it funny that we think we’re going to live through it all
the golden times, the end of times, the beginning of something new
the world doesn’t exist to shape itself around your life cycle
we’re all just passing through
spring, summer, autumn, winter,
the apocalypse has been coming since no one remembers when
the horsemen have ground us down, and down, and down under their hooves
and yet we still have war, pestilence, famine, and death
"my world has ended" we say
forgetting the indifference of the oceans, of earth, fire, and wind
and that these things belong to no one.
REFASHION: a compilation of ladies singing songs originally sung by men. + [ LISTEN ]
i. high for this - ellie goulding (the weeknd) // ii. bohemian rhapsody - p!nk (queen) // iii. sail - macy gray (awolnation) // iv. little lion man - tonight alive (mumford & sons) // v. get lucky - daughter (daft punk) // vi. don’t you worry child - within temptation (swedish house mafia) // vii. wicked games - cœur de pirate (the weeknd) // viii. take care - florence + the machine (drake ft. rihanna) // ix. somebody that i used to know - ingrid michaelson (gotye) // x. there is a light that never goes out - sara lov (the smiths) // xi. smile - janelle monáe (nat king cole) // xii. bizarre love triangle - frente! (new order) // xiii. how soon is now - t.a.t.u. (the smiths) // xiv. it takes a muscle - mia (spectral display) // xv. oh! darling - florence and the machine (the beatles) // xvi. everybody wants to rule the world - lorde (tears for fears) // xvii. take on me - anni b. sweet (a-ha) // xviii. we will rock you - beyoncé, britney spears & p!nk (queen) // xix. i bet you look good on the dancefloor - baby charles (arctic monkeys) // xx. real love - regina spektor (john lennon) // xxi. your song - ellie goulding (elton john) // xxii. starstrukk - marina and the diamonds (3oh!3) // xxiii. lover of the light - rita ora (mumford & sons) // xxiv. you just haven’t earned it yet baby - kirsty maccoll (the smiths) // xxv. young volcanoes - tiffany alvord (fall out boy) // xxvi. don’t think twice, it’s all right - ke$sha (bob dylan) // xxvii. underdog - kelly rowland (kasabian) // xxviii. no surprises - regina spektor (radiohead) // xxix. paranoia android - sia (radiohead) // xxx. what do you want from me? - p!nk (adam lambert) // xxxi. let her go - within temptation (passenger) // xxxii. i want you back - janella monáe (jackson 5) // xxxiii. we are young - little mix (fun.) // xxxiv. rebel rebel - tegan & sara (david bowie) // xxxv. mirrors - ellie goulding (justin timberlake) // xxxvi. the district sleeps alone - birdy (the postal service)
what to wear when…at a witch-teens sleepover. the architects of the salem witch trials were girls, just young girls - girls who fed on the attention finally awarded them, girls who got to prance naked in the woods and shout and sin without punishment, girls who held for the first time in their lives intoxicating power. they saw themselves in their witchy sisters so they had to kill them. teenage girls and witches are the same, you see. they are dismissed, forbidden, and feared. the taint of association with teenage girls and witches is men’s bogeyman. “don’t curse me! i can’t have a donkey’s tail!” “don’t like what i like! what a humiliation it would be for the taste of teenage girls to match my own!” take-charge ladies are the monsters in men’s closets. their shoeracks are rattling, the doors creak ajar, oh god, they’re coming, they’re here. lacking animal blood, they draw their pentagrams with hot pink lipstick. in their excitement, they press too hard and it squishes to a melty nub. they try to dig out the wax wedged in the wood grain. despite their long, neon nails, they fail but grow to love the secret graffiti left behind. little brothers don’t look down. parents know better than to invade the sacred space of the basement. no one else will ever bother to see it. this will be theirs alone to know about, theirs to share, their hush-hush territorial-staking undertaken with mashed-up make-up. it’s a sacrifice. and no one knows how to sacrifice better than witches and teenage girls. their lips won’t grin red tonight. they won’t wake up with each other’s colored kiss-prints smeared on skin. they surrender their girlhood (only a sliver of it but still) in the name of witchhood. without witchery, they would still never stop sacrificing - wearing their hair this way for that boy; keeping cold and emotionless as they’re shooed them away from job fair booths; sitting on their hands in class because they already answered four questions and no one likes loud, smart girls. girls and witches are ordered to give up their bodies, their goals, their names (hey, honey, sweetheart, bitch). at least, with witchcraft, they’re getting something back. their requests are granted when they sacrifice for spells, unlike when they sacrifice as girls. all charms need strands of their hair or promises to repay the universe’s favor at a later date. soon-to-be-exorcised spirits move rent-free into their brains. they rummage in the kitchen junk drawer for sewing kits to prick themselves with pins. they pinch their fingers and squeeze dollops of blood onto objects in hex bags to solidify their wishes. a swap’s a swap and nothing comes for free so they offer up remnants of their old, girl-only selves to magically ascend. they place shaved barbie heads and eyebrow pencils on the pentagon’s points. purple zippos replace ritualistic candles. they tickle each other’s palms and squint wickedly at the heartlines. they scry with chunky plastic necklaces from claire’s. their dim sanctum is littered with a dust-covered dollhouse and dog-gnawed foam nerf gun bullets. lisa frank trapper keepers and tubes of puffy fabric paint. cheeto-stained tarot cards. gummy bears. those vogue subscription cards with jagged, rip-away edges (you know the kind that you find jammed in magazines between articles and viagra advertisements, stiff and self-stamped. they can’t find magic crystals in their dinky town so they use skewered sugar crystal candy. they crook their fingers under each other and play light as a feather, stiff as a board, shocked and giggling at their group’s strength. they flicker into living corpse-skulls as they moan ghost sounds with flashlights under their chins. “she’s in league with the devil! she’s possessed by a demon,” the terrified cry. no, they’re possessed by themselves. they haven’t been their own until now. but every time that they clumsily run down the wood-paneled basement staircase, they hold opposite-exorcisms. they clear their bodies and minds of anyone who is not them. they purify themselves, make homes alone inside themselves for maybe the first time. they sit in circles, reciting latin that their tongues trip over, pushing a planchette across a ouija board, and it almost feels like a womanly, witchy rebellion. these girls swigging tequila shots, these girls whose cackling conversation drowns out the looped music on the oc's dvd menu, these girls in blue booty shorts with their braces caked with m&m grit: these girls are dangerous revolutionaries. they have nothing to lose because nothing is given to them in the first place - respect, a voice, their rights. they protest their own belittlement by rewriting the laws of physics and vanquishing the misogynistic myth of backstabbing female friendships. they cast spells and hiss “let our will be done,” which ought to scare you shitless. what is more terrifying than a girl who's just realized how robbed she's been and goes to rob the world right back? who robs it of the future's shapelessness and twists it to her liking? they demand obedience from the universe. they manipulate nature's workings. they impose their will on the world and the world obediently shivers and transforms. all this, they do together. each weekend, their friendly coven convenes to gossip and do pedicures, to hold hands, to together change the face of fate.
post 578 of an infinity-part series