thinking about this angelo morbelli painting vs the candid my boyfriend took of me the first time I slept in his bed
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Julius Klever - Winterscape with sunset, 1892.
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Studying the humanities is not a pursuit or an ambition; it’s not a group of studies one chooses in order to achieve a certain career path. The studying humanities itself is a temperament, that a very few has, it’s a character trait which evokes a continuous striving to understand the structure and inner working of this thing we call society, to feel the language, words and letters conjuncting into this subtle, yet mysterious, instrument of communication. In other words, humanities are like magic to this plain reality, and only a very few have a tint of magic in them.
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Two flies are f*ucking on my coffee mug as I write schizophrenic, delusional thoughts on a used napkin. The tragic comedy that is philosophers life.
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Is it just me or is it a thing for unplanned kids to have a deep, subconscious desire to prove that they are worth living on this earth? Meaning a subconscious need to ensure that all the time and money spent by your workaholic parents on your healthy maintenance were worth it; often by pursuing academic careers, which actually do not align with your true purpose (although the only purpose you can understand is the one of proving your existence to be meaningful).
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do you have pinterest? your aesthetic is wonderful :)
Hello, dear, thank you, and yes I do <3 It’s @crowstation !! I’ll try to be a bit more active on there :)
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Speak not, lie hidden, and conceal
the way you dream, the way you feel.
Deep in your spirits in crystal skies
that set before the night is blurred:
delight in them and speak no word.
How can a heart expression find?
How should another know your mind?
Will he discern what quickens you?
A thought once uttered is untrue.
Dimmed is the fountainhead when stirred:
drink at the source and speak no word.
Live in your inner self alone
within your soul a world has grown,
the magic of veiled thought that might
be blinded by the outer light,
drowned in the noise of day, unheard…
take in their song and speak no word.
Fyodor Tyutchev, Silentium! (1830)
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They should invent sleep for women
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