psychidion
reclusive bastard
hey, I'm dys (24)classics, writing, and whatever the heck else i want
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Last Seen Blogs
roadsconnoisseur
On The Road
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One Sky - One Destiny
drmaliceoffcial
The Strange Case of Midway Falls
the-krzysiu-universe-blog
the krzysiu universe
benzodiazebeans
Just A Little Fruity
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Do you know this queer character?
Murderbot is Agender, Aromantic, and Asexual and uses it/its pronouns!
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"No, Dixon," said Margaret sorrowfully, "I shall not tell Papa. He could not bear it as I can." And by way of proving how well she bore it, she burst into tears.
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But never let me die without a struggle and without acclaim
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ἔρρε κακὴ γλήνη (Iliad 8, line 164)- 'go away, you worthless puppet,' a taunt that Hector gives to Diomedes.
γλήνη is a strange word though, because if we were trying to be very literal, this word means eyeball, and is also used to mean eyeball in one of the most grotesque death scenes in the Iliad (at least to me personally): ἐκ δ᾽ ὦσε γλήνην (Iliad 14, line 494)- 'he thrust the eyeball out' (I cringe every single time I read that line).
There's not much of a reason given as to why it is translated as puppet or doll here, other than the fact that eyeball makes no sense, but perhaps it's because things are smaller when reflected in the eye.
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you worry the cardboard sleeve around the coffee and think about landfills and the future without straws. you are worried about prion disease and deer. you are worried about the rising temperature of mushrooms. you are worried about teflon and microplastics and carcinogens and whatever else you're being quietly lied to about.
your mother used to jokingly say you are "a worrier," which always kind of oddly hurt your feelings. you feel like a person. and besides, you've been told one-million-times that this is normal. examples get trotted out in a pony show each time: everyone gets nervous sometimes. they talk about public speaking and picturing people naked and how when they get nervous they just-get-over-it.
you run your hands down the grater of your life and feel the sharpness. you started holding your breath in tunnels as a kid, worried that if you relax, the ceiling would cave in. like years of architects and engineers weren't responsible - you, and your faith, you were responsible for the success of infrastructure. if you slipped for a moment, your whole family would be swept away under the ocean. and the problem is that it worked - no tunnel collapsed.
you once broke a coffee carafe and even though you didn't drink from it after, you worried that there had been some previous invisible micro-break that had made you drink glass particles. you stayed awake for 24 hours, constantly dreading each swallow, waiting to taste blood.
you hate being late, you worry about it. you go to grab literally just lunch with a friend - no pressure, no emergency - and you still park the car an hour early and just sit there scrolling on your phone aimlessly. maybe you just don't like surprises or change. you triple-check you locked the doors, and then go to bed, and then get up out of bed to check twice again.
a worrier. like a strange and dreadful bingo card, you collect weekly experiences. someone tells you that you're overthinking, that's 2 points. you have to physically turn around and go back in your house to check you unplugged everything, that's 1 point. spiraling about climate change or politics or the state of the world is a free space, that's basically every evening.
you worry you're being selfish and not a good person because how come you're worried about your dog's health and the itch in your eye when you know people who are really very ill or who have it worse or who are genuinely struggling. then you worry that you're being annoying by infantilizing them. then you worry that your priorities are wrong, that you should be infinitely more worried about the state of a dying planet.
you wanted to be a person, is all. you wanted to go through life in a softness, to hold the world gently and have it whisper past you. and instead you are a worrier. everything that touches you is hard and raw and sharp like diamonds.
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i suppose i love this life, in spite of my clenched fist.
Time Is A Mother, Ocean Vuong // The Brothers Karamazov, Fyodor Dostoyevsky // The Cow, Ariana Reines // Ask Polly, Heather Havrilesky // October, Mary Oliver // Dead Stars, Ada Limón // Night Walk, Franz Wright// Xenotransplantation, Sam Sax // Angels In America, Tony Kushner // Birthday, Andrea Gibson (thank you @saint-garbage, i have zero idea whether they are poems or quotes for most of them, so i can't help out there, forgive me, i'm trying my best)
for @shestrying
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Elegance in Simplicity: Contemporary Artwork of Naoko Ito
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i've got seven missed calls and eight apologies in drafts and the thought of anyone wanting me makes me so afraid that i ask them to leave even when i want them to stay.
inside my mind i am begging; please don't go— please love me anyways
grit, a poetry collection/ in image/ mayakovsky by frank o'hara/ sue zhao/ unknown / Ruth Madievsky, All-Night Pharmacy / gone girl, gillian flyn/ Cotton Candy on a Rainy Day, Nikki Giovanni / supernatural season 12 ep 22 (thanks @count-woe-laf) / I Put The Coffin Out To Sea by Lisa Marie Basile/ Sorry by Halsey/ Sorry by Halsey / unknown
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Angel of Duluth [excerpt] by Madelon Sprengnether
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Hello, dear one.
It will be ok. You will be ok. No matter what. You will find happiness. You always do. You always do. You can’t help it. You can find it everywhere. You’ll be ok.
God, I love you, you poor sweet thing, you scared child. It’ll be ok. I can’t promise anything about the future, but I know you. And there’s nothing that you can’t find a work around for. You’ve always managed somehow. You’ve survived. You’ll be ok. Be kind, be caring, and be sincere.
I love you. You’ll be ok. Hold on and endure. Please. Please, dear one.
~words I wrote to my deeply paranoid soul that I hope will help you also
& another
#reassuring words#compassion#reassurance#positivity#positivity reminders#hope#hopepunk#inspiration#motivation#love#motivating quotes#motivating myself#love quotes#dys blurbs
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she gets me she just does
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— Louise Glück, from “The Untrustworthy Speaker.”
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