Paul Klee, Bauhaus Carpet

Plans for 2022:

Write 300 poems.

Finish Hawksbane as well as the current fic project I'm working on and the sequel to last year's project.

Write my academic paper. Make it fucking good.

Read 50 books and 10,000 pages.

Submit something once a month.

Learn Italian. Work on French and maybe German.

the body expresses what language cannot || transcription below

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If this isn’t love I don’t know what is

113. Story Idea

me when i started writing: oh haha i don’t really think about symbolism. like it’s not really that deep it’s just whatever comes out :) don’t go digging for analysis

me now: (hands you a shovel)

take each day as it comes

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florence + the machine — south london forever

the sheer offensiveness of rereading something you wrote, discovering that, hey, it’s actually pretty good, and then reaching the end, wherein you realize that if you want more you actually have to write it

— Camille Rankine, from Emergency Management

Everyone keeps writing about how they can’t show their google history to people because it’s full of suspicious stuff they researched for their writing, and here I am too embarrassed to show people my google history because all I do is google definitions to words I definitely know the meanings to but need to double triple check just in case.

Sylvia Plath, from “Poppies in July.”

tragedy as a genre asks us repeatedly “why did this have to happen?”. why did medea kill her children? why did lear reject the only daughter who truly loved him? why cant estragon and vladimir simply walk away? we can accept the idea that these are events made inevitable by some facet of the characters personalities. we can argue that circumstances forced their hand. but ultimately we dont have these answers and thats why i think tragedy. is a genre so given to retellings and repetition. the why is tantalizing — maybe if we play it again, we can figure out where it went wrong. so anyways as always we’re back at hadestown’s “its a sad song, but we sing it anyway. to know how it ends, and still begin to sing it again, as if it might turn out this time …”

Naomi Shihab Nye’s Beloved Ode to Kindness, Animated

“it's the same old story, it starts with a lamb and ends with the murder of the very person you should love most”

josé saramago, cain

humans: i am worthless. i cannot do anything.

also humans: *sings in the bathroom* *writes poems* *provides trees with CO2* *swims* *studies* *reads autobiographies* *proposes to their s/o* *passes a compliment* *stares at the moon* *takes shitty pictures of the sunset* *shouts fuck for no reason* FUCK! *hugs you* *talks* *doesn't like to be touched* *dances late at night* *says i love you* *says i hate you(affectionate)* :)