I miss the way I viewed the world before I knew too much about it

ttpd really is the anti-reputation

bitches be like “this is my comfort film”

and then bring out Dead Poets Society

they squeeze all the comfort out of it and contradict it with pain

The lyrics “come one, come all/It’s happening again” are very “The masquerade revelers/Drunk as they watch my shattered edges glisten” and “And your secrets end up splashed on the news front page” coded.

All this grief. All this feeling. All this love. Where do I put all of it? If not you, Then where?

we confuse silence as uncaring

being quiet as not interested

not speaking as not reaching

screams can be silent

muscles can elongate and contract without a sound

Somebody hurting you is not for you to understand. The reasons why people do horrible things to other people, why they break people down, why they hurt them, is not for you to comprehend. You will drive yourself crazy trying to understand people who are not you. Just understand this: the pain was not acceptable, the hurt was unacceptable and who you get to be in your life as a result of that experience is all that matters. You can carry through that pain and hurt other people or you can decide that it was enough for you to learn something valuable even from that. It is not your job to understand people who hurt you.

k.b. // @/coachlorrainelindsey - tiktok

When we speak of Orpheus, we remember him as the boy who could charmed his way into the underworld with his music. The boy who convinced even the dread king and queen of the dead to give him his lost love back. The boy who lost the love of his life due to his own folly, he looked back, he looked back when he shouldn't have. His grief takes up all the pages we can give him, he tells us his story and we mourn at his side. But less is spoken of Eurydice. The girl who lost her life so cruelly on her wedding day. The girl who never stopped hoping that the boy she loved would find her even in this cold place, he would find her because their love was stronger than death itself. There is little said of her utter betrayal to see her only second chance at life bartered for an impatient glance.  Perhaps it is easier to know Orpheus' mortal grief than it is to acknowledge Eurydice's eternity of devastation. After all, dead women can tell no stories. And even if they could, the world has already been taught not care.

Eurydice, Nikita Gill

Tremors: a zine about being an artist with chronic shaky hands!

hello !! I’m atomic, and we’re an artist with a mild hand/limb tremor, so what better thing to do then make a zine about it 👀

"All that pain, that misery, that loneliness, and it just made him kind." - Amy Pond, Doctor Who, season 5, episode 2, "The Beast Below" written by Steven Moffat

Pain sits on a chest too frail to lift it, its mouth split by teeth. it digs curved claws into sinew and bone and untwists nerves where they lie blank in its hands. Misery, hollow cheeked and hollowed bare, keeps its stomach concave, starving for company. A rattle in your lungs. Weeping sores on your skin.

What are you thinking? What are you feeling?

It hurts.

What are you thinking? What are you learning?

Make for me a map of the starving thing shredding your muscles. Hold open the puncture wounds, and pull out the claws.

Or else leave them in and let them fester. Watch your skin go blue and yellow, watch the flesh swell where they lay buried somewhere deep inside of you. Feel your tongue grow heavy and drop down your esophagus. Won't you lift your head?

Pain pulls from your head every thought before it's formed. Pain threads a needle from the spool of your words and stitches closed your lips. Tiny, and neat, a surgeon's touch. Pain takes your hands and holds them, fast and steady. Let me teach you, it says, and presses its splintering bones into the skin of your back.

What are you feeling? What are you learning?

It hurts.

-oh, my darling. pain doesn't have anything to teach. it just hurts.

I went to the woods because I wanted to live deliberately... I wanted to live deep and suck all the marrow out of life! To put to rout.. all that was not life, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. - Henry David Thoreau

I wake up on my back, the ceiling creaky, the paint still cracking,

whispering birds speak of many improbable moments of calm,

but in my mind, in those moments, only the cascade of chaos:

reflections seen under black light seem to shimmer with light,

& as if by magic, some strange moment of recursion occurs;

please, do not disturb me from my awful slumbered sleep.

Dead poets society Tumblr I love you

Dead poets society Tumblr I love you

Dead poets society Tumblr I love you

Dead poets society Tumblr I love you

Dead poets society Tumblr I love you

Body horror

I am a cyborg because I’m disabled; metal and gears keep me up and moving

I am a vampire because I’m chronically ill; hungry for the life force coursing through people

I am a mummy because I’m disabled; all bandages holding together a failing body

I am a zombie because I’m disabled; all crawling dragging movements

I am disabled because I’m a human. I am a human because I’m disabled

my body is not horrifying so I am not body horror