The Amount Of Time That The Ancient Egyptian Civilisation Lasted Is Just So Mind Boggling. It Lasted

Do i own a violin? Yes

Do i know how to play? No

Did i learn as a child but give it up because “it wasn’t helpful and nobody else played it”? Yes

Do i regret that everyday of my life? Also Yes

The Language Of Flowers

Acacia: Hidden love, beauty in withdrawal

Amaryllis: Pride, a hard won success

Anemone: Vanishing hopes

Bells of Ireland: Wish for good luck

Carnation: Fascination, love and distinction

Daffodil (Narcissus): Honesty and truth

Dahlia flower: Warnings and change

Daisy: Innocence, loyal love and purity

Delphinium: Open heart, ardent attachement

Gardenia: Symbol of secret love

Gladiolus: Remembrance, faithfulness and sincerity

Hyacinth: I'm sorry, please forgive me.

Iris: Eloquence

Lily (general) : Purity of the heart and refined beauty

Lily of the valley: Return of happiness

Marigold: Passion and creativity

Orchid: Beauty, refinement and love

Peony: Happy marriage

Lavender: Love at first sight

Red rose: Love, respect, courage and passion

White rose: Purity, secrecy, silence, innocence and charm

Sunflower: Good luck and ambition

Tulip: Irresistible love

Violet: Faithfulness, modesty and delicate love

Zinnia: Lasting affection, daily remembrance and good memories

i used to think that icarus’ death was just a tragic accident—the kind so prevalent in greek mythology, where the hero survives the most dangerous part but tragedy befalls in the most unexpected/preventable way as a result of hubris/arrogance/carelessness. but icarus’ fate was no accident. tragic, yes, but also beautiful in its inevitability: a tribute to the inexorable entanglement between love and death, desire and destruction, intimacy and decay — all of which are ultimately just forms of want and loss. after all, everything has a price, an equal and opposite reaction.

desire is synonymous with fire. it’s something i think mortals are only capable of experiencing in tiny doses: little fires in our guts, live wires down our spine, warm flushes across our cheeks. like taking very small sips of too-hot tea, desire must be drawn out over a lifetime of intimacy—lest it burn us up completely. but apollo feels things with all his immortal intensity: he is pure fire and light and heat. i am not sure there exists a purer form of love than that of the sun.

this is why icarus’ fate is no accident, nor another allegory on the dangers of hubris. it was inevitable from the start. the same way achilles’ virility and vitality was paid for with his death at such a young age, the heat from apollo’s fleeting, fatal moment of desire for icarus is the same as a lifetime’s worth of slow-burning love between two mortals.

i like to believe that icarus didn’t lose his life—not exactly. he just lived it all at once in a single, blazing moment of intimacy with the sun.

okay i should stop im over dramatic

i hate time

it only moves slow when i actually want something to happen

its been less than 20 minutes since i messaged this guy and it feels like its been half an hour wtf

Why we should stop comparing The Secret History and If We Were Villains

I've seen people putting the two books together as pillars of dark academia countless times, often trying to explain why their favourite one is the best and it is useless. The two books are incredibly different and you will inevitably be disappointed in one of the two if you read them with the same intentions.

The Secret History is a reversed mystery novel: from the very first lines, we know who died, how, and who killed him. The questions we are left with are "Why did they do that?", and "Will they get away with that?" The book is fundamentally psychological, it's a character-driven book, which explains why such a long part is dedicated to establishing them, their relationships, while the actual murder is surprisingly short.

If We Were Villains, on the other hand, is a more traditional detective novel, though it doesn't totally fit the standard. It's a whodunit, and when we start the book, we know who got arrested but the mystery throughout the novel follows four questions: "Who died?", "Who did it?", "Why did they do it?" and "Why did Oliver get arrested?" We are trying to solve the murder at the same time as the detective. It's a plot-driven novel, and although the characters are very important, they are all defined by one quality and one flaw during the first act (the characterisation in this book is amazing, I'm probably gonna make a post about it).

Obviously, if you read TSH and IWWV with the same expectations, one of them is going to bore you. However, if you consider their differences, they are both excellent books in their genre. If they do have some common elements (a group of students that's almost sectarian, and murder), saying that IWWV plagiarized TSH sounds pretty ridiculous to me. IWWV is a love letter to Shakespeare and the madness in his characters, TSH is a critic of elitism in academic spaces. And they both deserve praise, if only people would stop comparing them.

the disappointment is immeasurable and my day is ruined

not a single vampire boy has slid into my asks and i am immeasurably disappointed

Guess What?

It’s Barricade Day so time for another emotional watching Les Mis!

finished They Both Die At The End today in less than 4 hours and biiiiitch it was so good but so sad at the same tims

i hate time

it only moves slow when i actually want something to happen

its been less than 20 minutes since i messaged this guy and it feels like its been half an hour wtf

“you make my heart beat in iambic pentameter.”

no you don’t understand shakespeare literally writes to the beat of your heart

that’s why shakespearean actors will sometimes pound their chests in time to the words during readings

that’s why you use fluctuations in the rhythm to track your character’s emotional state - any irregularities in the scansion are like the character’s heart stuttering or jumping or skipping a beat

that’s why when characters share the rhythm - switching off in the middle of a foot - those characters inevitably have an extraordinarily intimate connection

shakespeare fucking writes viscerally, he is literally in your body, and that, my friend, that is why the best shakespearean actors don’t posture and emote

you have to be fucking alive and passionate and electric - it can’t be intellectual, in the end, it has to be about connection and the sweating, cheering, jeering, bleeding masses you’re performing to, because make no mistake, shakespeare may go to lofty heights, but he only works if you’re just as grounded in the earth. he has to be in your body. he has to be in your body.

holy motherfucking shit i love shakespeare so much, get him in your bones, breathe him in, stomp and rage and pine, dadum dadum dadum dadum dadum, it is literally to the beat of your heart