Dancing In A Hazy Nightmare;

hate when folk call the Sun “our nearest star” no you dweebs that’s OUR STAR! After everything she's done for you and you want to compare her to some lightyears away ass nobody called some shit like Guncho 785B? We're not spinning eternally around any old ball, we’re three deep in the window on board the Sol Train and she did NOT provide the catering, the itinerary and all the fuel to share credit with some two-bit Proxima Centauri hack. point to these nuts in a constellation while you're at it. i love the sun

lost is a lovely place to find yourself

- micheal faudet

just got nettle stings all over my legs from running through a forest at dusk because i was spooked by an owl that is so manic pixie dream girl of me

hot girls be like 'my comfort characters 🤗💐💕' then name the most deranged and psychopathic dredges of humanity who have never felt an ounce of comfort in their life

'spit' being the past tense of 'spit' doesn't sit right with me.

it's always "I love you" and never "cubitum eamus?"

ash by tracy k. smith

piranesi vi, giovanni piranesi // the haunting of hill house, dir. mike flanagan // bony legs, joanna cole & dirk zimmer // midsommar, dir. ari aster // murder of agamemnon, pierre-narcisse guérin // game of thrones: a man without honor, dir. david nutter // goodnight mommy, dir. veronika franz & severin fiala // it, dir. andy muschietti // hereditary, dir. ari aster // crimson peak, dir. guillermo del toro // the vigil, dir. keith thomas // house of leaves, mark z. danielewski // spike field, safdar abidi // i’m thinking of ending things, dir. charlie kaufman // the lighthouse, dir. robert eggers // relic, dir. natalie erika james // annihilation, dir. alex garland // anatomy, kitty horrorshow

i don't want a hot girl summer, i want to go and live in a crumbling, weather-worn lighthouse on the edge of a remote scottish town and wear turtlenecks and cableknit sweaters and and own a big shaggy dog and speak just a little too fondly of my late husbands mysterious death (i totally killed him) and knit scarves in the ruddy light of a mottled oil lamp and clutch a mug of hot tea whilst a storm pelts bullets of icy rain against the glass and-

am i more productive at nighttime or am i so choked with responsibility and duty during the day that my free time is now only ever available to me when in exchange for a sacrifice of tomorrow's wellbeing? (because apparently revenge nighttime procrastination is an actual thing??)

i find it so charming that so many ancient civilisations - if not most of them - believed in gods of some sort. like, the world was so inexplicably incredible that, to them, it could be the work of nothing but the divine.