Julianunderwood - Perdidit In Ignota Somnium

me being ignored (now that i am mature): this is fine i suppose

College gothic

the water in the showers turns cold. your fingers are turning purple. your teeth are chattering. you have not touched the knob. the water in the shower starts burning you. welts rise on your skin. there is no air, only steam. you have not touched the knob.

“Good morning” someone says. it is 7:30. “Good morning” someone says. it is 1 in the afternoon. “Good morning.” Someone says. It’s nearly midnight. “Good morning.” you reply.

you are going home this weekend. you were just home. you have not been home in months. cobwebs grow over the pictures of you. cloth is draped over the furniture in your room.

the days drag by. the days go so fast they blur into one another. what month is it? you do not know. you have class.

you’re so tired. your hands are shaking. you’re buzzing with the caffeine of your fifth coffee. the words of your textbook are blurring in front of your eyes. someone asks you if you are okay. what is okay? you are tired.

“I don’t have any finals” someone says to you. horns erupt from your head. wings sprout from your back. you shriek loudly at them, a bloodcurdling sound that cracks the windows. “lucky”

“Sign up for the acapella group!” “sign up for chess club!” “sign up for magic the gathering club!” they all meet at the same time. they all have the same four members. “i can’t,” you say “I have class.” they look at you like you have five heads. they do not remember class

your residence hall is having an event later. you tell yourself you’re going to go. you forget and curl up in your bed instead. darkness surrounds you and tucks you in. you don’t want to leave your bed. your bed is safe (you still don’t know from what) the next morning you wake up and see that your residence hall is having an event later. you tell yourself you’re going to go.

"Pleasure and thrill are conducive to sadness after the so-called peak has been reached; for the thrill has been experienced, but the vessel has not grown."

-Erich Fromm; To Have or to Be?

@eliasfynn liked

Jules just came here to watch the figure skaters practice. It’s not the kind of thing he could ever do- he simply does not have the grace for it- but he can appreciate the artistry of it. 

It’s like ballet, but on ice. It’s pretty and... like... there’s nothing wrong with wanting to appreciate elegant choreography when his ultimate goal is to be a theatre director right? 

Besides, it’s the only sport he’s ever found interesting to watch. And his friend Aimée is a figure skater here. He needs to have something he can just enjoy watching, to have an easy thing to do while studying. Otherwise he’d lose his mind here quickly, with how little enjoyment he actually gets out of his Major.

He was hoping to just go unnoticed with his book in the stands, half studying, half watching, but... it didn’t work out that way.

          ❝I, uh. I’m sorry!❞ He quickly stands up, ready to leave if he’s a bother with his presence. ❝I-I can go, if- if you don’t want me here.❞

@parkerperhaps​ liked

Jules rocks on the balls of his feet, looking at the other freshman. They’re in the lgbtqia+ alliance too, but he’s always been bad at introductions. Or talking to people in general ( not respectable- awkward and introverted and weird- never good enough ), but he wants to try.

This isn’t like the GSA back home. He’s not... expected to be perfect and always perform the the ‘perfect’ trans person. He doesn’t have to be some flawless person and representative of trans people in his small upstate New York town where he’s the only Trans guy. His mother is not here, and this is a progressive campus. And this is another person who is not Cis. 

There is no reason to be this awkward, and yet... 

          ❝So- uh, did you take a gap year or two?❞ They seem a few years older than him, but he’s not... sure. And it was the only thing he could think of to say.

He’s never been good at small talk, and that’s certainly not changing now. Nevertheless he’s going to be as friendly as he can manage. Social expectations be damned.

He can practically here his mother’s upset now.

Does anyone else love bad weather? Like the kind that’s loud and dark and draws attention to its self like pounding rain drops and thunder and lightning that seems just so close. And you can sit near a window and it’s dark outside and maybe you’ve got a candle lit or a lamp and it’s so warm inside and you’re wearing you’re favourite sweater and watching a good show or reading a good book and it’s beautiful outside the rain and the clouds and the sound of it all and you’re just so content and cosy and happy

i don't WANT to live in a society i want to live in a bookstore cafe

Starter call for the Bonfire! Hit that like for a starter

Anais Nin, Mirages: The Unexpurgated Diary of Anais Nin, 1939-1947