sitting alone in your mansion, you nurse your glass of champagne, you lay back on the chaise lounge, a cigarette in hand. you look up at the mauled, grotesque portrait that was once so beautiful. it was painted for you hundreds of years ago,and yet you have not aged a day. “i’m so sorry basil” you murmur
the year is 1832 and you in are in paris, you have been planning a revolution along with your friends for almost a year now. there is a fire in your belly, a war in your mind and you are ready to die for your blessed france, ready to die among your best friends.
everything in this school is old and beautiful, and the classics are truly coming alive here. you are drinking wine every night, practising your latin and concerning yourself with the most odd looking, most enchanting friendship group. rumours of murder and divine intervention follow you wherever you go. something in this school is dionysian and deadly.
a fantasy
rawest fucking hozier lyrics in no particular order:
i’d suffer hell if you’d tell me what you’d do to me tonight
heat of her breath in my mouth; im alive
i’d be the choiceless hope in grief that drove him underground
idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on his sword
and when the earth is trembling on some new beginning with the same sweet shock of when adam first came
every version of me dead and buried in the yard outside
the stench of the sea and the absence of green are the death of all things that are seen and unseen
if I was born as a blackthorn tree i’d wanna be felled by you, held by you, fuel the pyre of your enemies
some like to imagine the dark caress of someone else, I guess any thrill will do
before the wave hits, marveling at god; before he feels alone one final time and marries the sea
betray the moon as acolyte on first and fierce affirming sight
i have never known peace like the damp grass that yields to me, I have never known hunger like these insects that feast on me
screaming the name of a foreigner’s god; the purest expression of grief
sweet and right and merciful, i’m all but washed in the tide of her breathing
but you don’t know the hell you put me through; to have someone kiss the skin that crawls from you
so i try to talk refined for fear that you find out how i’m imagining you
my head was war, my skin was soaked, I called your name ‘til the fever broke
be still, my indelible friend, you are unbreaking
remember me, love, when i’m reborn as a shrike to your sharp and glorious thorn
you’re allowed to get up one day and just decide to change who you are. dress differently, speak up more, laugh out loud even though you’ve never liked your laugh, say what you want to, say hey to people you wouldn’t normally, get that confidence going. we don’t have to stay the way people see us out of the fear that they won’t like the us we want to be.
Angel - Sun Yuan & Peng Yu
“The angel, an old woman in a white gown and with featherless wings, is lying face-down on the ground; maybe sleeping, maybe dead, but certainly immobile and frozen into an all too realistic image. The supernatural being, now nothing more than an impotent creature, can neither carry out any supreme will nor be of any help to those believing in its existence. The angel is true but ineffective; dreams and hopes are sincere yet vain.”
cicero's letter where he complains about "penis" being turned into a dirty word truly is the gift that keeps on giving