I thought after you broke my heart, you wouldn’t hurt me any further. I was wrong. Every time I want to start a new relationship with someone, then the thought of you came back and it hurts me over and over again. Every. Bloody. Time.
Could you talk to us about some of your favorite poets and/or poems? Where/when you first heard them, why they're among your favorites, that sort of thing?
I have such a weird relationship with poetry. I always felt like “oh, I’m just not that into poetry” but the thing is that I really am? Or really can be - when poetry hits me, really hits me where I live, it’s this intense shivery feeling of “oh, you did that” that I associate with very powerful art - music, visual, literature, all of it.
Mary Oliver is one of the poets that I always come back to - so much of her poetry is…it’s about grace, and natural beauty, and finding peace in yourself. I first ran into her actually through the Episcopal Church I used to go to with my family - the lead musician really liked her poetry, and set “At Blackwater Pond” to music. (I wish I could share the song. I don’t think it’s recorded anywhere.)
And the way she uses language is just…I mean, I could probably analyze “Wild Geese” to hell and back talking about why it makes me cry a little every time I read it, but I don’t even know that I want to? It’s those thematics, I think. And now I’m going to quote “Wild Geese” at you:
You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting. You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.
and I cry.
Another one is W.H. Auden, who I think I was introduced to because of my sister, but also at some point I ran into the poem “The Two”, or “The Witnesses” which if you read it you’ll recognize that I’ve used a bunch of lines from it for titles. It was such a weird, haunting, creepy poem and I love it. And then I read “As I Walked Out One Evening” and the imagery in that one is just…I love it, I really do. And also “Epitaph on a Tyrant”. He’s a very different poet, but his phrases stick in my head. I remember Auden lines even when I can’t remember what the hell poem they were from.
Then there’s Kahlil Gibran who I’m pretty sure came to me direct from @ameliarating and The Prophet is just one of the loveliest, most moving prose poems I’ve ever read. I need to go back and read the whole thing again. I made sort of a text-art thing of my favorite quote from it (which I’ve definitely referenced before):
You have been told that, even like a chain, you are as weak as your weakest link. This is but half the truth. You are also as strong as your strongest link.To measure you by your smallest deed is to reckon the power of the ocean by the frailty of its foam. To judge you by your failures is to cast blame upon the seasons for their inconstancy.
I know I’m not the only one who needs to hear that.
Last but not least on my “poets I actually know are faves by name” is T.S. Eliot, because “The Hollow Men” and “The Waste Land” are my jam, I don’t always like the modernists but when they’re all about broken shattered remnants in the aftermath of world-shattering events…yeah I’m into that. T.S. Eliot may be a dick but he did some cool stuff with words.
And I’m never going to forget
Between the desire And the spasm Between the potency And the existence Between the essence And the descent Falls the Shadow
But then there are individual poems that I know that I love always - “Invictus”, for instance, or “Dirge Without Music”; “The Second Coming” by Yeats…or there’s one by Ursula K. LeGuin called “Ars Lunga” that I love…I mean, here is a list I wrote of poems that always make me feel feelings.
When witchcraft meets a painful reality: a curse to set the world on fire.
Captain’s log: It’s 1:41 am and I’m casting a spell in less than two hours. This will be a… fairly complicated thing because at the same time it’s a protection spell and a vengeance curse.
A few days ago a girl was found raped and butchered near where I live.
Ever since then I’ve been PANICKING every time my mom and especially my little sister leave the house alone. My sister tends to ride the bus for college before the sun even rises. I’ve been so scared something might happen to her…
Every 18 hours a girl or woman, cis or trans, is a victim of femicide in my country. Mostly they’re killed by their lovers or ex lovers. Mostly, they are raped before being murdered.
There’s been a quote circling around Facebook that made me cry when I read it.
It says: “If one day I don’t come back, wreck it all to the ground.”
It was also accompanied by a poem titled “Forgive me if one day I don’t come back home anymore.”
Femicides have been alarmingly high lately. Rapes and sexual abuses as well. Everyone is very close to at least one person who was raped or abused.
Lucía Pérez was sixteen years old when she was found drugged, tortured, raped, and murdered. The cause of death was determined to be rectal impaling. She agonized for hours.
I don’t ever cry anymore when the news says they found another decapitated girl naked and covered in fluids in a field in the middle of the city. I don’t even feel this cold shock when another man butchers his ex girlfriend and their children before trying to burn the house to cover the evidence.
I feel anger.
I feel so, so much anger.
Trust me, when I saw that image with the molotov cocktail I took it as a creed.
If someone steals away my mom or my sister’s life, I will not stop. There will be no man made justice, there will be no rest. I will get revenge, I will be paid in blood.
This is a
preemptive murder confession. I would die without hesitation for my family, and I would kill for them as well without missing a heartbeat.
So, all of these fears and this bottled up frustration and anger have brought me not only to create a protection spell, but also, at the same time, to cast a curse on whoever would even dream of lying a finger on my sister or mom.
My protection spell:
“Always come back home, to me, safely.”
And my curse:
“But if someone dares to violate you or steals your life, may indescribable pain befall them. May their world burn to ash.”
And this is how I incorporated them both:
I drew my sigils, I prepared my satchels, I purified the place.
If anyone is interested in the satchels I prepared, let me know.
Down here in South America we won’t have the eclipse, but I know a lot of people will be preparing their enchantments and rituals. Magick will be bubbling all around the globe today, and I’ll make the best out of that.
If there’s ever been or will be a spell I mean, it’s this one.
So, wish me luck. Pepper spray and key knuckles don’t feel like enough anymore. When I got into secular witchcraft it was because it felt empowering. It felt like my feelings mattered and made a difference.
This spell/hex will bring me a great peace of mind.
Stay safe out there… Tell your loved ones how much they mean to you often, ask them to take care of themselves.
hey, it’s me again.
long time didn’t talked about you.
no i didn’t forget you i always remember you.
i guess you forgot about me.
i wish you knew how much i miss you.
i see you in my dreams every night
that is the kind of dreams that i want to continue for ever, you know.
i’m sorry, but i can’t say goodbye to you.
please, remember me sometimes.
First and foremost: big congratulations to AS Monaco and their fans. Not only you played amazingly on both legs, but the support you showed today and the day of the attacks go far beyond football and I am deeply moved by it. So thank you and good luck on semi-finals, I’ll be cheering for you. 👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼
I want to start by telling my experience on April 12.
I am the only BVB fan in my house, so I was patiently waiting for the match, when about twenty or thirty minutes before the start, I get a notification on my phone. I can’t remember exactly where it came from, but it was probably Bleacher Report. The pop up message read something along the lines of “bomb near Borussia Dortmund’s team bus leaves one injured, people believe it’s Spanish International Marc Bartra.” The thing is, I know how this stuff works, the first news after something like this are always a little off - happened with Fernando a few months back and with any other tragic accident. So obviously I knew I shouldn’t freak out because it probably wasn’t that bad. But it was. It was worse.
I automatically opened up my laptop and started searching the news like a freak. Absolutely everyone was talking about it but no one had a clue of what had really gone down. The Guardian was helpfully covering the whole thing and they were updating their webpage live, but updates were scarce and came way too slowly. I was completely in shock. I was desperate, completely quiet as I kept refreshing the page again and again even though I knew it was more than useless. My brother was looking at me and finally asked “Who’s team bus?” I think he pretty much knew, but I guess he was just trying to be nice about the whole thing because he might dislike BVB but he knows it’s my team.
I was just praying for everyone to be okay. All I wanted was for them to be okay.
Eventually the fog cleared up and more accurate information was coming in.
I read Marc was okay but I was definitely weary about it, I kept asking myself “how come he’s the only one injured?” It’s definitely not that I wanted anyone else to be hurt, but I’m pretty pessimist and I just didn’t want any surprises.
The match was finally cancelled and the emotional turmoil was partially over. However, it didn’t take much for me to start thinking about what they must be feeling, because if I was an emotional wreck, what the hell must they feel like?
To say that I was pissed when I heard the match was being rescheduled to THE NEXT DAY is the understatement of the century.
Because of some things I had to do with my mom I could only watch the last twenty minutes of the match, but all I could fucking think about as I kept getting the notifications was they shouldn’t be fucking playing, and I know it sounds quite petulant, but even if we had scored 2488+ goals and didn’t concede one I would’ve thought the exact same thing.
You see, I wasn’t mad about the score, I couldn’t give a shit about the score. Sure I wanted them to win, because they’re my team and I love them, but who the fuck can be thinking about a score when you just got attacked with bombs? When your teammate, your friend, is in the hospital hurt, needing surgery, and you still don’t know exactly what’s going on?
Just imagine for a second the questions that were probably going through their heads, “why us?” “what does this mean?” “is everyone okay?”
Listen people, footballers are wonderful, and they play magically, and we love and idolize them, and playing football might be their job, but the one thing no one can’t forget is that they. Are. People. Human beings with emotions. They get to be nervous, scared, fucking terrified. They get to suffer and cry and not fucking play if they are in shock.
But we all know how this works.
UEFA is a piece of shit and all they care about is their money and their big spectacles. They couldn’t give two craps about the players or how they feel. But this?
This is what they said: “We were in touch with all parties and never received any information which suggested that any of the teams did not want to play.”
And this is was Thomas Tuchel, BVB’s coach, said: “We were informed by text message that Uefa was making this decision. We would have liked more time to take stock. This gives you the feeling of impotence, that we have to keep functioning and nothing else matters. A decision made in Switzerland that concerns us directly. We will not forget it. It is a very bad feeling. A few minutes after this attack the only question that was asked was: ‘Are you ready to play?’ As if we had thrown a beer on our coach. At that time we did not know the reasons for this attack. There is a feeling of helplessness. The date was imposed on us. We weren’t asked about playing the game. Uefa is eager to continue playing and, of course, we have to keep it going but we still want to be competitive. Every player has the right to deal with it in his way. The team did not feel in the mood, in which you must be for such a game. We were attacked as men and we tried to solve the problem on the ground. The players had the choice not to play but no one chose this option.”
Because who would?
I don’t know the chain of thought that someone can possibly have after this, but I do think that the players probably wanted to just show that they were bigger than this, that they weren’t going to be afraid, they were probably thinking “this one’s for Marc.”
And I value that. More than anything else. Because this are exactly the things that show that football is way more than just a fucking game.
Win or lose, Borussia Dortmund showed what is like to be strong, what is like to go through something absolutely terrible and keep going. They showed us hope and love and a level-head when no one was sure they could.
So really, all I can say is that I am damn proud of my team, I am beyond proud of every single player that stepped into that pitch and gave their all because they didn’t have to, they shouldn’t been forced to, but they did.
All I can hope is that Marc has a steady recovery and that they don’t feel like they disappointed any of their fans, because believe me, you didn’t.
Remember we love every single one of you and remember you’ll never walk alone.
I think that I have a physical self printed copy of it on my bookshelf with about 200 post it notes stuck inside it, bookmarking every iconic quote that either makes me laugh, cry, or both—as well as any gut wrenching, poetically waxed narration that reminds me how tragically in love they are in that fic. I think that I have read it more times than I can count and I think that on every Halloween, I think of glitter, milk cartons, Al Capone, pirates, and of course…Dorian Gray. I think that when I hear the song Get Lucky in the car, I dramatically stare out the window and watch the world pass by. I think I hate bird cages and I think cheese danishes scare me. That’s what I think!!!!
hey hey hey i want you guys to know something. it’s about robert louis stevenson but hear me out because it’s a good message it’s a positive message i want u to hear it. there’s a plaque just outside the university that makes me cry every time i read it because??? it’s the purest and most uplifting thing and there are sad people on the dash so i want to show u this. this is the quote from him that’s on the plaque.
“… and when I remembered all that I had hoped for and feared… how I feared I should make a mere shipwreck, and yet timidly hoped not; how I feared I should never have a friend, far less a wife, and yet passionately hoped I might; how I hoped… I should possibly write one little book. And then now — what a change! I feel somehow as if I should like the incident set upon a brass plate at the corner of this dreary thoroughfare, for all students to read, poor devils, when their hearts are down.”
and listen!! listen!! stevenson was us too!! and he remembered that!! he remembered being a scared and anxious young man feeling like he’d fail at anything he tried and feeling like he’d never have friends and feeling like even writing just one little book was a far-fetched dream. and he did it. he’s one of the most influential writers in history — even if they haven’t read the books, everyone knows the names ‘treasure island’ and ‘jekyll and hyde.’ not only did he make it, he wanted to reach out to tell other students that they could too. because he never forgot that he was us, once.
so listen if you’re ever feeling sad or feeling like you’re a failure or feeling like you’ll never get anywhere just know that robert louis stevenson thought about you and people like you because he was you and he cared enough to reach out and put these words down. he was sickly all his life, he was scared and insecure, he tried two other career paths before settling in as a writer, but he made it, and he wanted you to know that you can too. i just want u all to know that.
Maybe he’ll get what he deserves. Maybe not. Maybe I’ll never find it in my heart to forgive him. And maybe there’s nothing wrong with that, either. All these maybes swimming around my head make me think that ‘maybe’ could just be another word for hope.
The purpose of this post (in addition to fic recs) is to talk about some of the writers themselves in the skk fandom and to show some love for all the creativity going on
in this community! There’s only a few authors in this post because Tumblr doesn’t
cooperate when I type too much~ But here we go:
@miwagashi has a really gentle and airy style that really
sucks you into the narration and I can read her works all the time because her
writing is never too dense. One of my favorite quotes: “The end he sought so
dearly had been hindered once again by unforgiving shades of cardinal wisps and
blooming scarlet as shadows of commotion strayed into the stillness of his
slipping consciousness.” (lesson (not) learned)
@suga-is-sugoi writes very precisely, but every sentence is
an arrow that hits its mark exactly (which, yes, is my heart qvq). A favortie
quote of mine is “Live, Dazai Osamu. Live and make amends. Your punishment has
only just begun…“ (YoUR LiES ThEY ArE So BeAUTIFuL)
@asmicarus describe the skk dynamic through the involvement
of a third party, which ranges from Kunikida’s perspective to simply Kyouka’s
presence, and it’s in these different situations and perspectives that we get
to see what soukoku really is, without any pretense. A favorite line of mine is
“If only he’d dropped her off at the orphanage, she may have had a chance at
life…Kouyou made to take her from him, but Chuuya tightened his grip only
slightly, his eyes giving away only a little of his inner conflict.” (An
RatonLaveur (@dreamingofastory) is an angst lord who is amazing with raw
emotion, but I’m going to specifically mention guilt because of Shatters. This
writer can go from soft tender moments to full-blown heart-crushing angst in a
blink of an eye and I find myself crying inside every time. A quote from
Shatters: “Two weeks. What is that? A blink of an eye, a sheepish touch of two
hands, a quick hello, and an even quicker goodbye.”
esbis has written one fic for skk but let me tell you this
one fic really packs a punch. The writing in this fic is very elegant and as I
was reading it all I wanted to do was to go back and read more slowly so I can
let the words wash over my mind. One of my favorite quotes: “The gentlest you
are is while you patch him up to let the wounds fade into scars; the methods
are routine, the silence is absolute.” (two ‘o clock)
I studied her face. Her eyes widened. Almost defiantly, she said, ‘I know what I look like. I’m not pretty any more.’
'You never were,’ I told her. I shook my head at her.
The Fool gasped at my cruelty and Bee’s eyes went wide in shock.
'You were and are beautiful,’ I said. I freed a hand to touch her lumpy ear. 'Every scar a victory. I see you had many of them.’
« Exchange is change. Rapid, brutal, beautiful, hurtful, colorful, amazing, unexpected and most of all constant change. Change in lifestyle, country, language, friends, parents, houses, school, simply everything. Exchange is realizing that everything they told you beforehand is wrong, but also right in a way. Exchange is going from thinking you know who you are, to having no idea who you are anymore to being someone new. But not entirely new. You are still the person you were before but you jumped into that ice cold lake. You know how it feels like to be on your own. Away from home, with no one you really know. And you find out that you can actually do it.
Exchange is learning to trust. Trust people, who, at first, are only names on a piece of paper, trust that they want the best for you, that they care. Trust, that you have the strength to endure a year on your own, endure a year of being apart from everything that mattered to you before. Trust that you will have friends. Trust that everything’s going to be alright. And it is seeing this trust being justified.
Exchange is thinking. All the time. About everything. Thinking about those strange costumes, the strange food, the strange language. About why you’re here and not back home. About how it’s going to be like once you come back home. How that girl is going to react when you see her again. About who’s hanging out where this weekend. At first who’s inviting you at all. And in the end where you’re supposed to go, when you’re invited to ten different things. About how everybody at home is doing. About how stupid this whole time-zone thing is. Not only because of home, but also because the tv ads for shows keep confusing you. Thinking about what’s right and what’s wrong. About how stupid or rude you just were to someone without meaning to be. About the point of all this. About the sense of life. About who you want to be, what you want to do. About whether you should go home after school, or hang out at someone’s place until midnight. Someone you didn’t even know a few months ago. And about what the hell that guy just said.
Exchange is people. Those incredibly strange people, who look at you like you’re an alien. Those people who are too afraid to talk to you. And those people who actually talk to you. Those people who know your name, even though you have never met them. Those people, who tell you who to stay away from. Those people who talk about you behind your back, those people who make fun of your country. All those people, who aren’t worth your giving a damn. Those people you ignore. And those people who invite you to their homes. Who keep you sane. Who become your friends.
Exchange is music. New music, weird music, cool music, music you will remember all your life as the soundtrack of your exchange. Music that will make you cry because all those lyrics express exactly how you feel, so far away. Music that will make you feel like you could take on the whole world. And it is music you make. With the most amazing musicians you’ve ever met.
Exchange is uncomfortable. It’s feeling out of place, like a fifth wheel. It’s talking to people you don’t like. It’s trying to be nice all the time. It’s bugs.. and bears. It’s cold, freezing cold. It’s homesickness, it’s awkward silence and its feeling guilty because you didn’t talk to someone at home. Or feeling guilty because you missed something because you were talking on Skype.
Exchange is great. It’s feeling the connection between you and your host parents grow. It’s hearing your little host brother asking where his big brother is. It’s knowing in which cupboard the peanut butter is. It’s meeting people from all over the world. It’s having a place to stay in almost every country of the world. It’s getting 5 new families. One of them being a huge group of the most awesome teenagers in the world. It’s seeing beautiful landscapes that you never knew existed.
Exchange is falling in love. With this amazing, wild, beautiful country. And with your home country.
Exchange is frustrating. Things you can’t do, things you don’t understand. Things you say, that mean the exact opposite of what you meant to say. Or even worse…
Exchange is understanding.
Exchange is unbelievable.
Exchange is not a year in your life. It’s a life in one year.
Exchange is nothing like you expected it to be, and everything you wanted it to be.
Exchange is the best year of your life so far. Without a doubt. And it’s also the worst. Without a doubt.
Exchange is something you will never forget, something that will always be a part of you. It is something no one back at home will ever truly understand.
Exchange is growing up, realizing that everybody is the same, no matter where they’re from. That there are great people and douche bags everywhere. And that it only depends on you how good or bad your day is going to be. Or the whole year. And it is realizing that you can be on your own, that you are an independent person. Finally. And it’s trying to explain that to your parents.
Exchange is dancing in the rain for no reason, crying without a reason, laughing at the same time. It’s a turmoil of every emotion possible.
Exchange is everything. And exchange is something you can’t understand unless you’ve been through it. »
I found this on facebook and I wanted to share it here because I think that every exchange student should read it. 💙
Tumblr & “Kingsman” fandom things that might kill me one day
“Kingsman” sets with that comic quote (”I’ve been very lonely over the years. Thank you for bringing some warmth into my life.”) Fuuu. I’ve read that so many times and I flinch every time it appears on my dashboard.
Dennis Severs (Taron Egerton) crying in “The Smoke” and talking about suicide.
The end of the church scene in “Kingsman”. Nope, he’s not dead but it’s still sad.
Eggsy’s reaction to Harry’s death.
Everything about Edward Brittain (his whole story hits me so much, but yes, played by Taron Egerton in the movie “Testament Of Youth”).
Hartwin AU during World War I aka Hartwin x The King’s Speech
Gif sets about George Falconer (Colin Firth) and Jim from “A Single Man” (it hurts).
Telling me that Harry and Eggsy touched each other JUST TWO TIMES DURING THE WHOLE DAMN MOVIE (the pat on the shoulder in the beginning and the pat on the shoulder in ‘The Black Prince’). Are you fucking kidding me?? TWO TIMES! Eggsy touched the door to the Kingsman shop at least THREE times.
“Lil.” His voice cracks. “Why are you crying?” He rubs my tears with his thumb, concern and hurt crossing his beautiful face.
“I don’t deserve you,” I say softly, our legs tangled together.
His glare could murder a family of geese, but the familiar sight is more than comforting. “Then we’re two undeserving individuals because I sure as hell don’t deserve you, Lily Hale. You help me every day stay sane and sober. I couldn’t live this life alone.” His thumb skims my wet cheeks. “And you know what?”
“What?” I whisper.
“The world went and fucked itself because the two most undeserving people got more than they deserved.”
EXPLAIN THE REASON WHY (warning: my explanation is kinda long)
That’s it. I’ve accepted that I can’t have you, I’ve accepted that you want her. I’ve stopped trying to fool myself that you’re only with her for a distraction because you’re not, you chose her. So I’m trying my best not to cringe, or cry, every time I see a post of you two together, or pass the hallway you meet her in every day during 5th period. I’m trying to ignore you when I walk past you in the spine and I see you with her, or when I notice you leave class to go see her. It’s working, it’s working, it is. It’s working.
She wanted life. She was going on to those other, faraway adventures which she knew I didn’t believe in. I hoped I would hear about them someday.
No, I never saw her again. Neither will anyone now. Not even once. Never even once again.
No, I can still see her. She’s leaving the Caprice, heading for the back door, because a Range Rover full of photographers has just pulled up in the street outside. She’s turning her head. She’s smiling. Has she forgotten something? Is she coming back?