romeo and juliet: suburban july. scraped knees, bruised knuckles, blood in your teeth. bare feet on hot concrete. restlessness. your high school’s empty parking lot. love poems in your diary. a window open to coax in a breeze. burning inside. an ill-fitting party dress, a t-shirt you cut up yourself, the time you tried to give yourself bangs. biking to your friend’s house. bubble gum. gas station ice. the feeling that you’ve met before. rebellion. a car radio playing down the street. cheap fireworks. a heart drawn on the inside of your wrist with sharpie. switchblades. red solo cups. dancing in your bedroom. screaming yourself hoarse. running out of options. the forlorn-looking basketball hoop at the end of the cul-de-sac. climbing onto your roof at night while your parents are asleep. flip-flops. a eulogy written on looseleaf. the merciless noontime sun.
hamlet: speaking in a whisper. holding your breath. a browning garden. a half-remembered story. furniture covered with sheets. fog at dawn, mist at twilight. losing touch. the ethereal space between winter and spring. the soft skin at your temple. the crack in the hallway mirror. things you’d say if you knew the words. uncombed hair. books with writing in the margins, books with cracked spines, books with lines scratched out. prayers on all souls’ day. a chipped ceramic bathtub. a cold stone floor. uncomfortable awareness of your own heartbeat. the sparrow that got in your house. shadows. the creek you played in as a child. a dirty night gown. a big black t-shirt. a collection of your favorite words. soil under your nails. ghost stories. the strangeness of your own name in your mouth. deep silence. exhaustion. a cliff with a long, long drop down.
twelfth night: wicker deck furniture. new england summer. big dark sunglasses and a blonde bob. a storm over the ocean, patio umbrellas flapping in the wind. chlorine smell. muffled laughter. sarcasm. starched cuffs. day drinking. bay windows. the idea of love, love for the idea of love, love for love’s sake. hangovers. wandering over the sand dunes. a vagabond with a guitar, a crab fisherman with tattoos, a pretty boy with a slackened tie. a light house. growing too close. boat shoes. feeling yourself change. finger guns. big floppy sun hats. double-speak. a song you keep listening to. turning red under their gaze. margaritas drunk on an inflatable pool lounger. string lights on a balmy night. sleepy june days. fights you’re unprepared for, hope you weren’t expecting, pranks that go too far. bad poetry. pining. pool noodles. becoming less of a stranger.
macbeth: the space where your grief used to be. a bird that’s lost an eye. old blood stains. heavy blinds. the smell of sweat, the stillness after battle. a fake smile. a curse. the taste of metal at the back of your tongue. your house, unfamiliar in the dark. a dusty crib. a sulfur smell. an orange pill bottle. streaks in the sink. a black cocktail dress. your hand on the doorknob, shaking. chilly breeze. crunching from the gravel driveway on a moonless night. clenched hands. a rusty swing set. a flashing digital clock stuck on 12:00. a snake that crosses your path, an owl that watches you, a dog that runs when you approach. red smoke. dark clouds. cool steel. tile floors. footsteps in the hallway late at night. a baggy suit that used to fit before. visions. insomnia headaches. nursery rhymes. being too far in to go back now.
much ado about nothing: the high drama of small towns. a pickup truck, military supply duffel bags in the hall, hugs all around. tulip bulbs. a wraparound porch, a pitcher of iced tea. barbecue. a rubber halloween mask. someone on your level. indian summer. ill-timed proclamations. stomach-clutching laughter. rushing in. not minding your business. crepe paper. white lies. secrets written down and thrown away. southern hospitality. homemade curtains in the kitchen, a sink full of roses. hiding in the bushes. old friends. the wedding dress your grandma wore, and her mama before her. a dog-eared rhyming dictionary. camomile with honey. the intimacy of big parties. lawn flamingos. gossip. a crowded church. friendly rivalries. unfriendly rivalries. shit getting real. love at five hundredth sight. not realizing you have a home until you’re there.
king lear: cement block buildings. power lines that birds never perch on. the end of the world. useless words. rainless thunder, heat lightning, a too-big sky. arthritic knuckles. broken glass. chalk cliffs. the pulsing red-black behind closed eyes. something you learned too late. wet mud that sucks up your shoes while you walk. a cold stare. empty picture frames. empty prayers. the obscenity of seeing your parents cry. a treeless landscape. bloody rags. grappling in the dark with reaching hands. the sharpness at the tips of your teeth. the blown-out windows of skeletal houses. decay. jokes that aren’t jokes, shutting up, holding your tongue. prophecies. aching muscles, tired feet. stinging rain. invoking the gods, wondering if the gods are listening, wondering if the gods are dead. white noise. shivers. numbness. the unequivocal feeling of ending.
a midsummer night’s dream: wet soil/dead leaves smell. listening to music on headphones with your eyes closed. wildflowers. the distant sparkle of lightning bugs. a pill somebody slipped you. fear that turns to excitement, excitement that turns to frenzy. mossy tree trunks. a pair of yellow eyes in the darkness. night swimming. moonlight through the leaves. a bass beat in your chest. a butterfly landing on your nose. a kiss from a stranger. a dark hollow in an old tree. glow-in-the-dark paint. drinking on an empty stomach. a twig breaking behind you. spinning until you’re dizzy. finding glitter on your body and not remembering where it came from. an overgrown path through the woods. cool dew on your skin. a dream that fades with waking. moths drawn to the light. giving yourself over, completely. afterglow. the long, loving, velvety night.
I think the season 3 parallels are coming to an end.
We thought season 3 was Romeo & Julie. We were wrong… And we thought season 4 was season 3.
I think the love story is about to change. I love seing Sana this happy. Really. Her smile is the most adorable thing ever!
She said in season 2, that her religioin means more than her desire to get drunk and hook up with boys (even though she sometimes wants to)… And that might still be the case. She looked genuinely happy in the latest clip.
Three days later is Wednesday, the intended wedding day of Paris and Juliet, which then turns into the day of her ‘death’ and funeral. It is also, Romeo tells us, a ‘holiday’, hence the apothecary’s closed shop (5.1.56). Given the play’s awareness of seasonal holidays like Lammastide, it may be legitimate to wonder whether a middle-of-July holiday, ‘odd days’ after our first views of Juliet, may not lie beneath the text, namely St Swithin’s Day on 15 July. This is probably alluded to in the 'Swithold’ of King Lear (3.4.17), in a passage that moreover echoes Mercutio’s Queen Mab speech. Rain on St Swithin’s Day reputedly augured forty days of wet weather, hence perhaps the 'glooming peace’ at the end of the play when 'The sun for sorrow will not show his head’ (5.3.306).
René Weis, in his introduction to Romeo and Juliet.
According to this, the events of the play would begin on July 12.
• *isak looks for even on instagram* “i don’t think he’s gonna find him just by knowing his name is he”
• *isak refuses to say to eskild that the guy on grindr is cute* “wow he really is in denial”
• @ even not having a facebook “what do you mean? everyone is on facebook these days”
• “nah i don’t think googling is gonna help - oh okay”
• *is confused by even’s “movie” but also amused @ the Captain America/Vladimir Putin part*
• “wait which one is baz luhrmann”
• sana: “i thought you said the weed wasn’t yours”
my dad: “ha, got him”
• *the teacher leaves after almost catching them with the weed* “oh nice”
• *isak googles romeo + julie( r )t* “oh my GOD you were obsessed with this movie a few years ago”
• *awwwws* @ isak getting emotional
• “do they never show the parents” (then i explained to him that he doesn’t live with them anymore)
• *overall cringe at the grindr bit*
• Even on the bus: halla
my dad: *gasps* (again!! but tbh same even’s just perfect)
• “he didn’t forget his ID card did he”
• he had a fond smile that i pretended not to notice during the whole window scene
• “that’s way too many spices”
• *isak lies to jonas AND emma* “he’s so gonna get caught”
• “does Even know he’s gay or is he also in denial”
• i told him he’s pansexual
• *five minute conversation about the difference between bisexual and pansexual*
• “that’s cool though, i never see bi/pan characters”
• isak: kArdemOmME
“so THAT’s what you and your sister have been rambling about for the past six months” (my sister is 11, that’s literally one of the only scenes she’s seen, but when i first showed it to her we kept randomly yelling kardemomme)
• me: E-BOX, gimme the beat
my dad: do you know the whole thing by heart
• *even’s friends introduce themselves* “is everyone called eskild”
Isak’s instagram yesterday made me emotional… which made me watch Romeo + Julie again… Which made me even more emotional. And the fact that Juliet literally touched Romeo just one second too late, made me so grateful that Isak wasn’t one second too late.
every time I watch the scene where Isak is watching Romeo + Julie(r)t my heart literally breaks. because you can see the longing in Isak's eyes and how badly he pines for a love like that and how he truly believes he will never get it. but he DID. wow. crying.