Sometimes Making Tea Is Less About Drinking It And More Ab It Keeping You Company

The cat is wearing flowery clothes and black sunglasses outside. It’s very domineering.

bring back homeric epithets. call people brave-hearted, swift-footed, laughter loving and loud thundering. view the world with its rosy fingered and saffron robed dawns, its wine dark seas. make your own, walk across kiln fired earth and moss soft as sea sponges. be dew-eyed and soft-cheeked and silver-souled, deft-fingered and bright-tongued. gaze up at the many-storied stars and feel the warmth of the ancient sun, father of gods and men, as it beats down on the shimmering world, soft spun like caterpillar silk

“I have always felt that mathematics is a language like music. To learn it systematically, it is necessary to master small pieces and gradually add another piece and then another. In a sense, mathematics is like the classical Chinese language—very polished and very elegant. Sitting in a good mathematics lecture is like sitting in good opera. Everything comes together.”

— Sun-Yung Alice Chang

all i'm saying is that sexy people isolate themselves from everyone and listen to music, read books and sleep to avoid their problems because existing in general is unbearable.

dear gods just imagine the stories of women in a dark academia setting. 

women with squared off shoulders that strut down the hallways as if they have the whole world at their hands. women playing the male roles in the plays. women adjusting their jacket before storming off. women gently putting on red lipstick with a bloodied hand. women with hunched shoulders and dark eyes frantically reading a book, because they cant get enough of it. women with a secret just poised on their lips if the perfect arch. women with messy hair and disheveled looks stumbling into class. women seducing everyone around them with their raspy voices. women having everyone’s attention with their soft voices. women knowing how to handle blood. women knowing how the plan things perfectly. women reciting poetry over a fresh grave. women with their arms linked running across campus, their laughs rising above the quiet of the night. women tasting like strawberry wine and the faintest hint of whisky. women helping women when things go wrong. just women in the dark academia genre where they aren’t used as the lust interest in the room. 

i know this isn’t really original but im obsessed with how english words that refer to the bodily, the tangible, the elemental etc are so often of anglo-saxon/germanic origin e.g. (heart, blood, jaw, flesh) or observable phenomena, like adjectives describing light (glisten, gloaming, glitter, gleam, gloom, glow, dark, fire) or places (hearth, hall, hill), and the most stark, primal emotions or states (hate, love, life, lust, death) and of course fuck, shit, bitch, cunt etc– these often monosyllabic, consonant heavy words…and then you have the lilting, limpid romance/latinate, words like acquiesce and exacerbate and agrarian and pellucid and clemency and lucidity…and how maybe the secret of all great english language poetry is a textural balancing of the push-pull of the germanic and the romantic/latinate, a balancing of these two energies. like some of the most powerful moments in shakespeare are where the verbosity falls away and you have these plain utterances (“to be or not to be” or lear’s dying “look there look there”– all anglo saxon words) that are so powerful precisely because the language is so ornate elsewhere. i once came up with an elaborate wildly incoherent theory about this in the pub with some drunk american masters student who was dressed like harry styles

“It is June.  I am tired of being brave.”

– Anne Sexton, ‘The Truth the Dead Know’

Alt j: OH GOD I WANNA FUCK ANNE BOLEYN SO FUCKING MUCH!!!! HOLY SHIT I WANNA FUCK ANNE BOLEYN!!!!!!!

Me:

There are only two moods : hedonism and romantic longing.