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a horror movie about making a horror movie. wait, don't walk away. a horror movie about one of those grueling seventies productions that broke every OSHA rule—long, exhausting shoots in the middle of the woods, presided over by one of those directors convinced of his own genius and certain the only way to get the performances he needs is to relentlessly isolate and gaslight his female lead. the crew are terrified of the director's outbursts and so are going along with it. there's one other woman in the cast but she plays the one who takes her shirt off earlier in the film and then dies, and the director has done everything in his power to turn these two people against each other, the better to keep his female lead unbalanced and unsure, and when the deeply disquieting scary stuff starts happening for real, the female lead has nobody to confide in and assumes it is the director very characteristically going out of his way to fuck with her. one of the camera operators gets possessed and is being flung around the trees, head spinning as he oozes an acidic black liquid and the female lead is like, "i can't let fucking jerry think he's getting to me." and then—this may be too much, idk—the only way the two actresses can figure out what's really going on is to acknowledge that they've been pitted against each other and that they really don't have any reason beyond this not to trust each other, so they compare notes and that's how they discover that hey, this production actually is cursed.

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Watering lilies, 1955.

Photo: Ernie Sisto

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TATTOO DESIGN by SUTHERLAND MACDONALD | 1905

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A snake story, based on an experience I had while I was in Florida.

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Same. (via matsuda98)

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"the renata adler of looking at your phone a lot" is one of the most raw lines in any recent review essay

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while you were having affairs with malewife poets and beautiful milfs and failing to obtain panthers and also dying in a failed uprising against julius caesar and his economic policies. I Was Disembowelling Myself To Prove A Point.

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Our fandom forbearers did NOT suffer through Anne Rice, strikethrough, and other bullshit for fucking ACOTAR and Harry Potter fans to fucking ruin it for all of us by selling fanfiction. I am not losing novel length yaoi epics because some of you don't know how to act in fannish spaces and yes I do blame the booktokification of fanfic but I also blame those of you that treat fandom like content to consume and not a community to engage with.

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does anybody know when the wanting stops feelings abhorrent and unforgivable

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Ok now we have a booping feature I propose to tumblr next ides of March we have a stabbing counter and the person with the most stabs gets crowned Caesar and the blog with the most stabbings gets crowned Brutus

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did you know that lobsters are functionally immortal in that they can’t die of old age but they do eventually reach a point where they can’t shed and get stuck bc it would take too much energy to shed their exoskeleton so then they get stuck and die

Yes I do. Another fun fact, molting is an extremely dangerous thing for lobsters of any age, and failed molting is one of the most common causes of death for young lobsters as well. Molting is not equivalent to a reptile shedding skin or a bird shedding feathers, arthropod molting requires them to get rid of all the hard parts in their body including parts of their internal organs! They have to rip out sections of their digestive system and regrow them. And that’s not generally what kills them in a failed molting; usually they suffocate because they have to pull their gills out of the shell too and if they don’t get out quickly enough they die. I am so incredibly glad that I don’t have to worry about molting.

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i cannot stop laughing at send no pee

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The Tenant of Wildfell Hall opens with Gilbert Markham telling the story of his meeting Helen who has just moved into his neighborhood after leaving her husband. A fugitive from the law, she lives under an assumed name and tries to avoid the society of her immediate neighbors—Markham and his cohorts. Seen through the lens of Gilbert’s desire, Helen’s character emerges as the archetypal misanthropic stranger, inhabiting a wild and romantic Gothic mansion, her past replete with dark secrets. Brontë has done something astonishingly new: she has created a plausible female Byronic hero, coveted for her very “unfeminine” qualities: inquietude, difficulty, and distance. She is the “mysterious lady” who is so reserved that, “they tried all they could to find out who she was, and where she came from, and all about her, but [no one] ... could manage to elicit a single satisfactory answer ... or throw the faintest ray of light upon her history, circumstances, or connections. Moreover, she was barely civil to them .…” Anne revises Charlotte's Jane Eyre and Emily's Wuthering Heights: it is not Rochester who rules this Thornfield Hall nor is it Heathcliff who lurks about Wuthering Heights seeing ghosts. This time, the woman takes the role of the stormy and seductive artist who charms and mesmerizes the man. Wildfell Hall is a dilapidated, storied mansion, like so many other homes of Gothic literature; it is “cold and gloomy... with its thick stone mullion and little latticed panes, its time-eaten air-holes, and its too lonely, too unsheltered situation” surrounded by trees “half blighted with storms, and looking as stern and gloomy as the hall itself” which “harmonized well with the ghostly legend and dark traditions our old nurse had told us respecting the haunted hall and its departed occupants.” Helen haunts these bleak rooms, and Gilbert longs to redeem her from her dark past and bring her back into the fold, just as Jane yearns to be Rochester's salvation, his earthly paradise.

Deborah Lutz, introduction to The Tenant of Wildfell Hall by Anne Brontë