WHAT MANNER OF MAN has risen from the grave! 🦇
❧ Get weekly letters from Catholic priest and beautiful idiot Father Ardelian as he slowly succumbs to the vampire’s wicked allure.
❧ (And maybe comes to term with some things about himself along the way.)
❧ A tale of blasphemy, scandal, and sin!
❧ (Also presenting: swashbuckling lesbians with swords!)
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26/04/2024
life has been hectic, with the end of semester approaching slowly but surely. i still have to finish my thesis, do all the remaining coursework for my classes, and then start studying for state exams :’)
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I need to buy a book. But i need to buy a book with a beautiful cover. But i need money to buy a book with a beautiful cover. But i need a job to get money to buy a book with a beautiful cover. But a job is a lot of work to buy a book with a beautiful cover. So I should rob a bank to buy a book with a beautiful cover. But robbing a bank is more work then getting a job to buy a book with a beautiful cover. So instead i should-
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Under the Sun of Satan (Sous le soleil de Satan) is Georges Bernanos's first published novel, appearing in 1926 in Paris.
“We are at that one of life's hours (it strikes for every man) when truth imposes itself, by itself, with irresistible obviousness, when each of us has only to stretch forth his arms to reach at a single bound the surface of shadows, even the sunlight of God. Then is human prudence but a snare and a delusion. Sanctity!' cried out the old priest in a deep voice; 'by saying this word in your presence and for you alone, I know the hurt I inflict upon you! You are not unaware of what sanctity is: a vocation, a calling. Up to the place where God awaits you you will have to climb – climb, or be lost. Expect no human help.”
Georges Bernanos, Under the Sun of Satan
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"Spring was muddy; as you crossed the city's outskirts toward the hill, the earth would suck you in, and you entered the homeland like butter. It was always raining, and only now and then would the sun hurriedly emerge like a speeding disc, and during the sunny breaks, the air smelled of roasted mushrooms."
— Marin Sorescu, Three Front Teeth, 1977
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Sometimes, the most profound thoughts are born in the quiet moments when we're not even trying to be profound. It's like the universe whispers its secrets when we're just still enough to listen. 🪶
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