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suspiciouspython · an hour ago
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« It was cream cheese and marmalade, I knew without looking. The twins were fanatical about them… » -The Secret History
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capitaen · 3 hours ago
Habe zufällig von diesem Blog erfahren und...WAS ZUR HÖLLE IST HIER LOS? WIESO??? WIESO DAS FLIEGENDE KLASSENZIMMER (2003)?? Wieso gibt es jetzt so eine fanbase oder ist das nur ein meme? 😂
(zur info, hab den film nur 1 mal vor kurzem geschaut und es war nice, die beiden alten Freunde hatten highkey gay vibes aber sonst..???? What what wat..)
lel nein es ist kein meme, ich liebe diesen film einfach sehr und er ist mir sehr wichtig und kästners buch ist halt auch einfach gut !! also alles sehr ernst gemeinte appreciation :D (nicht zuletzt wegend er gay vibes ofc)
und warum genau das jetzt so viel attention kriegt weiß ich tbh auch nicht aber ich finds schön (und für mich ist es definitiv der escapism :"))
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archiveoftragedies · 7 hours ago
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My mom: i started watching the Leonardo show
Me: oh cool! How is it?
My mom: meh, not bad. He made the atrezzo for Orpheus and Euridice because he was friends with the main actor
My dad *from the kitchen*: they were lovers
My mom: they never say that
My dad: they kissed
My mom: it was a good luck kiss! For the performance!
My dad: a good luck kiss on the mouth???
Me:
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edge-poetry · 16 hours ago
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poem: she’s changed
i saw my childhood best friend today,
it amazed me how little he had
changed—
he still looked like he did in fifth grade,
i didn’t say anything,
i just walked past,
without him noticing—
maybe he forgot,
maybe he moved on,
but i don’t think that’s the case—
he grew up with me as the
girl in the corner,
the one who couldn’t talk to strangers,
couldn’t bring her voice above a whisper—
but now i’m not afraid,
i’ve grown into who i’ve become,
i’m no longer missing out
and sticking to the side lines—
i raise my voice to a shout,
people can hear me now,
and i gotta wonder if he saw me today
and thought “wow,
she’s changed.”
-j.g. edge
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keatingwilde · 17 hours ago
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i just found out that pre-independence Indian people used to call Anne Besant as ‘Mata Vasant’ (probably because they couldn’t pronounce her name) and ‘Vasant’ sort of translates to ‘spring’ in Hindi (not exactly because the word is “Basant” for spring).
BUT I AM GOING TO THINK THEY CALLED THE LADY “mother spring” because it’s so adorable T_T
(just my interpretation, this in no way has to be true)
(also for reference, Anne Besant was a British socialist, theosophist, women's rights activist, writer, orator, educationist, and philanthropist who was kind and sympathetic to the cause of Indian people)
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academia-library · a day ago
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summer academia
- finally abandoning your turtlenecks and long coats because it's just too hot now
- swapping them out for short-sleeved button-ups and lacy camisoles, and tucking your tops into plaid skirts and corduroy shorts
- getting iced coffees from your local café, cooling down after a hot summer afternoon
- cooking and baking your favorite light pastries, from cream puffs to baklava
- walking to a secondhand bookshop and finding copies of your favorite novels
- rearranging your bookshelves, bringing out The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, as well as your copy of Little Women
- reading books in blooming flower gardens, surrounded by the flutter of butterflies as you read in the afternoon sun
- listening to podcasts as you walk long hikes
- reading philosophy early in the morning as you watch the sun rise
- taking advantage of the comfort of air-conditioned museums when it gets too hot
- watching operas, string quartets, and orchestras perform- many concerts occur outside during the summer months
- listening to mendelssohn, vivaldi, and gershwin's summer music, embracing the season to its fullest
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darkacademiasoul · a day ago
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“We are all broken...that’s how the light gets in.”
- Hemingway
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edge-poetry · a day ago
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my brain lags and has 3 viruses
while my body hasn’t received an update past Windows 2000
and my joints are like a dial-up phone— a pain to use
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edge-poetry · a day ago
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poem: painting
i’ll paint the stars
that i’ve only ever seen in your eyes,
and the colors that appear
when your voice breaks the quiet—
i’ll paint the sunset
hoping that it would hold an ounce
of your beauty that completely consumes me—
maybe you’d finally see the way
i look at you everyday,
every hour and every minute—
maybe you’ll realize every poem
is for you,
every line is your spirit
dancing through stanzas—
you’re the happy ending i speak of,
the happy ending i wished for,
between every dash i take a breath
it’s of you i’m thinking.
-j.g. edge
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academia-library · a day ago
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i sit on my bed, my elbow resting on a pillow, and my hand clutching a book. looking up for a second, i watch as the clock strikes midnight, but i am no cinderella.
outside my window it is dark. the moon is bright and full, and the stars sparkle like magic. a distant owl hoots to its friends high up a tree, while the crickets let out a comforting buzzing noise.
and as i sit, engaged in the tale of sydney carton and lucie manette, I am comforted with the knowledge that i will never, not ever, grow tired of the ethereality that is reading at midnight.
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garvita2002 · 2 days ago
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How the Fraser household would've looked if history hadn't gotten in the way of James Fraser and his "one for each spoon" 12 children...
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Illustration by- @yoonalovekim
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quiet.
Heavy but light. Lonely but comforting. Loud but so excruciatingly quiet. The silence of midnight and glimmering moons. The silence of early mornings and a bright sun. Quiet.
The air so still I can almost hear the candle’s flame quiver. The night so silent, my breath becomes a sort of music to the dark. Everything so calm, the tea’s too afraid to ripple, let it ruin the moment.
Oh, my dear quiet, how I crave to be in your presence for the rest of my days. I long for the peace you bring and your ability to stretch a moment into much, much longer. You warp time, letting me live within my paperback’s spine for what seems to be years.
Oh, my dear, you truly don’t know how much I love you. You’re the reason I’m alive, but you’re the reason I live in fear, for while your nights of reading and contemplating are the highlights, you bring about a sense of dread and memories I’ve so longed to forget.
You’re my demise, but I so dote and worship you, my love, for all that you provide.
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