By Mauro_roberto__

flowers that bloom in the night

#I love two gay dads and their son

Gustave Flaubert, from a notebook entry written c. February 1840

wow how about that

euripides, from “orestes”, an oresteia (trans. anne carson) // dead poets society, dir. peter weir // kill your darlings // if we were villains

Nikita Gill, from Fierce Fairytales Poems & Stories to Stir Your Soul; "Seven,"

concept playlists

it’s bacchanal time, baby: songs for when you infiltrate a group of classics students and you all love each other. you hold a bacchanal together and see spectacular visions of dionysus and immortality in the midst of ecstasy. when you return to your body you feel you do not know yourself and question if you ever can. the light of the fire is dying and you’re covered in blood. you’re all covered in blood.

lime green slushies & god: you’re in a gas station food mart in the middle of the night and you meet someone. you know they’re not human, but they might be. all you know is that they’re holy. and you’re not. you get a bright green slushie and want to ask them for guidance. they pay for your slushie. you’re neon now.

bottom of a hotel pool: it’s your birthday and you’re at the bottom of a hotel pool. you know you should come back up. you know you shoulld go to the candles and frosting. you stay at the bottom and listen to the muffled thunder in the the distance. you feel the water’s divine power within you and you know you can breathe.

literary liaisons: you’re following your crush in the library. you’re taking note of the books they pick up, picking up one of your own. an hour before close, you go back to the shelf they went to and pick up their book. through the shelf’s gaps, you lock eyes with them. who’s following who now? and why? There’s a metallic taste in your mouth, and you lick your lips.

pink silk & poison: the sweet smell of the rose oil you’re putting on your body hangs in the air. the doorbell rings. you wrap yourself in your pink silk robe and go down to open the door. it’s the police. your husband has died. at least he left you his will. you turn up the volume of the record player.

motel terrors and subtext: there’s a boy in a motel room on his knees with a gun to his head. there’s a girl in a motel room with her finger on the trigger. a bottle breaks. that means ‘i love you’. you shut your eyes. what a pair.

glitter pluming between us: you’re in a club where everything is washed in blue lights. there’s a boy with glitter dusting his cheekbones and he’s all you can see or want. you should be the villains in each other’s stories. but under the lights and music all you can feel is love. you’re both in the alley now and out here the glitter cuts like a knife.

season of the witch: it’s near halloween and you’re discovering a new kind of power. in the hidden section of your university library you discover grimoires. in yourself you discover magic. somehow you know your whole life’s path has led you here.

get your lyres out, boys: you’re the oracle of delphi. amidst the smoke of incense and offerings of grapes and honey you witness history. the rage of achilles, the burden of atlas, the flight of icarus. time does not exist.

raging feminist: you’re a raging feminist. you’re dismantling the patriarchy and rallying. you’re discovering the power in femininity and womanhood.

sunday morning cappuccinos: it’s sunday morning and you wake up early to the smell of breakfast. you pull on a cashmere sweater and go into the kitchen of your loft where your lover is pouring you coffee. you both have goals and are working to achieve them. it’s cold and you make plans to have a movie night together in the warmth.

all this, and love too, will ruin us: you’re in love for the first time and you feel like you’ve discovered something no one ever has. you’re consumed and can swallow the world whole.

I have three modes of reading

Dont read

Read a 500 page book in a day

Read only fanfiction until my eyeballs drop out of my skull from exhaustion