Light Academia - Blog Posts

6-29-2024

Not much studying has gotten done this weekend; I’m too busy enjoying some time in nature :) I did manage to read through a couple chapters of my EMT review book, and I saw a Milbert’s tortoiseshell butterfly, or, if the Latin name is more your style, an Aglais milberti.

✦╶Moodboard

lucky charm

i would look at a text

thumbnail skitter over message, scroll,

and think that this must be how real people talk

i looked for the answers to the universe in the

scuff of nail polish on my desk, or

scried my future in the blue tint of

lucky charms milk,

but there was no supernatural to be found in the ordinary,

no simple magic to the daily

and i woke up before the sun rose, but even then i

couldn’t find anything to be happy about

or any beauty in the darkened world,

until the gray light crept over the sky, illuminating the ugliness

the bus stop smells, and

fetid streets, and

the ants on the counter, crawling over their dead friends’ bodies,

among the pesticidal waste

and i wonder if someone wished me out of existence,

or if maybe, it stuck, when you told me i couldn’t be real

the world

entropy must increase,

disorder in your brain

impossible to untangle in music

can’t sense-make nonsense and expect to gain

there’s got to be another way,

there’s a pounding in your head

there’s a solution, thermodynamically

excise the pain, release the dread

but when you stop running

all you hear is your breath

the sear in your lungs

pounding in your chest

stripped away, immortalized

beastly, energized

your face hot against warm water

the body is all that remains, unclothed

a shock to the eye,

stripped of ego, stripped of pride

curve of waist meets slant of thigh

without facade, it’s who you are

truths tantalizing and terrified

feared to face, close your eyes

but its you, you cannot hide,

so open.

see on wide;

the messy marks of an existence cried

unfortunately, agonizingly alive

smeared grease stains on phone screen

and passed a joke from video to friend

statistically significant,

node on the web of connection

sticky fingers push cheek,

mold skin to who you are

physical barriers between us,

but our minds touch, less individual

more undefined,

more unknown

split between the bodies of friends

and everyone i ever met

self-description entailed self-destruction

and a greater whole emerged from the mess

ridiculously vulnerable

a populace in fetal form

the world, it was me and you

the individual a self-serving lie

all born with fragile skin that breaks

all born from the same blue sky

all born vulnerable

to the world, expecting attack from all sides

i ran, and it worked, because entropy increased

but my energy went to another cause

a difficult pill to swallow,

that things don’t disappear when they're gone

the world is a closed system,

and we are who you are

and i fear you

and i love you

and you are me, and i am you

and when i see something i recognize

in the reflection in your eye,

and when i run and try to hide,

we are the world, it’s all around

it’s within me.

agape

i love him the most in the gentleness of sleep,

he is at his softest then

eyes closing to the sounds of the world,

nose buried against my leg

claws retracted,

mouth soft and yielding

no twitch of the ear,

nor flicker of the eye,

vulnerability earned and cherished,

a kiss and gentle pet accepted,

i adore you most in the quiet of the night,

sparkling eyes slip shut,

soft belly bared to the world

breaths even and unmeasured,

curled up, awaiting

indefinitely, unknown

elpis

nobody taught me what happiness was,

i had to teach myself.

i sought it in a golden fleece,

but it wasn’t found in riches

i sought it in the thunderbolt,

but it wasn’t found in god

i sought it in my mother’s hand,

but she never learned it either

i sought it in my own heart,

but the feeling wouldn’t linger.

nobody taught me what happiness was,

it’s simpler to stay sad

you have to save yourself, i realized

it’s easier said than done

when you’ve convinced yourself you don’t need saving,

that the bone-deep hurt is in everyone.

i made myself happy enough, i bluffed but i should’ve known

enough is never enough

my heart was never my home

i flayed myself at the altar

i bent backwards for pelias

his upward gaze did not falter, 

a midas touch could not settle the rest.

there was no reason, none at all

but i could not accept it,

i think i've always been a little scared of happiness

for me, it was never destined. 

nobody taught me what happiness was,

but i’m trying to learn it now

i’m sorry i hurt so easy

i’m sorry i didn’t treat you well

i’m sorry i stayed complacent, couldn’t face it, didn’t cherish what you gave me 

i hope you can forgive this 

i hope you trust me with your gift

i’d turn back for you, every single time

for one sun-dappled glimpse.

nobody taught me what happiness was,

i think i figured it out.

it's trying, with everything you have, to find it

you owe it to yourself.

burning

to care for something is a delicate thing

to cultivate, to put a part of you into a vessel outside yourself with no guarantee of success

like chipping a piece of your heart that you might not get back

it's a gamble

but you take that risk because you always hope that what you feel, so may someone else for you

a singular attention

but people bite

and you don’t know if you’ll ever get it back

and what if you gave more than you realized

and when they’re gone, you look down and all that’s left is blackness

blindfolded in a ribcage, entombed by a heart that doesn't beat for you

by lungs that don’t breathe for you

by lips that don’t lust for you

and you are shunned and quiet and can only say, oh, okay

and give no sign of your smile chipping away, that skipped beat and the cold creep of dread

and give no sign of the disappointment, lest you look closer and know its because you had the audacity to have expectations

and give no sign of the hurt, lest you find yourself realizing it meant something

to be vulnerable is to be peeled open, raw and turbulent, strapped to a table with a knife hovering over you and a trembling hand against it

it's the pulse in your neck as something unknown grazes your skin

the flex of tendons desperate to recognize what’s beneath them,

the lump in your throat that never seems to go away 

it’s the hope that the contact was lips and not teeth

and some say the risk is worth it for the chance of love

but this year it is a brittle winter

and the truth is so warm within me, 

to the point where i may set ablaze 

and nobody will know why my body was charred from the inside out

on scent

scent indicates familiarity; it’s always there but doesn’t really mean anything until it means something, 

and now its not just brownies cooking, but ours over stifled giggles at two am

and now its not just a car exhaust, but yours singing songs into a sunset 

and then, years later, you catch a whiff

and your head turns, inevitably, because it would be worse than shame, to miss something you love

and maybe a part of you wants you to be happy

and when you lose that forever maybe you’ll seek it in a bottle, or save it in fabric, or even try to rediscover it in the recesses of your mind, 

but scent is uniquely reserved for the here and now,

and i will never live this moment again, but 

maybe i will catch a whiff of it on the breeze 

and my head will turn ever so slightly, 

and i will remember oh, how i loved you so.

excerpt from ch 9

Zela’s place was not here. Not in this restaurant, not with these people. The sooner she recognized that, the sooner she could get over it.

Wiping angry tears from her blotchy face, she rushed out into the cool night air, retreating to the safety of her car.

She slammed the steering wheel. Once. Twice. And then she crumpled.

Was it so bad to have company pride? To love what she did? Should she not adore her workplace and the people who worked there?

She fished out the rook, placing it gently on the dashboard. She still remembered it as if it were yesterday – Christmas, age twelve. The snow was falling hard outside, and Zela had woken up to a wonderland blizzard. The family had stayed inside, yelling in joy, chasing each other, wrapping paper strewn across the carpet. Her father had swung Malin around, who, of course, was jubilant. Zela watched, wanting to join, but Darren couldn’t hold two daughters at once. So her mother had pulled her from behind, shouting and grinning. She had brought down the chessboard from the shelf, and said with candy eyes and a nutmeg tongue, I think it’s time you learned the game.

Zela refused to stop until she won, but hours passed, and she couldn’t. After her fourth checkmate by the rook and a break for dinner, Zela snuck the piece off the board. Her mother pretended not to notice. Kita won anyway – but she never asked for the piece back.

Zela didn’t win that day. Nor could she the next, or the next week, or the next month.

Within the year, they were at a stalemate. After a year, Zela was consistently winning.

After two years, Zela started high school. According to her mother, there wasn’t time for chess anymore. There wasn’t time for family.

Her chest ached.

She still remembered the scent, the laughter. The warmth of four bodies in the same room. She still remembered the music. 

Zela exhaled, half expecting to see her breath puff before her. But it was summer, and the snow hadn’t come in years. 

✸A wonderful feeling of summer rainy melancholy✸

"We are not searching for big things. We are searching for a silence devoid of grief."

@ineluctablehere

Them there dogs

𝐹𝓇𝓊𝒾𝓉 𝒷𝒶𝓈𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓉

The aesthetics of my insomnia:

crying over TikToks because you love women (/pos)

googling fake Shakespeare quotes (it turned out to be a quote from Tumblr)

writing down an idea for a drawing that you dreamed of in your half-sleep

learn by heart a poem by Lermontov or Pushkin

changing three pillows (one of the pillows is a sweater with a scarf), eventually just falling asleep on a mattress

doing 20 push-ups at five in the morning, because it's better than scratching your skin and quieter than hitting a pillow

looking up the translation of a word (from the language you're learning) that came to mind and you're not 100% sure what it means

i am so sorry i am only reading the secret history for the first time because i feel like i am missing a lot of details that can only be noticed by re-reading the book. i'm on chapter three and so far every chapter talks about immortality and "living forever." i am wondering if this will last longer and how it will be mentioned in the chapter with bunny's murder. if it will be mentioned at all?

and the whole third chapter can probably be considered the character's first test of the idea of ​​immortality. and already here he faces reality - the proximity of death for any person, the fragility of life (and btw, it is significant that he does not fully realize that he can die, since life among his Greek circle makes him not think about it, they constantly repeat to him 'live forever' no one discusses death).

When I was little and read the myths of Ancient Greece, I thought that the ancient gods were very cruel, turning people into trees. Now I am older and I want to be a tree too.

AND THIS IS WHEN MOST OF THE THINGS HE DID CARE TO TELL WERE LIES

CAN YOU IMAGINE A STRANGER ENTERING YOUR SMALL GROUP, HE IS VERY QUIET AND MYSTERIOUS. HE SAYS VERY FEW THINGS AND IN ALMOST EVERY CONVERSATION HE LIES

Honestly, this is the best scene that shows Henry's madness.

Interestingly, in the first class Richard attended, Julian asks about the one desire we all have. And Camilla says it's the desire to live. And Bunny adds:

"To live forever"

After all, he is the one who will be killed. And because of this, he will always live in the memory of others. Always young and never old

I kinda hope The Secret History never gets a movie adaptation because being forced to read the book is a test you have to pass to get into this fandom.

Lowkey just a chill girl who’s thirsty for knowledge

Masks:

A mean of protection

Masks are to protect others from something you might have.

Masks are a covering of the face.

Everyone wears one whether they know it or not.

A mask is a mean of protection

Everyone has multiple masks

They wear one to protect others from your true self.

For if they take it off, they will never recover.

A mask is a mean of protection.

Everyone wears one whether they know it or not.

Those who do not know may never know it, for it is now a part of them.

Those who know it is forever lost in the labyrinth of masks and shall never find themselves again.

A mask is a mean of protection.

A mask is a covering of the face.

Masks are to protect others fro your true self.

Masks

Garden of Words

How beautiful the flowers, blossoming in spring, and withering in winter just to be reborn again. 

   How I wish to learn the language of such flowers, and the beauty within them.

Roses, Lilacs, and Camillias, can such flowers express my love to you?

  Surely these flowers in my throat shall choke me before I even have the chance to speak.

 Oh how I wish you felt the same way about me.

   Instead I wallow in self-pity, gasping for air everytime I see you.

Surely, Cyclamen and yellow carnations fits me better.

   For who shall ever love me with the understanding of these flowers.

If only my flower language could of been flowers of Roses, Lilacs, and Camillias, maybe then you could cure me of such a love sickness.

  If only I knew how to speak in the language of flowers, maybe then I could express my feelings in the

Garden of Words.  

-Unkown

This poem I wrote is my favorite, and felt the need to share it! :D