the first law of tragedies: the end is already written and inevitable. the second law of tragedies: your actions are all your own and you can choose to get off this ride whenever you want. the third law of tragedies: we both know that you are never going to do that.

Brennan Lee Mulligan / Anne Carson / Emily Wilson / Jaelyn Dennis / Anne Carson / Mitski / inanotherunivrse / Alicia Ostriker / Clarice Lispector / Source Unknown / souldistracted / @kermit-coded / Source Unknown / @professor-pants / souldistracted / Ricardo Martinez / Anne Carson / Phoebe Bridgers / @thegirlhoodtheory / Silas Denver Melvin / Mary Oliver / Bombay Bicycle Club / @autopsytableromance / Margaret Atwood

sorry that i ended two consecutive messages with "lmao." i don't know why i did that. it looks really dumb doesn't it. i'll edit one to get rid of it. you can end my stupid pathetic life if you want

Reblog for a miracle to happen tonight

In high school I was voted most likely to be tormented by spirits

being a female knight fucking sucks. every squire boy i get turns out to be an adult woman with short hair who's just in it to sensually strap my armor to me. CHOP CHOP bitch the French are trying to sack our castle!

"But he had to try, really try, to make sure that he did not stop dreaming in his native tongue."

— from Babel by R. F. Kuang

i feel like a fraud sometimes. i harp on about the importance of the irish language, of speaking it if and when you can, of making it easier to learn. but is it really my native tongue if my first language is english, like most of the irish population? are we really irish if we have never gone to sleep and dreamed as gaeilge?

i think about it a lot when i write. i write in english, because i am not fluent in irish. i fear i will never be fluent. even now, i'm typing this post in english. i feel like a liar. i feel like i'm spitting on the graves of people long gone, who lived under laws banning the irish language. people that taught the language in hedge schools. people that wrote our declaration of independence, and were shot dead for it, never living to see an independent ireland.

i think about my classmates in school. how they hate irish. they hated it as much as maths and french and history. i think about a kid that declared in front of the entire class (and the teacher) that it was a useless, pointless, needlessly difficult language. i remember the pain on her face and the sickness in my gut.

i think of the future too. how ireland's population surpassed five million people for the first time since the 1840s, when a famine destroyed our crops and the english crown sent starving, monolingual farmers bags of corn, with cooking instructions written in english. i think of my mother's cousin and his wife, who despite being in the majority of irish people with english as a first language, speak exclusively irish to their toddler. that child will learn english as a second language. that child dreams in irish. i think of the phrase 'in my lifetime.' a united ireland, in my lifetime. i wonder how many people have fallen asleep and dreamed of that? in my lifetime, in my lifetime, in my lifetime...

i think of another phrase too. a seanfocail. "is fearr gaeilge bhriste ná béarla cliste." broken irish is better than clever english.

i may not dream in irish, and i may never. but i might. and while i wait, i dream of a united ireland, of children in the far-flung future ag caint as gaeilge, ag cannadh as gaeilge, ag gáire as gaeilge. speaking, singing, laughing in irish. then i dare to imagine like so many before me, in my lifetime, in my lifetime, in my lifetime.

my mom just had a 7cm brain tumor removed and since she's woken up she's been talking nonstop about this dream she had about going to an art gallery full of colourful paintings by a 'homosexual artist' named klimsdorf who was ethereal and wise, both young and old... at first she was convinced he was a real person but after failing to find him online she's accepted he was a figment of her subconscious mind and is now determined to bring him to life via painting his portrait herself. she's 67 and has never drawn in her life. and now this. blorbo from her tumor

Mods? Take him to the stump of his favorite childhood tree.

Mods, make him busy during a friends planned trip so he misses out on the new inside joke.

Mods… change the smell of his parents house.

look boss, our quarterly "subjection to the brutalities of the Absurd" budget is almost blown already. can we not just shoot this one twice in the back of the head and call it a day?

I'm sorry but it was too good to disable RBs for so I'll take this hit personally

"Adaine will outlive her friends" "Fig as an Archdevils will outlive her friends" wrong, all their friends die and they demand to go to hell. They spend their afterlives in the Bottomless Pit surrounded by moshpits. Adaine swings by once a week for movie nights. She livestreams their funerals and they rank their eulogies.

Fig makes a studio album called ALL MY FRIEND ARE DEAD and each bad kid features on the song about the story of how they died bc NONE of those mfs are going out without a bang.

adaine’s track is actually a skit at the end titled STOP TELLING THEM IM DEAD. the skit has a house party remix within an hour of the albums release

ever since I was a young lad I knew I wanted to be a middle-aged man with an undone tie around his neck who’s having a crisis so he goes to the bathroom to splash water on his face only to look up at himself in the mirror and wonder at the stranger looking back

So the destruction of the Institute of Sexology is in a lot of people's minds right now, which is fantastic. In a world where more and more books are being banned, thinking and talking about the extremes of this behavior is absolutely necessary. But I would really like to talk about some actionable steps you can take right now to preserve and uplift queer voices.

Queer history is being made right now. People are going to look at how we as a community responded to our voices being silenced, and I hope this helps you decide how you want to be a part of that story.