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tweeted this not realizing it's just basically sam's internal monologue

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I love how entirely guilty Boromir feels after trying to get the ring from Frodo. The way he calls out to him after realizing what he’s done, the way he falls to the ground and cries. He was more than this moment, and he bravely defended his little friends, making them seem important to the cause and keeping them alive. I love him. He’s imperfect, but noble. He was more than that moment. He was all the moments before, and the moments after.

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Rereading the Lord of the Rings series recently, and it's so fascinating to me how much the series is a denial of the typical juvenile power-fantasy that is associated with the fantasy genre.

Like, the power-fantasy is the temptation the Ring uses against people It tempts Boromir with becoming the "one true king" that could save his people with fantastic power. It tempts Sam with being the savior of Middle Earth and turning the ruin that is Mordor into a great garden. It tempts Gandalf and Galadriel with being the messianic figure of legend who brings salvation to Middle Earth and great glory to herself.

The things the Ring tempts people with are becoming the typical protagonists of fantasy stories that we expect to see. and over and over we see that accepting that role, that fantasy of being the benevolent all-powerful hero, is a bad thing. LotR is about how power, even power wielded with benevolent intent, is corrupting.

And its so fascinating how so much of modern fantasy buys into the very fantasy LotR denies. Most modern fantasy is about being that Heroic power-fantasy. About good amassing power to rival evil. But LotR dares not to. It dares to be honest that there is no world where anyone amasses that power and remains good.

I guess that's one of the reasons its so compelling.

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anyone who thinks dostoevsky's writing is dry and humourless is missing out on passages like this

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clingy boyfriend

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and what if I told you nine was less afraid of love than ten. what then.

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I don't care what people say about the hobbit movies, but you have to admit that Richard Armitage's acting was perfect. Its actually insane how he was able to capture Thorin's character, and cultivate it into something so interesting and realistic. The way he portrayed the dragon sickness really showed the insanity of Thorin at the time and the way his minute actions resembled that of a snake, aka a dragon, And it drives me insane how we never talk about it!

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Oh, to be a delightfully plump little hobbit living in a cosy hole in the ground, with nothing more pressing to do than gardening, reading, gossiping at the market, and finding time for seven square meals through the day...

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BenMyhre

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I take teeth jokes or people mocking teeth very seriously. My grandmother had black teeth that fell out and my grandfather had to have all of his teeth pulled and the shame and disgust and self loathing others made them feel for it has stayed with me to this day. You're a classist shithead if you mock ppl's teeth or use it as a sign of morality. All perfectly straight white teeth prove is access to money literally that's it!

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90% of "lesbian representation" in media made by straight people is just conventionally attractive woman but she's wearing a leather jacket so you know she's bad (TM)

Meanwhile every real lesbian I've ever seen exists so far beyond the male gaze we've transcended gender

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There were 13 things in the world Maglor would kill for.

3 of those reject his mere touch.

2 of them he can never meet again until the world ends.

2 are in a land he won’t go back to.

And his 6 brothers? They’re gone, facing the consequences of their sins.

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Loneliness does not come from having no people about one, but from being unable to communicate the things that seem important to oneself, or from holding certain views which others find inadmissible. 

Carl Jung, “Memories, Dreams, Reflections”

I am constantly trying to communicate something incommunicable, to explain something inexplicable, to tell about something I only feel in my bones and which can only be experienced in those bones. 

Franz Kafka, “Letters to Milena”

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Autumnal Melancholy

As autumn unfurls its vibrant tapestry of reds, oranges, and browns, it often evokes a sense of melancholy. The leaves fall like russet tears, marking the transition from the lushness of summer to the stillness of winter. This season, rich in symbolism, is a recurring motif in art and literature, representing transition, decay, and loss. Autumn forces us to confront the inevitability of change, reminding us that we are but a small part of the greater natural world and to bear witness to the death that follows the vibrant life of spring. While we may now associate this season with cosy sweaters, hot drinks, and crackling fires, its underlying melancholy lingers in the crisp air, serving as a memento mori. For those grappling with their own grief and loss, autumn poses unique challenges, compelling us to seek solace in a world that forces us to confront these harsh realities.

In literature, autumn is frequently portrayed as the twilight of the year, a liminal space between the vitality of spring and the bitter winter cold. Notably, this is illustrated in W.B. Yeats’ poem, The Wild Swans at Coole. He pairs the image of the trees’ ‘autumn beauty’ with the ‘twilight’ setting to demonstrate this cyclical and transient nature of life, imbuing the scene with a sense of stasis, reflection, and tranquility as the speaker contemplates ephemeral human existence with the ineffable immortality of nature. This evokes a part of grief that I had never considered before I had experienced it: our loved ones who pass away are frozen in time like a pressed flower, never to bloom again in the spring, while we are meant to continue to grow. At first, I felt indignant and outraged at the unfairness of it all. How am I supposed to continue without them? How can the world keep turning or the seasons keep changing without our departed loved ones here to witness it?

As someone who has a history of mental illness, it feels cruel that someone so precious, beautiful, and ready for life should be taken away so soon. A bright light was extinguished. Whereas someone like me, flickering and dim, continues to burn. It's not fair. I've always known it's not fair; the guilt tastes like ash in my mouth. Throughout Yeats’ poem, the speaker focuses on these swans’ stasis throughout the years despite this change. They remain a collective mass that implies a monolithic unity, creating an illusion of immortality. This image is a microcosm of the enduring vitality of nature. We, too, will one day enter the winter of our lives, fall to the ground, and bring new life to the soil, much like autumn leaves. It comforts me to apply the permanence of the swans to ourselves. Through the lens of Yeats’ poem, we can interpret this season as a reminder of the human condition, not just as individuals who cannot be resurrected and become lost to the ravages of time, but as integral parts of the regenerative whole of nature, forming a larger community that creates new life as it witnesses death.

Another one of my favourite expressions of autumn is found in Jackson Pollock's Autumn Rhythm (Number 30, 1950). He employs a dripping technique in which paint is splattered, flung, and pooled onto the canvas to create an expressionist, non-representative explosion. The arches, curves, overlapping colours, and frenetic peaks of colour vividly illustrate the boundless nature of existence, its continuous flow without a clear beginning or end. Both the melancholic atmosphere conveyed by the dark colours and the chaos of this tempestuous expression reflects an internal turmoil and emotional turbulence, as well as the larger mutability of nature . The all-consuming contrast between the black and white paint conveys a liminality, changeability, and duality within autumn - the bountiful harvests and the withering trees, the transition from summer to winter. The lack of typical autumnal imagery is striking as Pollock encapsulates a visceral feeling, a power beyond the individual, he illustrates the greater cycle of life just like Yeats’ swans. 

There’s a promise of change that lies beyond autumnal decay, one that promises more than ornate carpets of leaves and petals of breath that bloom in the air. The words of F. Scott Fitzgerald come to mind: "Life starts all over again when it gets crisp in the fall.” Perhaps in this lies a possible comfort to find in this autumn. It serves as a poignant reminder of our place within the vast universe.

#writing #autumn #fall aesthetic #writerblr #melanchonic #web weaving #spilled words #essay #mental illness #grief #loss #fall

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DNI:

under 900

you uþe an "S" inþtead of the proper þ or make no effort to do þo

you don't think the Fëanorians are the rightful ownerþ of all three þilmarilþ

you think the teleri didn't attack firþt

n0l0f!nw3 þtan

you interact with the "children" of !nd!$

you interact with the line of th!n//g0l

you þhip $!lv3r/g!fting (literally romanticizing m*rder you freak)

you like m0rg/0th or sau//r0n or þhip them with anybody

you þupport b3r/3n and lu//th!3n (just þay you literally þupport þtealing)

elw//!ng þtan

you þupport the va//la//r (literally a faþciþt, blocked on þight)

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DNI:

under 900

you uþe an "S" inþtead of the proper þ or make no effort to do þo

you don't think the Fëanorians are the rightful ownerþ of all three þilmarilþ

you think the teleri didn't attack firþt

n0l0f!nw3 þtan

you interact with the "children" of !nd!$

you interact with the line of th!n//g0l

you þhip $!lv3r/g!fting (literally romanticizing m*rder you freak)

you like m0rg/0th or sau//r0n or þhip them with anybody

you þupport b3r/3n and lu//th!3n (just þay you literally þupport þtealing)

elw//!ng þtan

you þupport the va//la//r (literally a faþciþt, blocked on þight)