every time a woman talks about getting cosmetic surgery lip fillers botox buccal fat removal PREVENTATIVE botox labiaplasty rhinoplasty any of the plastys i feel like i'm being sucked down a fucking storm gutter. it's so bleak and it's so grim and it's so profoundly upsetting. here's how to sleep so you don't get wrinkles! here's how to laugh and smile so you don't get wrinkles! here's this horrifically over involved skincare routine that you should start as a teenager to prevent any indication that you've lived a life free from the omnipresent fear of being observed and subsequently found lacking! you are empowering yourself by constantly placing every piece of your body into separately managed boxes of routines and standards! this should be your hobby! your body is not just for you! the world is entitled to dictate how you look and how you feel about yourself and the unattainable goals are always changing and you will never ever rest! but you should get more sleep! don't look old! look fresh! be fuckable! be cool! make this look low effort! don't be high maintenance! your earlobes are ugly! you're ugly! you're so beautiful! beauty is everything! beauty is worth! self consciousness is so unattractive! make the other women in your life feel inhuman for not sticking to the rules as well as you have! this is a sisterhood! this is a direct competition! kill the competition! support women! other women are doing it wrong! don't be like other women! be the best woman! we'll stop punishing the best woman! i'm going to be fucking sick on myself.
obsessed with the way that gothic horror is about horror but never directly. it’s not horrific because there’s a haunted house and that’s scary, it’s horrific because the monster isn’t a monster, it’s your grief, your loss, your pride, your desire, your fear. the monster skulking in the shadows, the darkness at the edge of the woods, the haunted house that is too broken to be a home—those are manifestations of events that grabbed onto the fabric of time in a fit of abject horror and clamped down so tightly that they couldn’t keep moving forward toward resolution and eventual dissipation like they were supposed to. it’s all about the scared child and the mourning mother and the hunger in your gut and the little emptiness in your chest at the end of the day. those things are all little horrors but you can’t approach them directly to understand them, so gothic horror gives us these little metaphors and says “here play with these for a while and see what you find.” and all of those metaphors need someone to go back to childhood to release them. you have to care, and be curious and clever, and look for a way to heal the hurt. you have to be so achingly human to survive in gothic horror
the tenth day of lent, of fasting and abstinence.
mina marelica
he is cause of all things and yet he is not anything.
nothingness is creation, Dionysus tells, the
ecstasy of abjection.
the pleasure of the chasm of the hollow
you wrenched from me, exhumed me from sedentariness; i am unbridled for half year, exothermic, i
scare my friends
and yet you have never touched me (not never) and soil still suffocates my teeth and mouth and throat and it is coarse and i hurt
constantly.
loosely based on “a nocturnal upon st. lucy’s day” by john donne. written in a heartbreak nine months in the making. hoping to write more. please see its small publication here:
i’m just sitting here dying of laughter thinking about McGonagall looking over Harry in first year like yeah the kid gets into some dangerous shenanigans but it always seems to be for a greater purpose and his heart’s in the right place and he’s so sweet and quiet usually, clearly he takes after his mother Lily thank goodness this is good this boy is good
and then dead ass one year later kid shows up to school crashing into a tree with his bestie in a flying car instead of just owling the damn school that they’d missed the train and she’s just like DING DONG I WAS WRONG
the feminine urge to only find yourself beautiful in your vulnerable states. hair in a self taught braid, pieces curling out. nose rubbed raw and red from a cold. cropped thrifted graphic tee thats riding up, glasses pushed up onto your head. who will want me when i’m brushing my teeth and counting out pills? who will find me desirable if not myself?
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