scatterghosts

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love by Bob Hicok

#poetry

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this is going to make the top 5 gender-transing incidents of 2024 for sure

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Just kinda discovered that The Mountain Goats fans have an internet presence via Tumblr, and it’s a similar feeling to when you’re 7 and you lift up a rock for whatever reason 7 year olds lift up rocks for, and about a million bugs escape from underneath it, but in a fun, non-crawling way. Anyways, hi mountain goats fans!

#we are happy where the vermin play lol #and hi

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Daniela Astone (Italian, b.1980, Pisa, Italy) - The Fall, 2023, Paintings: Oil on Canvas

#art #gold

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She let go of the breath she had consciously been holding.

#i don't really want you I'm afraid #he said

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The Hoard’s Prayer:

A gift for @chernozemm

Spirit and skin are incongruous. Oil and water; soul and sweat. This flesh made mine by G-d. These desires ungodly. Do they spring forth From the same river basin? An oily foam skimming atop The drink with which I shall never thirst.

Are food and wine not Communion too? Might I hunger for them? Would You permit My tongue to touch the loaf? Unleavened and unflavoured, Nothing of substance. I need no calories; Just a sinking stomach-stone To quell the ache of peristalsis.

Spirit and skin, both Want. Him. But other things too. Good music is nourishing For the celestial core More than the ear it sits upon. He would fatten the grace of me, The light beneath my bushel, If only I asked. And I would thank You, If only You let my essence feed. Praise Your name For the gift of him.

Is it the greed that You abhor? The gluttony. When the thought of him Is smeared across my mouth. Or is it idolatry? That I should lo— It is the gluttony, I suspect.

I have wandered Six millennia, cast into the desert. The snake, too, tempted me. Like the Son of man I prayed in the Garden of Gethsemane, And bled mortal blood, And cherished my enemy, And wanted.

Forgive him, For he knows not What he is doing. Forgive me, For the sulphur-taste, On my tongue.

Is it the physicality? Might that be what displeases You? Judas and his kiss. Did Jesus, too, Desire more? Or am I alone, Heaven made flesh, Malnourishment carved into the bones.

Humans were created, Like me, From this intersection Of ghostly (sin)ew. You bless them, The undeserving beasts. Why am I then scrapped With Your first draft in the flood?

You let David keep Bathsheba. I have wanted him For longer than David has lived. What must I do To satiate the rumble Of the thunder in my stomach? Your first storm, Made before Adam spied Eve, Under the ark-curve of a wing In the rain.

Let me keep him. Just this once, I speak plainly. Let me have him, Let me taste the skin sweat on his brow. Joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, Faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control Nine fruit he has offered me. I am full, only when I indulge in these. Spirit and body as one, It does not feel like sin.

Let me bite into him, Savouring the flavours, Of the blood and viscera You curse-blessed us with. ‘Oh, LORD,’ I beg. Let me devour The unnamed fruit Of the spirit-become-flesh.

You made me to thirst. Now make me to drink.

But who am I To make demands of G-d?

#DAMN #good omens #aziraphale #poetry

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unsung benefit i think a lot of ppl are sleeping on with using the public library is that i think its a great replacement for the dopamine hit some ppl get from online shopping. it kind of fills that niche of reserving something that you then get to anticipate the arrival of and enjoy when it arrives, but without like, the waste and the money.

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He loves Crowley so much. It's not fairrrrrrr. TT-TT I need season three Aziraphale to be able to say all the things hidden in those heart eyes.

#good omens #aziraphale

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the last time will was touched by hannibal before hannibal went to prison was when hannibal carried will’s unconscious body home in the snow and changed his clothes, tended his wounds, and tucked him into bed. but the last time hannibal touched him where will was lucid and could most likely remember the contact was after will was shot. hannibal also carried him to safety and tended to his wounds. he leaned into hannibal’s chest and hannibal held the back of his head like he did in mizumono, the other last time hannibal held him.

and then hannibal went to prison for three years and of course they had no physical contact, they didn’t even exchange words. but even at the cliff house, we don’t see them touch. not until the dragon is dead and hannibal helps will to his feet, where will then lays his head on hannibal’s chest again and then pulls them off the cliff so they can be in each others arms for eternity and can spend every last second feeling and not just remembering the other’s touch. their embrace being the last and final memory.

#shut up please #hannibal

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 La Crépuscule by William-Adolphe Bouguereau (1882)

#art #william adolphe bouguereau

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Orestes Pursued by the Furies (Also known as The Remorse of Orestes)

by William-Adolphe Bouguereau

In the Iliad, the king of Argos, Agamemnon, sacrifices his daughter Iphigenia to Artemis to assure good sailing weather to travel to Troy and fight in the Trojan War. In Agamemnon, the first play of Aeschylus's Oresteia trilogy, Agamemnon's wife, Clytemnestra, and her lover, Aegisthus, murder Agamemnon upon his return home as revenge for sacrificing Iphigenia. In The Libation Bearers, the second play of the Orestia, Agamemnon's son Orestes returns home to take revenge on his mother for murdering his father. Orestes ultimately does murder his mother, and afterward is tormented and chased offstage by The Furies, beings who personify vengeance.

#art #william adolphe bouguereau #cedar city elektra

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Pietà (1876, oil on canvas) | William-Adolphe Bouguereau

#art #william adolphe bouguereau

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I’m on the edge of wanting it to happen and praying Neil has never thought of that

#good omens

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#i think he'd like her but still try to eat her #who knows if he'd be successful though

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Candace and doofenshmirtz would be tumblr mutuals i think

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The one brain cell they're sharing is on vacation

#good omens

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Frank Bramley - Weaving a Chain of Grief (1887)

#art #frank bramley #autumn