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the longer I go on in this closet the more I feel out of it , and then I realize I am home , and they don’t know , and I can’t tell them when I think I like someone who isn’t a cis straight man . it hurts . I need to tell them .

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oh to be the only two people at the library, sitting across each other while it rains softly in the background. you’re poring over your assignment on the trojan war while he sits on the other end reading the phantom of the opera

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Witchsona Week is here again! Alas, even if I had witchy powers, I cannot see myself doing much with them in January, when my will to live is always at its yearly low. Winter is a time to hide under the blankets, read your heart out, and recharge whatever magic is sputtering within you.

Obvious debt to Mucha on this one; along with his divine powers of draftsmanship, I am so jealous of him for living during a time when the commercial arts were heavy on the art and light on the commercial. The products these Art Nouveau posters were promoting often never even showed up in the imagery, and no one minded, and the result was so gorgeous and elegant that over a hundred years later people are still buying the ads for their walls. 

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school made me think the only way to learn something is to have something to show for it, test grades, an essay, a project, and that you cannot learn for the sake of learning. when i want to research something outside of school, i feel like i have to write an essay or something and when i dont want to, i stop learning. that is fucked

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I will keep the nature of this project brief as it will require the approval of my University prior to it actually occurring. As such because of the nature of research and it actually happening being contingent upon the approval of the administration, my third project basically involves the examination of religious and spiritual experiences on the Appalachian Trail. I am afraid that is all I can divulge for now until I can guarantee that the university will sponsor it. Expect more updates on the project as May approaches.

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I beg you! sing to me your ancient literature, show me your favorite paintings ad books, talk to me about everything you love and teach me your poems, teach me how you see life and make me feel how those things fill you with burning passion, for every time i’ll look at any of those things, my mind will be nothing but filled with thoughts of you.

By Me

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Come on, let’s eat warm bread with melted butter by the quiet woods. As the winds blows in the shade, we feel the new leaves whispering and the old ones slowly falling on our heads. Almost as in slow-mo, they get stuck in our hair and between the pages of our books.


And long after this evening would end, suppose an eternity later, when we would open those books we would witness those same leaves, now rustic brown, falling down from in between the pages;

and as we would be looking at them flutter down to the ground, we would suddenly have this one evening in flashback on a cinema screen, and know in the back of our minds that the other one of us is thinking about the same thing right now.

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<span>i just need someone to dance with me in the ballroom of an abandoned castle.</span>
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