“What can I do anymore, what can one do when he cannot even be loved..?”
Today's Document
i don't do bad sauce passes
noise dept.
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
AnasAbdin
Keni

oozey mess
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
Sweet Seals For You, Always

Andulka
Misplaced Lens Cap

Product Placement
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"

祝日 / Permanent Vacation
KIROKAZE
RMH
hello vonnie


tannertan36
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@esellious
“What can I do anymore, what can one do when he cannot even be loved..?”

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“One hears, one sees how people live—that they live in reality, that for them life is not something forbidden, that their lives are not scattered for the winds like dreams or visions but are forever in the process of renewal, forever young, and that no two moments in them are ever the same; while how dreary and monotonous to the point of being vulgar is timorous fantasy, the slave of shadow, of the idea…”
— Fyodor Dostoyevsky, White Nights
Fyodor Dostoevsky ~ white nights ~

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-Sir Walter Raleigh
19th-century local newspaper poem of the week, 3
My ‘poem of the week’ concerns an untitled, anonymous “Song” published in the Bristol Mercury on 24th April 1820.
The Bristol Mercury, founded in 1790, circulated in Gloucestershire, Wiltshire, Somerset, Devon and south Wales, and was firmly radical in its politics. In 1820 it usually published one poem each week, in the typical ‘poet’s corner’ at the top left of the back page of this four-page broadsheet. The poems were often political – anti-Tory and anti-government – or commented on the news stories of this eventful year, such as the Spanish Revolution, the accession of George IV or the Queen Caroline affair. Most poems were anonymous. On the page, the verse is followed by some ‘remarks on the state of Spanish literature’, the trial of the Cato Street conspirators, London gossip, a celebratory Reform dinner and announcements of births, marriages and deaths.
The publisher in 1820 was Thomas John Manchee, a radical with literary interests. He was a member of the learned Camden Society, and a political opponent of another radical newspaper publisher, James Acland of the Bristolian.
This poem consists of three equal eight-line stanzas, each very different in tone and content. It begins as a piece of typical, unassuming love poetry, with a male speaker declaring his love for a beautiful woman. The opening stanza adopts a blazon style, although instead of merely praising her physical beauty, it is the maid’s inner beauty which is admired; it is her “kindness” (3) and lack of “conceit” (1) that are seen as her finest qualities.
As we move to the second stanza there is a definite shift in tone. We move from the speaker admiring the woman at a distance, to the speaker making physical contact with her, “with her hand placed in mine, which I press’d” (12) This is not only the moment of physical contact between the pair, but also the moment when we witness a change in the woman, as she becomes more meek and submissive. She no longer “speaks” (3) but “whispers” (15) and instead of imparting a “half-stolen look” (5) she now keeps her “eyes cast down” (14). The end of the first stanza claims that her heart is “all her own” (8), yet by the conclusion of the second stanza, “her heart was mine” (16). This could be interpreted as male dominance and possession.
The final stanza considers the woman after the speaker declares her as “mine” (16). She has “tears” in her eyes (17), she “trembled” (20), her face revealing her innermost “fears” (19). Gone is the single, desirable woman in the first stanza, to be replaced by a sad, scared shadow of her former self.
Although the speaker of this poem is male, the writer of this poem could feasibly be an unhappily married woman, wanting to reveal her lost autonomy due to love.
Claire Januszewski
“We reached for each other, and I thought of how many nights I had lain awake in this room loving him in silence.” - Patroclus and Achilles in ancient Greece perfecting the AND THEY WERE ROOMMATES trope
People rarely looked each other in the eye for prolonged periods of time. There was almost something more intimate about it than touching.
— Stephanie Garber, Legendary
Andrei Tarkovsky in Time Within Time: The Diaries 1970–1986.

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Life had made her an expert at mashing feelings into a storable size. But loneliness has a compass of its own.
Delia Owens // Where the Crawdads Sing
₊˚ʚ 🍑 ︰♡ roses and peaches ♡︰↷ 🍑 ꒷
"Everyone thinks I have a death wish, you know? But I don't want to die - dying is easy. No, I want to live, but getting close to death is the only way to feel alive. And once you do, it makes you realize that everything you were actually doing before wasn't actually living. It was just making do. Call me crazy, but I think we do the best living when the stakes are high"
~ V.E. Schwab, A Gathering of Shadows
“The heart doesn’t care how long you may have with someone.” Kieran looked over at me, his eyes sheltered. “It just cares that you have the person for as long as you can.”
- The crown of gilded bones

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Too often we underestimate the power of a touch, a smile, a kind word, a listening ear, an honest compliment, or the smallest act of caring, all of which have the potential to turn a life around.
– Leo Buscaglia