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mythological creatures in literature | M o r o z / M o r o z k o ( Моро́з)
The Russian Father Frost, a blacksmith, used his chains of ice to bind the earth and sea. People attempted to placate this god with offerings and sacrifices to prevent him from causing blizzards, death, and destruction.
the Soul dies for grief, for passion. As Daria stood and froze in his enchanted sleep…
– N. Nekrasov, Moroz krasnyi nos
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At the end of the day, we devour our own desires - and starve to death after.
realist’s love affair, ii. | b.s.h
GUIDE: HOW TO BE WHOLE AGAIN 1. take a gulp of interstellar gas (taste the stars dancing on your tongue; feel the cosmic dust tickling your throat) 2. dip your toes into the cloud of particles hovering at your feet (planets circle around your ankles; gravity is relative) 3. run your fingers through the inexhaustible space around you (hold the darkness in your palms like it is a tangible thing; time is infinite) 4. let the galactic tide wash over you (multitudes of celestial bodies fit against your body like puzzle pieces) 5. inhale; (meteors rattle your lungs and paint luminous streaks along your ribs; new-born stars bloom from the trails of ice and dirt) 6. exhale; (a globular cluster condenses just inches from your lips and whirls in interminable orbit; close your eyes and feel the solar flares kiss your lashes) 7. let the spiraling nebula swallow you whole (constellations tangle in your hair and deconstruct along your cheeks; the galaxy unfolds against your skin)
you are whole again
vade mecum series, pt.1 (j)
abandoned pews and hollowed-out walls, a broken stained glass window of something considered holy a long time ago.
few warm bodies kneel on cold floors, fevered whispers of desperateness that
beg to be shown a sign to be shown proof that their faith is not in vain.
noel v. / divinus | THIS CHURCH IS DYING, DYING.
— the salt of Hades’ tears pierced her lips when she joined her mother. | g.f.
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mythological creatures in literature | R u s a l k a ( Русалка )
Rusalki are spirits of young women who died violently before their natural time was up and were cursed to live in a lake in the form of a mermaid.
“[..] On the third day the ardent hermit was sitting on the shore, in love, awaiting the voluptuous mermaid, as shade was lying on the grove. Night ceded to the sun’s emergence; by then the monk had disappeared. It’s said a crowd of local urchins saw floating there a wet gray beard.” – A. Puškin, Rusalka
— “so now tell me, is it worse seeing the light and then losing it, or not having it at all?” | g.f.
[…] as the earth spins us around our bodies stick in two opposite poles bleeding over the distance in between; while i gaze the stars and see your moles you look at the moon and feel my skin still bruised by the craters your lips left on me. now the darkness sounds like home; can you hear the summer breeze whisper your name? can you see my mouth do the same? when the Pleiades will show off again and the night will cradle our souls with her scent could you think of me in your despair? here i melt in the hope of a fairytale told by people with a love to share.
life seems to me a little brighter when we live the same nightmare | g.f.
