#languor

Internet Archive

Model references for Witching Eve (Hel) - Aether Gazer

kidnapping, ritualistic murder, mind control, and pints of wine. my pc languor had a hell of a time in barovia today!

Languor originates from Latin languor(weakness). The word entered English in the 14th century.

It is a Wednesday night, the time of year is irrelevant because tonight I am doing what I do most nights. I'm on the couch or in my bed, my left hand of its own volition strokes at my facial hair. It plucks any that feels out of place. How it determines which to preen and which to spare is beyond me. The operation is mechanical, exacting and precise. While the left works the right entertains. It holds my cell phone, my fingers, even when empty, rest in the shape of it. Four fingers wrapped around the back while the thumb floats, ready to scroll. My right hand shows me the world. Ads for SUVS, photos of old friends starting families, dogs, cats, houseplants. I scroll and scroll through waves of injustice and mental health advice, absorbing information, commenting silently on what people choose to share. Every so often I get the desire to submit pieces of my own life if only in an effort to prove that I exist outside of this cycle. More often than not I come to my senses deleting the photo or witty tweet I'd spent the last half hour concocting. I stalk my exes which unearths memories buried for the sake of my ego. Masochism offers novelty, though there are only so many scabs to pick. To clear my head I turn my attention toward hookups and one night stands in search of photos that might fill in the gaps and remind me of what their bodies felt like. With a buzz my phone informs me that UberEats is offering $20 off on Popeye's Fried Chicken— for a moment my scrolling stops as the serotonin of receiving a notification slips through my fingers. I mourn the loss briefly and then before regular brain function can resume I continue my journey. With deft flicks I alternate apps; Twitter, Instagram, Reddit, Instagram, Discord, Twitter, Tiktok… when I've opened Facebook it occurs to me that I've become desperate. Somewhere between missed birthdays, Bible verses and conspiracy theories I begin to think that maybe I'm lonely and that a partner might save me from the void or at the very least distract me for a bit. I open Tinder, Bumble, Hinge and the swiping begins again. I examine the profiles of women in my area and judge them based upon how they choose to present themselves. Bad angles, blurry photos, hiding amongst crowds all rejectable offenses. Buzz words like BLM and Adventure cause me to sneer. The matches I am able to make I rarely engage with, though I peruse their profiles and imagine how our interactions might play out if I weren't just using them for validation. I feel guilty about none of this as I assume they are doing the same as I am across town. Eventually I tire of possibility and go in search of porn. I scroll through page after page of thumbnails hunting for the right video. The options are endless and so rather than masturbate as I intended I create reasons not to; bad quality, unappetizing position choices, too rough, too soft, over produced, racist, constant talking, forced moaning, and on and on until I'm no longer aroused. This is when the guilt comes and before I know it my left hand has a new job. It doesn't take long, a minute or so, the orgasm is barely noticeable, but the new wave of guilt that follows is heavy. It is enough to shake me from my daze and I am suddenly aware of the time, hours have passed, lost to the algorithm, my precious minutes converted into data to be sold. My phone buzzes in my hand and I waste no time checking to see who might be reaching out to me. The notification reads: Your average screen time has increased by two hours this week and I open up Twitter to begin the cycle again.

another last year low res Daigo

some terran neo-fungus

Le Rayon vert/The Green Ray (1986) dir. Eric Rohmer