what's with *today* today

complimented a womans clear raincoat this morning and she said Well i feel like a sandwich

gothic horror is when there's a location. cosmic horror is when there's an unauthorized fucking Thing. folk horror is when you're outside.

when gerard way sings "the broken, the beaten, and the damned" and when kermit the frog sings "the lovers, the dreamers, and me" they're talking about the same people btw

The Rainbow Parade

Truly devastating

Hey, don’t cry. Free online database of Japanese folk lore

Might I add, free database of mostly European folklore and myths

im not even the type of guy to go "actually it's frankenstein's MONSTER" because a painting by rembrandt or picasso or any other artist is often called "a rembrandt" or "a picasso" as shorthand. so in this respect frankenstein's monster can be considered "a frankenstein"

darling I love your 8 foot tall patchwork flesh creature, it really livens up the place. is that an authentic frankenstein?

it's only a true frankenstein if it was produced in the frankenstein region of switzerland. otherwise it's just a sparkling homunculus

In the first poetry workshop I ever took my professor said we could write about anything we wanted except for two things: our grandparents and our dogs. She said she had never read a good poem about a dog. I could only remember ever reading one poem about a dog before that point—a poem by Pablo Neruda, from which I only remembered the lines “We walked together on the shores of the sea/ In the lonely winter of Isla Negra.” Four years later I wrote a poem about how when I was a little girl I secretly baptized my dog in the bathtub because I was afraid she wouldn’t get into heaven. “Is this a good poem?” I wondered. The second poetry workshop, our professor made us put a bird in each one of our poems. I thought this was unbelievably stupid. This professor also hated when we wrote about hearts, she said no poet had ever written a good poem in which they mentioned a heart. I started collecting poems about hearts, first to spite her, but then because it became a habit I couldn’t break. The workshop after that, our professor would tell us the same story over and over about how his son had died during a blizzard. He would cry in front of us. He never told us we couldn’t write about anything, but I wrote a lot of poems about snow. At the end of the year he called me into his office and said, “looking at you, one wouldn’t think you’d be a very good writer” and I could feel all the pity inside of me curdling like milk. The fourth poetry workshop I ever took my professor made it clear that poets should not try to engage with popular culture. I noticed that the only poets he assigned were men. I wrote a poem about that scene in Grease 2 where a boy takes his girlfriend to a fallout shelter and tries to get her to have sex with him by tricking her into believing that nuclear war had begun. It was the first poem I ever published. The fifth poetry workshop I ever took our professor railed against the word blood. She thought that no poem should ever have the word “blood” in it, they were bloody enough already. She returned a draft of my poem with the word blood crossed out so hard the paper had torn. When I started teaching poetry workshops I promised myself I would never give my students any rules about what could or couldn’t be in their poems. They all wrote about basketball. I used to tally these poems when I’d go through the stack I had collected at the end of each class. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 poems about basketball. This was Indiana. Eventually I couldn’t take it anymore. I told the class, “for the next assignment no one can write about basketball, please for the love of god choose another topic. Challenge yourselves.” Next time I collected their poems there was one student who had turned in another poem about basketball. I don’t know if he had been absent on the day I told them to choose another topic or if he had just done it to spite me. It’s the only student poem I can still really remember. At the time I wrote down the last lines of that poem in a notebook. “He threw the basketball and it came towards me like the sun”

#this is so freaking funny (itspileofgoodthings)

#adaptations really do often underplay how much#pride and prejudice#darcy’s ‘unexpected’ proposal#is basically the ‘did you just flirt with me’ ‘have been for the past [few months] but thanks for noticing’ meme#like this scene#or the one where Lizzy and him are ALONE in the Collins’ house talking about women marrying and moving far from home#& he’s trying to suss out whether she’d be cool with marrying him and living far away from her own home#and she is like ‘well obviously it’s fine if you have enough money to afford the travel’ and he’s like ‘oh?!? and uhhh…#you’re not super attached to your home yourself are you? like you’d be fine with not constantly visiting [your weird embarrassing family]?’#SHE IS SO CLUELESS