meow

Professional queer, and part-time people watcher.

Dm for discord or insta if you wanna be friends :)

Never sane about: Philosophy (specially Camus), Van Gogh, art, queer history etc etc

The first thing he feels is his heartbeat, it's like weight pressing down on him as it begins working again after three days, stale, old blood forcibly being pumped back into his stiff limbs. The air is pushed back into his lungs, they expand but the thick skin feels more like it's cracking than expanding. The cool air inside the grave feels like pins and needles digging into his ribcage. He lays there, in the darkness, and it feels wrong to have a body, after being everything and nothing, even lying there feels like an effort, feels heavy.

He pulls himself up and every fiber of his being rejects the motion, aching all over. His back feels like he's still tied to the cross, he knows exactly where the whip met his skin, it burns. The stone being against it for so many hours has also played a part in all of this.

His eyes take a while to adjust and he forces muscles to move, his legs to stretch while his mind screams at him to lay back down. He stays in the same spot for a while, an hour? Two? His mind can't comprehend time, it's still catching up with the burden of existing again.

When the pain in his lungs dulls slightly he takes a deep breath. The cool air has stopped feeling like an intruder in his lungs, it steadies him this time. He knows the harsh, hot dessert waits for him outside.

He looks down, he can still feel each bruise, each cut. They are scarred over by coagulated blood and have long since stopped bleeding but he can feel them just like the day he got them. His eyes dart away from them, as if he might relieve the way he got them if he stares for too long. He moves to stand and his step falters, hands catching the edge of the stone as he falls backwards back into a sitting position. He feels then, the gaping holes in his hands, the way his muscles don't move like they're supposed to, the way his hands almost fail as well.

It will all be well when the stone is rolled by angels and the singing birds announce his return to the land of the living, it will all be well he sees Magdalene, the joy in her eyes at seeing her teacher, when he greets his disciples who cling to his robe and don't let go. The son of Humanity will be back where he belongs.

But now, I'm the darkness? He doubts again.

- Existencialism is a Humanism, Jean-Paul Sartre (S)

- Caligula and Three Other Plays, Camus

- Mist, Miguel de Unamuno (S)

- The Last Days of Socrates, Plato

- A Guide to Happiness, Epicurus

- Life of Christ, Giovanni Papini (S)

- The art of staying calm, Seneca (S)

- On Happiness, Seneca (S)

- The Spanish Constitution (S)

- The Dangerous Life and Ideas of Diogenes The Cynic, Jean-Manuel Roubineau

- How to be a Stoic, Massimo Pigliucci (S)

- Don Quijote Part II, Miguel de Cervantes (S)

-The Brothers Karamazov, Fyodor Dostoevsky

- The Book of Disquiet, Fernando Pessoa (S)

- The Iliad and The Odyssey, Peter Green trans.

- Animal Farm, George Orwell

- The Marx-Engels reader, Robert C. Tucket

- The Great Theatre of The World and The Great Market of The World, Calderón de la Barca (S)

- Life is a Dream, Calderón de la Barca (S)

-My Friend Van Gogh, Émile Bernard

- Faust Parts I and II, Goethe

- History of Western Philosophy, Bertrand Russell

- Rayuela, Julio Cortázar

- Collected works of Edgar Allan Poe

- Alexander Hamilton, Ron Chernow

- El Amor, Las Mujeres y La Vida, Mario Benedetti (S)

-I Still Believe in Miracles, Lucas Jones

Just one more week of studying

Just one more week of studying