That’s It, The Professor Is Truly The King Of Sass

the feel of shaking out your cramping hand as your chopin vinyl comes to end, looking up from your notebook to realize with surprise that the sun had set as you were writing, counting the pages of your notebook you have filled, squinting to decipher your handwriting as it devolved into illegibility at the end, marking in preliminary edits with a bright red pen and a critical eye, laying out the pages on your floor, grinning at the tangibility of your productivity, your success

No matter how many times i read and finish a book i'll never get used to the feeling of that suffocating hollowness that brews inside me.

That seeping realisation that

that's all it was

a book.

Linguistics, my beloved.

Interviewer: What difference in usage would you point out in these three languages [Russian, English, French], these three instruments?

Nabokov: Naunces. If you take framboise in French, for example, it’s a scarlet color, a very red color. In English, the word raspberry is rather dull, with perhaps a little brown or violet. A rather cold color. In Russian it’s a burst of light, malinovoe; the word has associations of brilliance, of gaiety, of ringing bells. How can you translate that?

- Vladimir Nabokov, Think, Write, Speak: Uncollected Essays, Reviews, Interviews and Letters to the Editor. Bryan Boyd and Anastasia Tolstoy, Eds.

versailles

"Perhaps one did not want to be loved so much as to be understood ".

George Orwell, 1984

06.18.22

headed to visit friends for the long weekend ,, i always have such a hard time convincing myself to go places when i get in a routine w school or work, but you gotta take advantage of the time you have ig

🎧: the door is closing - spirit of the beehive

Factual

She wants to learn 75 languages

Love should be easy, like sunshine on a summer day, like peeling oranges. It should be easy, but it isn't.

Some nights I still love the boy I loved when I was 13 even though I never think about him. He wrote me letters every time he missed me and played Panic at the Disco a little too loud. A girl I once held hands with all night told me that a full moon means the sun was happy that day and I still try to make the sun smile every time I look above. And it shouldn't have hurt when I told her I didn't love her anymore, I didn't. But some days I still do.

Love should be easy but it's old photographs, it's love letters that I still keep in a black box by my bedside table. It's puzzles whose pieces don't exist in my memory anymore. Love should be easy. It isn't.

-Ritika Jyala, excerpt from The world is a sphere of ice and our hands are made of fire

The sound was muffled; all he could see was Theo’s gorgeous eyes, looking down at his sketch. He leaned closer to see what he was drawing, placing his face closer to Theo’s. Theo smiled over yet another drawing of Alexander. Alexander looked back up at his eyes, and Theo couldn’t pretend not to notice him this time. Alexander’s face was angled in such a way that he was looking up at Theo, quite a rare occurrence. Theo looked straight into those emerald eyes that stared into his. Alexander moved so that his head rested in Theo’s lap and his legs dangled down the hill. His eyes glanced down at Theo’s lips.

Without thinking, Theo pulled his lips up to meet his, a perfect moment, a perfect moment. Warmth spread through Alexander as if he were drinking a scalding cup of hot chocolate in bed on a cold night, the warmth burning the back of his throat and spreading through his body. His hand reached up behind Theo’s head, clutching onto his tawny curls. He didn’t want this moment to end; he couldn’t let it. His mouth did not leave Theo’s, his fingers intertwined in Theo’s hair. He could feel Theo’s hand move down to his back. Their lips parted, a too-long goodbye. Theo looked at him, some sort of expression on his face, not exactly a smile. Alexander shared it. Alexander closed his eyes as Theo sprinkled magnolia leaves on his face, laughing. He knew this moment was never meant to last.