hannibal but it’s in the same tone as this the whole way thru
Everything I did, I did for the rebellion. And every time I walked away from something I wanted to forget I told myself it was for a cause I believed in. A cause that was worth it.
i can’t look at this for very long and like, remain a human person, so i’m gonna scroll down and type this out.
i was talking yesterday to some friends about why peter/nightingale from rivers of london works so much for me, and explaining it in terms of how i imprinted HEAVILY on brideshead revisited as my ur-ship. [ed note: i don’t recommend doing this, it was a bad involuntary decision on my part.] and i said give me a sallow, sad, fine-boned, effete, aristocratic British Gay who has lost all his friends in The War, and his slightly more socially-acceptable-masculine boyfriend who’s half in awe of him and half exasperated by him: I am sold.
and so i look, briefly, achingly, at the above, and god help me, lord save me, saints preserve me, we as a species need to get riz into this archetype immediately. look at young thomas nightingale up there, promising to study his formae very thoroughly indeed. look at glassy-eyed sebastian flyte maybe six minutes or six months from the end of it all.
look at the thin skin under his eyes for god’s sake for god’s sAKE
The recipe called for murder; I did not misread it: 6 SPRINGS FRESH DILL, as much SALT as you can stand, and take a KNIFE to the one that failed you. 1 WHOLE POTATO, 1 WHOLE CARROT. You will not be cold this winter, you will not.
Sonya Vatomsky, “Apotheosis,” from Salt is for Curing
TFW it takes a minute to realize the post is from one of your poetry blogs, not one of your Hannibal blogs.
AU where Hannibal runs one of those cooking blogs where it’s like 86% life stories 14% actual recipe.
(via blackdogrunning)
ventured out into a storm yesterday with my mom and she took these photos. the raindrops look like little ghosts