Caspar David Friedrich (1774-1840)
Wanderer Above the Sea of Fog, 1818
Woman Before The Rising Sun, 1818-20
Current Doctor Who is like an ex-boyfriend I used to have a great time with and am still kind of into but lately he keeps being an asshole so it’s awkward every time I see him
Eye movements made by subjects while examining I. E. Repin’s painting “An Unexpected Visitor”, with different questions in mind.
i am absolutely not sorry for this
The Duel. Illustration for Eugene Onegin by Lydia Tymoshenko.
this is not at all the story of how it began;
this is the story of how it is never, ever, ever going to come close to anything like ending.
repeat after me:
that night was dark but all nights have been darker since, that day was dim and all days have been dimmer. he was a sorcerer, a magician, sleight of hand and shadow, he was waiting beneath the window and singing a song with the horns of the devil on a ribbon round his neck. you loved him at once as all women love him, breadth of chest, depth of eyes, guns slung, head back, the turquoise ring, small flute in his pocket. you realized it at once, instantaneously, struck with a foreboding of inevitable devastation, a deep gypsy whisper of “heart will be broken, heart will be torn, disaster will surely befall, listen now - lungs collapsed, jaw broken, skull crushed, son stillborn, death in a desert of regret.” then he showed his teeth and you came down, he took you up onto his palm and carried you off to a cave guarded by wolves with polished walls and rugs on the floor, piles and piles of turkish rugs, he laid you out among them, gave you a drink to make you sleep, gave you a locket to keep you safe, he sang and the forest grew silent, the creatures stopped moving; he sighed and the mountains collapsed. his left hand was the paw of a fox and you were sewing the holes in his clothes with strands of your hair, sharpening his arrows with your teeth, suffering the earthquakes of his anger, soothing him down with swan-soft touches and small songs played on harp strings. he gave you purses of gold coins. gone for days at a time. would come back laughing, covered in blood, sacks full of the heads of men. he holds them in his hands and they come to life, shrieking, and sets them down for the cats to toss and chew. the wolves who stand guard will not let you leave. and only when you begin to break dishes does he seem to grow smaller, comes to you gently then, carries you to the bed. beautiful as a god, dark as a demon, hair damp across his forehead. you writhe. with just a touch he proves his power, inflames, denies, takes, conquered, is never conquered, fulfills. bars his teeth and you are his again. bites along the spine. bruises up the thigh. you hate him. you break his pipes. then with a flick of his wrists he alters the courses of rivers, sends them through fields and turns them back around to carry harvests to your door. he’s wonderful. lets you drink of his blood, for it will help you to live longer. at night you dance for him, gold bracelets along your arms, scarves tied round your waist. he is humbled by your beauty, he is terrified. the fire is left to burn low. for months and months it is this way, marvels, mysteries, terror, two full years until you wake up in tangled sheets, skin slashed with glass, jaw unhinged, fingers broken. the cave is cold, he has taken even your clothes. his son kicks you from inside. all along you knew. you had been waiting for the day to come, praying that it would never.
it will be his fault entirely, you solemnly swear, the consequences of what has to happen next.
-Karlene Nicolajsen, Juvenilia: Early Writings
Leaving the house after dark is so counter-intuitive to me.
Matt Smith could have been such a wonderful doctor… if Moffat hadn’t been writing the show.
woop there it is
And what sucks is that people will say that Matt Smith is a horrible actor when it’s really Moffat who is directing him to act in a certain way.
900-Year-Old Coded Viking Message Carved on Wood Fragment Finally Solved, It Says “Kiss Me”