I Love Cold Room And Lots Of Blanket

vintage 20th anniversary Care Bears (2002) x

Freud: All men want to sleep with their moms. It's called the Oedipus Complex.

Oedipus, who literally stabbed his eyes out when he realized he was a motherfucker: I'm sorry it's called the what?

I wanna see more cultural punk outfits. I wanna see more punks adding their culture to their outfit. I think it would be a neat concept. Embracing your culture and who you are and saying that no one can take that away from you. Fuck racism and fuck anyone who thinks they can take away your culture. Put spikes on your hijab. Wear a black leather jacket with patches of African patterns on it. Punkify that Kilt. Embrace your culture and don’t let anyone take that away from you. Be punk and embrace who you are because you’re amazing.

Pros of growing your own vegetables: There's food in my dirt.

Cons of growing your own vegetables: There's dirt in my food.

my grandfather for me. he's the gentlest man i've ever known. (detail from 'The thankful poor' c. 1894 by Henry Ossawa Tanner)

"The problem with trying to be historically accurate, is that history doesn't care"

So much of the time we think of historical cultures as being very uniform, but people have always been weird, and our expectations of past behaviour don't always match the reality!

We love the Ides of March because it’s the last example of a senate working together to accomplish something.

“Are you the witch who turned eleven princes into swans?”

The old woman stared at the figure on the front step of her cottage and considered her options. It was the kind of question usually backed up by a mob with meaningful torches, and it was the kind of question she tried to avoid.

Coming from a single dusty, tired housewife, it should’ve held no terrors.

“You a cop?”

The housewife twisted the hem of her apron. “No,” she muttered. “I’m a swan.”

A raven croaked somewhere in the woods. Wind whispered in the autumn leaves.

Then: “I think I can guess,” the old woman said slowly. “Husband stole your swan skin and forced you to marry him?”

A nod.

“And you can’t turn back into a swan until you find your skin again.”

A nod.

“But I reckon he’s hidden it, or burned it, or keeps it locked up so you can’t touch it.”

A tiny, miserable nod.

“And then you hear that old Granny Rothbart who lives out in the woods is really a batty old witch whose father taught her how to turn princes into swans,” the old woman sighed. “And you think, ‘Hey, stuff the old skin, I can just turn into a swan again this way.’

“But even if that was true – which I haven’t said if it is or if it isn’t – I’d say that I can only do it to make people miserable. I’m an awful person. I can’t do it out of the goodness of my heart. I have no goodness. I can’t use magic to make you feel better. I only wish I could.”

Another pause. “If I was a witch,” she added.

The housewife chewed the inside of her cheek. Then she drew herself up and, for the first time, looked the old woman in the eyes.

“Can you do it to make my husband miserable?”

The old woman considered her options. Then she pulled the wand out from the umbrella stand by the door. It was long, and silver, and a tiny glass swan with open wings stood perched on the tip.

“I can work with that,” said the witch.

Always love how much folklore especially creature folklore emphasizes that there is a way for you to win. These are the steps to ensure the dead don't rise: take them out through a hole in the wall and give them iron shoes. Vampires cannot abide sunlight. If you hear a dog howl on a churchyard path turn around and get home as fast as you can. Iron and salt and the colour red. None of this doomed idea, the world is incomprehensible but if you're a bit clever you'll survive it just fine, there's always ways out.

asking someone their big three and meaning their favorite prophet, apostle, and member of freud's vienna society