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"And your name is…? ‘I don’t have one. I have no standing. Worse than that, I’m the Pied Piper, a ratcatcher.’ The man who spoke held himself erect before the gate while the outline of a female figure was a white glow in the twilight. His dark searching eyes were fixed upon her. He was tall and thin, the thinness accentuated by a close-fitting velvet coat and tight trousers. He had small and dainty hands, ladylike in fact. There was no weapon about his person, not even a cane, although he seemed to have come from afar on roads that weren’t always safe. However, he was clutching something long and ornamental which had aroused the curiosity of the woman he was speaking to. It was a pipe and the workmanship was foreign. She had never seen anything like it before."

Krysař / The Pied Piper (1985) dir. by Jiří Barta.

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cemeteries aren’t creepy they’re actually devoted to memory and rest and love and humanity

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𝕓𝕠𝕠𝕜 𝕙𝕒𝕦𝕝 🖤

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Hiraeth (n.) — a homesickness, a deep, often bittersweet longing for a place your soul remembers. A home that may not exist in this lifetime but lives in your bones, in the wind, in the spaces that make you feel whole. The nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past. It carries a soul-deep ache for belonging, for a place or a time where you felt whole. An ancestral, spiritual-a yearning for something that may never return, but lives inside you still.

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Coast of sea at night (1847) by Ivan Aivazovsky

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Hello May,

please be good to us and full of better days, laughter, happiness and amazing things 🌿🪻🌸

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140 lat temu w Warszawskim "Słowie" ukazał się pierwszy fragment Trylogii Henryka Sienkiewicza.

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How Stories Can Save Us – The Philosophy of The Fall

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On a Holiday by Karpo Trokhymenko, 1951

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New evening light from longer sunsets stretching over the books

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Simone de Beauvoir, from a diary entry featured in Diary of a Philosophy Student

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It had almost escaped my notice that it is now May, the month that dooms to a heartbroken death 99% of characters from folk ballads. So, if you suspect you may be a character from a folk ballad, for your own safety: 

don’t fall in love, don’t go by the river, don’t go to the sea, don’t talk to sailors, don’t gamble, don’t ramble, don’t go North, don’t go North-West, don’t stand in the wind, don’t dance with anyone named Sally, Sue, Mary, Ann, or Barbara, don’t go to the pub (but if you do go to the pub at least don’t drink, and if you do drink at least pay for your own drink, and if you are absolutely broke and have to let someone else pay for your drink then at the very least do try not to forget to toast everyone you know whom you think might be there very loudly and possibly multiple times), don’t lend money, don’t borrow money, don’t wish you had more money, don’t make plans to make more money, don’t start working for a new employer, absolutely do believe anyone who says they will try to kill you, curse you, or maim you, absolutely do believe anyone who says you might die, turn down every invitation to go a-hunting, horse-riding, or a-courting, be wary of flute players you meet on your path, don’t dance with satanic men in black coats, don’t marry off your daughters to the first man who’ll have them, and don’t promise your true love any herbs you can’t readily plant and gather in your own garden. 

There. That should just about cover you for 31 days. Heed the warnings and you may have a chance to last the month. Good luck.

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no offense but reading is literally the cure to brain rot and there’s no work around to reading books