Kay. 25. She/her. Bi/Pan. Law student. Personal Blog - Seeking Connection in a Troglodytic World. Screaming into the VOID. Giving Voice to the Nonsense in my Head. -"тоска: (n) ache of soul, longing with nothing to long for [-] Vladimir Nabokov, the famous Russian-American author of ‘Lolita,’ put it best: 'No single word in English renders all the shades of ‘toska.’ At its deepest and most painful, it is a sensation of great spiritual anguish, often without any specific cause. At less morbid levels it is a dull ache of the soul, a longing with nothing to long for, a sick pining, a vague restlessness, mental throes, yearning. In particular cases it may be the desire for somebody of something specific, nostalgia, love-sickness. At the lowest level it grades into ennui, boredom.'” Philip Seifi, 14 Perfect Russian Words You Need in Your Life, LINGUALIFT, https://www.lingualift.com/blog/unique-russian-words/ (last visited Nov. 9, 2018).
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"I don't think I believe in love." He announced it in the cool air as if we were talking of the weather or my mother's love of Italian shoes. I couldn't be surprised I suppose. I was mostly undecided on the matter, having no evidence of it's existence. Needing something to break the silence, I shrug my shoulders and wink at him conspiratorially. "Do you at least believe in power?" It was his answer that surprised me. With a great, deep, empty laugh he told me, "I don't believe in anything." ~Kay.
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First Leaves, near Nantes, Camille Corot
Medium: oil,canvas
https://www.wikiart.org/en/camille-corot/first-leaves-near-nantes
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Artist: Max Bedulenko Title: Melancholia “My favourite composition. Yeap, again”
Stunning artwork…
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They'd intended to break her. One guessed 30 seconds before she admitted her involvement, 45 till she's screaming, begging to tell them what she knows. The snakes were never supposed to accept her, wreath her in power as she were one of their own. The minutes stretched to hours, still she remained silent, the snakes almost worshipping her skin. "This is what it means to have served the Devil," the words lay heavy in the air, forbidden, uttered before any of the men realized they had fallen from their lips. All at once the snakes began listening, as if the mere mention of their Master's name changed them. The darkness now rank with fear. The possibility existing for the first time to them, this girl was different maybe even His. Quickly as the knowledge was theirs, the snakes changed their dance. Later she remembered only a song so beautiful it removed the last remnants of her soul. His gift for her faithfulness the darkest of honors, forevermore screams if truly made from agony, would create only the sweetest of melodies. ~Kay.
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Mortal Sister by Kai Carpenter
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Looking to what came next, it seemed unbelievable he'd survived them. All perfect in their crafted fallacies, identical painted smiles, to match the cookie cutter mansions they hold so dear. Suburbia, it's secret dystopian personality, no longer chaining him inside his head. He forced himself to see it as it truly was, morality long since lost and forsaken. He found solace in the inevitable, Time would find their perfect world. Tear everything from it's moorings. ~Kay.
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Untitled, by Igor Morski, via igor.morski.pl.
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And there was POWER in the dark mist of the forest. She felt it surround her, an electric current crawling up her arms. If she could put a name to the thing she tasted. If she could ONLY comprehend it, utilize it in some way. It filled her lungs with icy awareness, somehow new and old, connected yet excruciatingly alone. Wondering if anyone had a name for this ephemeral thing that haunted her. But as soon as she almost, barely understood it, just as quickly, it was gone. ~Kay.
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If I gave voice to the monsters in my head. I think your pitiful reaction would amuse me, it would break you. Usher in a beautiful destruction. Exquisite in your madness. Till you're incapable of doing anything more than falling to your knees. The worst part is that I would enjoy it. Someone else has to feel the suffering inherrent to my daily torment. ~Kay.
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Hateful, by Aneta Wilk (Wilqkuku), via DeviantArt.
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If your devils are unable to define the darkness inside them let them go .
mirror
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I don’t think I’m any good at being alone, but it didn’t feel much better being with you. I thought, even if I don’t really have you – at least not in the way I wanted you, it would be better than being alone. It was the idea that something is better than nothing. But being with someone like that, it can make you feel so empty. Because no matter what you tell yourself, you’ll always want more. It’s a certain type of self-destruction. Waiting, wanting, and hoping things will change when you know they won’t. It makes you think maybe you would be better off alone.
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When you make great life choices... Regarding hot cocoa and that's basically it... Marshmallows and Whip cream are man's greatest inventions!!!
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“Sometimes suffering is just suffering. It doesn’t make you stronger. It doesn’t build character. It only hurts.”
— Kate Jacobs; Comfort Food
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Defeat;
“I taste defeat as I lay in my bed and reflect,
My life is something like a nightmare I as a child would long to create,
I’m treading water, the more I push the less and less my body wants to keep going,
As more memories fade in, I being to feel more pain,
I feel defeated at a battle I created.
Longing, holding on to what is almost like a second place trophy I justify each memory,
But I know they’ll be the death of me.
Defeat is bitter tasting especially when the well hated part of you defeated the part you loved the most.”
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Gnarly stuff from vasiliszikosart on insta
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Either/Or, Søren Kierkegaard
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“J'ai connu un homme qui a donné vingt ans de sa vie à une étourdie, qui lui a tout sacrifié, ses amitiés, son travail, la décence même de sa vie, et qui reconnut un soir qu'il ne l'avait jamais aimée. Il s'ennuyait, voilà tout, il s’ennuyait comme la plupart des gens. Il s'était donc créé de toutes pièces une vie de complications et de drames. Il faut que quelque chose arrive, voilà l'explication de la plupart des engagements humains. Il faut que quelque chose arrive, même la servitude sans amour, même la guerre, ou la mort.”
La chute, Albert Camus
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It was like this sometimes, like she was there but she wasn't. Like it was real and pretend all at the same time. And she let him touch her and change, mold her just for the moment into something different, exciting, and new. Sometimes she felt everything, it took her to places she never hoped to know and barely understood, but more often it was this weak reminder of that something that was once there. The barest of brushes, but for a fleeting moment it almost feels real. It haunts her dreams and memories, it makes her suffer even in pleasure, nothing comes close to those moments of desperate rejection of all proprietary, of being completely aware. ~Kay.
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Artwork by Kasia Tchórz
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If this is truly who I've chosen to be, what right have I to complain? If I'm given no more than what I have earned and asked for, then don't I own responsibility for all the consequences? No matter the pain? ~Kay
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All Is VanityCharles
Allan Gilbert
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