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Recently found this in a pile of books. I need to read this again.
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etceteracthulhu:

"Pastel goth" and "soft grunge" are atrocious fucking trends. Anyone who bears those labels proudly is automatically someone I hate. I’m going to start unfollowing any blog that posts god awful shit like that. My contempt towards these kinds of things is so great that not even the greatest of poets and most elaborate authors could clearly capture it even if they were to write a thousand volumes.

nyarlathotwink said: I’m sick of it too but don’t wish for genocide jfc

etceteracthulhu: The mass genocide tag was somewhat of a joke, although it wouldn’t be a tragedy at the very least.

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Thoughts are the shadows of our feelings — always darker, emptier, simpler.
- Friedrich Nietzsche  (via ayejie)

(Source: rabbitinthemoon)

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"Pastel goth" and "soft grunge" are atrocious fucking trends. Anyone who bears those labels proudly is automatically someone I hate. I’m going to start unfollowing any blog that posts god awful shit like that. My contempt towards these kinds of things is so great that not even the greatest of poets and most elaborate authors could clearly capture it even if they were to write a thousand volumes.

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Aubade

"I work all day, and get half-drunk at night.
Waking at four to soundless dark, I stare.
In time the curtain-edges will grow light.
Till then I see what’s really always there:
Unresting death, a whole day nearer now,
Making all thought impossible but how
And where and when I shall myself die.
Arid interrogation: yet the dread
Of dying, and being dead,
Flashes afresh to hold and horrify.

The mind blanks at the glare. Not in remorse
—The good not done, the love not given, time
Torn off unused—nor wretchedly because
An only life can take so long to climb
Clear of its wrong beginnings, and may never;
But at the total emptiness for ever,
The sure extinction that we travel to
And shall be lost in always. Not to be here,
Not to be anywhere,
And soon; nothing more terrible, nothing more true.

This is a special way of being afraid
No trick dispels. Religion used to try,
That vast moth-eaten musical brocade
Created to pretend we never die,
And specious stuff that says No rational being
Can fear a thing it will not feel, not seeing
That this is what we fear—no sight, no sound,
No touch or taste or smell, nothing to think with,
Nothing to love or link with,
The anesthetic from which none come round.

"And so it stays just on the edge of vision,
A small unfocused blur, a standing chill
That slows each impulse down to indecision.
Most things may never happen: this one will,
And realization of it rages out
In furnace-fear when we are caught without
People or drink. Courage is no good:
It means not scaring others. Being brave
Lets no one off the grave.
Death is no different whined at than withstood.

Slowly light strengthens, and the room takes shape.
It stands plain as a wardrobe, what we know,
Have always known, know that we can’t escape,
Yet can’t accept. One side will have to go.
Meanwhile telephones crouch, getting ready to ring
In locked-up offices, and all the uncaring
Intricate rented world begins to rouse.
The sky is white as clay, with no sun.
Work has to be done.
Postmen like doctors go from house to house.”

— Philip Larkin
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People are always talking about originality; but what do they mean? As soon as we are born the world begins to work upon us; and this goes on to the end. And, after all, what can we call our own, except energy, strength, and will? If I could give an account of all that I owe to great predecessors and contemporaries, there would be but a small balance in my favour.
- Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (via itsquoted)
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Anonymous: im in love with your blog.

That’s great.