The melancholic humour is protean. It possesses the quality of autumn. It is transformative, the accelerator of death, the enable of ends and beginnings. Autumn clears away the world ready for renewal. This is my purpose. I am not afraid.– Then again, after they reattached his face, all he ever really looked was unlike himself.
You play the hero but underneath the hype you’re a killer, with oceans of blood on your hands. I hate men like you.
"Look to your elder, people."
why does this have 32k notes? it’s just a picture of a knife in a ranch bottle, is there some unspoken joke that 32 thousand people share? what is going on here, i dont get it. it’s just a fucking picture of a knife in a ranch bottle. is there some spiritual connection people have to this picture? is there some ominous and mystical reasoning that this has 32 thousand notes? do people reblog this because it makes them look like some indie blogger? or is there just something funny to this? someone please explain
no one tell him
Et tu, Brute?
The melancholic humour is misunderstood. You think too literally. It has, in fact, the quality of autumn. It is the spirit of contemplative change, the accelerator of death, the enabler of ends and beginnings. Autumn clears away the world so that a new one may rise. This is my purpose. I am not sad.– Of course, once they reattached his face, all he ever really looked was angry.
One day in, having managed 7 press-ups and 15 sit-ups this is already beginning to seem like a really bad idea.
Light is fickle, temporary. Reality is, in its fundamental and eternal nature, dark and cold. The darkness is infinite and everlasting, and no light can overcome it. Light cannot truly banish the darkness, for the darkness persists even when there is light - the light exists within the darkness.
"Akha-gum-ishi ashi kelkum-ishi, burzum-ishi."
It is wrong to conceive of darkness as an absence of light - even as it is wrong to conceive of it as some equal and opposite force of unlight. Darkness, coldness are something more, for they are still there in the presence of light and heat. The dark and cold is nothing less than reality itself.
"Ashilla sorsullun, ashilla uthullun."
They say that God is light. They’re wrong. He is darkness.
"But what were scars anyway? Neither evidence of defeat, nor a medal of triumph."
Thus has it ever been, thus shall it ever be.