is the goddamn tumblr app acting up or is it simply my internet: a novel
is the goddamn tumblr app acting up or is it simply my internet: a novel
the second shot fucking wiped me out lads
going to create a paywall on my blog but it’s to stop me from posting.
ESMERALDA ! ( murroyilodel )
SIMPLE HEART CONJURES SIMPLE NEEDS. No vision of castles, no illusion of grandeur fills her head. Ambition roots itself in others, but not her. She knows nothing of business, schemes, campaigns or politics that lead people to betray even their closest kin. She only knows that one arrives in this world naked, and will one day leave the same way. What matters to her is what she sees before her. And so she lives day to day, with youth and health on her side and nothing she can wish for herself.
“I see hot soup in the morning, and blankets at night.”
Soft laugh follows. Does it sound silly to the Lady who socialises with the most sophisticated and listens to the most erudite? A full stomach and a warm body are all she asks for everyone. Children and elderly should not have to suffer with absolutely nothing. The thought alone is enough to make her smile crack.
“Everything else can follow.”
She almost misses the solemnity in the Lady, until she catches those sorrowful eyes. Unwittingly, she has increased the Lady’s burden. But perhaps, perhaps if the Lady is aware of the true situation in these parts, action can be taken. She is ignorant of the dangers the Lady faces in her own home. To the public, the Lady lives a charmed life, one that inspires awe or envy.
She takes the Lady’s hand, savouring physical connection. She must have a mother once, even though she cannot remember her. Her mother’s touch, she fancies, would have been like the Lady’s, gentle and secure.
“Have I troubled you? I may be younger, but I am not a child. I understand things are never… easy, even though they should be.”
when god had cast mankind from the garden of eden, did he know that man would spend eternity attempting to recreate it, and failing? our lady knows, now; perhaps much too late, that there are some things that can never be again. if god had rained forty days and forty nights of rain upon the earth for its wickedness, just what had he planned for columbia? fire would be too kind for this place, she thinks. all the plagues of egypt would be too mild. the prophet had put it best: only blood can redeem blood; and what is the value of man when he has turned a blind eye to god? there is no fixing this city: only burning it to the ground, and starting again - as god intended. as god planned. there are no hungry children in eden, there is no pain in eden, no subjugation, no horrors, no hatred - and our lady prays that she will live to see it; but what is living to see the future if she does not lift a finger to help create it?
“ ah, but that is a grand vision; and a heartfelt one. ” our lady cannot say the same for those in power. it is not the sword, the key nor the scroll that they worship - but the all mighty dollar and the pitiless god, the merciless god that it creates. this world had never allowed esmeralda to be a child, she thinks. always worrying about food, about shelter; about what was coming next - and there are scores of others just like her.it isn’t right, she thinks. that there are so many suffering in the name of the prophet. it isn’t right, and yet it continues. the circle must be broken - and it must never turn again. “ it is a terrible thing, to wake up hungry; to go to sleep starving. ” it is a terrible thing to feast while the city starves, to live in such luxury when so many have nothing. her gut clenches - disgust would be too kind a name for what is building in her chest, closing up her throat. she wants to scream; but as with all things, our lady remains silent.
they say our lady speaks for god. they say she listens, too. all she can hear is screaming. most days, it is her own. some days, she can hear the city screaming with her. it never stops. it never stops. it never stops. it’s always there. it’s always bleeding, always crying, wanting, scratching, clawing. even if she scrubs and scrubs and scrubs until her skin is raw and her knuckles are bloody her hands will never be clean – my god, my god? what have i done? what have i given entry to? what have i helped make?
“ wh- ” our lady flinches. there is no noise, only silence; and she glances side-long to esmeralda’s hand; so gently wrapped in her own, and shakes that harrowed look from her eyes. “ no, ” a breath; eyes fluttering shut. “ you need not have any fear of that. i am always here to listen. ” there comes a shaky breath, and our lady finds the courage to open her eyes; to rest her free hand atop esmeralda’s, and squeeze. “ you should not worry about me so. i should be worrying about you. ” she does. “ you are very dear to me, you know. ”
so are photos glitching tonight lads
shout out to the dewitt family and the fact that amelias height stopped liz from reaching a godlike 5′9″
meg be like: i love my multi muse and then makes 40 other blogs
amelia cld be so powerful if she actually had healthy boundaries and didn’t let everyone walk over her. goddamn.
Colombian artist Adriana Marmorek, Relic #17 III - Wedding Gown 2, 2016 // A Burning Hill by Mitski // The Red Cloud by David De Las Heras // Jorge Luis Borges, Labyrinth // ‘Fire dance with me’ Manami Kinoshita by Antoine Harinthe - Flaunt Magazine January 2017 // Mary Magdalene by FKA twigs // Portrait of a Lady on Fire (2019) Dir. Céline Sciamma
amelia’s tinder bio
i get my second shot tomorrow!!!
i think amelia should be allowed to commit light arson. as a treat.
when Lemony Snicket wrote “I will love you if I never see you again, and I will love you if I see you everyday” that hurt me
Full paragraph hurts even more.
“ (…) I will love you as we find ourselves farther and farther from one another, where once we were so close… I will love you until your face is fogged by distant memory. I will love you no matter where you go and who you see, I will love you if you don’t marry me. I will love you if you marry someone else and I will love you if you never marry at all, and spend your years wishing you had married me after all. That is how I will love you even as the world goes on its wicked way.”
𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 .
i. what does your muse smell like?
a light, floral perfume - top notes of citrus, heart notes of tuberose and jasmine, and deep, underlying base notes of sandalwood and vanilla. it’s her signature scent - one she’s had created especially for her within columbia; and while it is often imitated, it is never duplicated. under that, she smells of fresh linens and lye soap, toasted sugar and caramel. if she’s stressed, however - or has been on her own - she’ll smell of too much perfume and the underlying, acrid bite of cigarette smoke.
ii. what do your muse’s hands feel like?
soft. she’s never done any hard labour in her life and is always wearing gloves and applying creams. she’s got long fingers and impeccably maintained and manicured nails - smooth, near perfect. there’s a callous that has formed on the left side of her right middle finger from where her pens constantly rest upon the skin when she writes - it’s the only noticeably rough area of her hands, and it shows up as a permanently raised bump when she is not wearing gloves.
iii. what does your muse usually eat in a day?
life at comstock house is dictated by schedules and briefings - and as lady of the house, amelia approves and runs these schedules, ensuring that all inside keep time properly. that being said - amelia usually plans her meals a week in advance, and every meal is always grand, given her status.
for breakfast, it depends on if she is receiving guests in the morning - if so, it will be a formal buffet breakfast in the informal dining room. beginning with fruit courses, it would then be followed by a mild dish based with cream before breakfast plates were laid. coffee and tea are readily available during this entire event - eggs of any sort (preferably boiled or poached) are served, followed by a light tomato salad, chicken, and rice. the final course would be a cold fruit dessert. this sort of breakfast only happens if the comstocks are having overnight guests - usually, amelia is served a breakfast of fruit, toast, and one soft boiled egg with tea in her bedroom via tray.
lunch is an equally elaborate affair, with service at the table from staff. again, it starts off with a fruit course, followed by a plain soup (usually broth), oysters and bread, roast chicken with mushroom sauce, and small filets with a spiced brown sauce. this would be accompanied with roast potatoes, salad with a vinaigrette, and then finished with parfaits, bonbons, cakes, and coffee. amelia prefers smaller scale lunches since she usually eats alone and will often take just a sandwich from dinner leftovers and coffee - but she is ever a perfect hostess, and must make sure her guests are fed when they are in her wing of the mansion for lunch; which happens more often than not.
dinner always has guests. always. there are always politicians, lawyers, administrators and more who show up for dinner and once again includes table service. dinner would start with another light soup paired with sherry, then a lightly spiced fish (usually bass or trout) with a white wine. then, the main course would come - usually fowl, mutton, or beef with champagne or claret wine. this part of dinner would also come with roast potatoes and seasonal vegetables. the next course would be wild game such as pheasant or quail, with round potatoes and another round of claret. then, the vegetable courses and cheeses before the table was finally cleared and more wine was set out; followed by ice wine, sweets, cakes, and mousses. dinner would end with the ladies leaving to the drawing room to drink tea and coffee while the men would smoke and drink in the formal dining room before joining the women in the drawing room. amelia finds it exhausting.
iv. does your muse have a good singing voice?
she did. once. amelia had a fine singing voice that was light and clear - she might have been able to go upon a stage, had her station in life not been so secure. as it stands, it was always a treat to hear her sing at parties; and she had a great many admirer in her youth who would come flocking to her after hearing her sing and play. however, the attempt on her life in 1895 has left her with permanent damage in her throat in the form of one paralyzed vocal chord that she never quiet gained use of again after speech therapy. as such, she cannot sing - it’s hoarse and quite, and can send her into fits of coughing or cause her physical pain to sing. she doesn’t talk about it any more. no one asks.
v. does your muse have any bad habits or nervous ticks?
smoking and swearing. not that anyone will ever catch the holy mother doing either of these activities - but she is an avid smoker when stressed and could never quite muster the ability to quit; and while she knows it wouldn’t look right for the average worshipper to see the holy mother smoking a branded cigarette - she does partake in private quite often. in tandem with that, her time in new york’s underbelly and her own spiteful nature has armed her with an arsenal of swear words that she often uses when stressed or angry. it’s not uncommon for staff to hear muffled swearing from her office when passing by - and something that is better left unmentioned.
vi. what does your muse usually look like/wear?
amelia dresses in the latest fashions - often stolen from french papers below - and is always sumptuously dressed in exquisitely tailored gowns. the cuts and shapes are always perfectly fitted to her with nary a wrinkle, and are always ahead of the curve - however, her dresses are never garish or gaudy in nature. they’re usually relatively plain - blues of all shades in satins and velvet accented with white and the occasional gilt trim. subtle embroidery and lace inserts - always light and airy, never dark; never drab. everything lies in the cut of her gowns and the way they shape and form her. her shoes are always polished patent leather, her gloves are always buttoned at the wrist; accented with her wedding bands and at her throat her now iconic string of pearls and matching earrings. her hair is always done up in elaborate styles; accented with ribbon or pearls; obscured by a lace wimple that she often wears when out in lieu of hats. there is never a hair out of place, never anything off - she is, in essecence, practically perfect in appearance; as she must be a shining example for all.
vii. is your muse affectionate? how much? how so?
it depends. she’s long since given up on being affectionate towards her husband but her children inspire infinite amounts of verbal and physical affection; she’s always stroking their hair, cupping their face; giving them treats and fussing with their clothing. they are, after all, her family. with lovers she’s affectionate but distant - a hand on their arm; stroking a lock of hair behind their ear, a tap on the small of their back. with devotees and strangers, she keeps herself aloof. cold. untouchable. not even administrative workers or politicians can touch or approach her without her permission, and she prefers to keep others at arm’s length.
viii. what position does your muse sleep in?
on her left side, slightly curled up. she’s a light sleeper and wakes easily - be it via nightmares or sudden noises. even a creaking floorboard could wake her up; and she doesn’t fall back asleep easily.
ix. could you hear your muse in the hallway from another room?
no. amelia knows where the creaks and groans of the floorboards are in comstock house by now; and has trained herself to be a light and quick step. the only thing someone could hear is the rustling of her dress - but her footfalls are near silent. she wishes to pass through halls in peace. she wishes to be left alone.
tagged by: stole it from @sanguisvirginis bc i am a little dash goblin
tagging: STEAL IT TOO
me, disappearing into the canadian boreal forest for the third time in two weeks: can you reach me? no. you can’t. : ) ha ha : )
finally comm’d a proper 1890s corset and splurged for flossing i cant wait to take thirst trap photos of me in my bloomers like an absolute animal
i just think amelia as judith can be something that is so personal,
the monstrous feminine: wounds and rage
euripides, from “hippolytos, grief lessons: four plays” translated by anne carson // “the madwoman in the attic: the woman writer and the nineteenth-century literary imagination” sandra gilbert and susan gubar // @girlinterruptedpdf // catherynne m. valente “deathless” // safiya sinclair // aleksandra waliszewska // anne carson // “white oleander” janet fitch // anne sexton @heavensghost // @blacklodgelesbian // “crazy” jasmine mans
when will albert release the ragtime cover of tik tok sensation good for u so amelia can have a wine induced breakdown over her gramophone at 3 am in the year of our lord 1903