Quick And Easy Skillet Brownie

What men or gods are these? What maidens loth? What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape? What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy?

John Keats in Rome

i made a quiz 🕊️🏺🏛️ what tragic character from ancient greek literature are you?

original thieves

Canada Goose, Eagle Creek PAr, Indiana 3/28/19

since my red/blue gay quiz got popular, here’s one for every color of the rainbow. as a note: i have synesthesia and this is based off of my perception of each color based on that. it’s not about the aesthetic so much as what the color itself means.

“Let your black hair, let your black hair / get in my way always.”

— Alex Dimitrov, from “Always,” Together and By Ourselves (via lifeinpoetry)

Remember, remember

The fifth of November

The gunpowder treason and plot

I know of no reason

Why the gunpowder treason

Should ever be forgot.                                                                           

But what of the man? I know his name was Guy Fawkes and I know in 1605, he attempted to blow up the Houses of Parliament. But who was he really? What was he like? We are told to remember the idea and not the man. Because a man can fail. He can be caught, killed and forgotten. But 400 years later an idea can still change the world. I have witnessed firsthand the power of ideas. I’ve seen people kill in the name of them and die defending them. But you cannot kiss an idea, cannot touch it or hold it. Ideas do not bleed. They do not feel pain. They do not love. And it is not an idea that I miss. It is a man. A man that made me remember the fifth of November. A man that I will never forget. - V for Vendetta.

let me cup your dirt-smudged cheeks in my hands. let me lift your chin and search the galaxies in your eyes.

“Language is, in other words, not necessary, but voluntary. If it were necessary, it would have stayed simple; it would not agitate our hearts with ever-present loveliness and ever-cresting ambiguity; it would not dream, on its long white bones, of turning into song.”

— Mary Oliver, excerpt of “Three Songs”, in West Wind