SAM SPRATT’S SIGNED TOMB RAIDER DEV EDITION PRINT GIVEAWAY!
In short: Likes and Reblogs of this image are each entries to win it. Giveaway ends in 1 week. Ships worldwide. You can also enter on Facebook.
In slightly less short: I have a couple 18”x24” prints of the poster I made commissioned by Crystal Dynamics and I’d like to give one away. Only myself and the developers of the game itself have this gold foiled “Dev Team Edition”
but if you’re not a gambling person, the normal limited edition is on sale HERE(sorry, apparently those sold out a few days ago, but this one’s still up for grabs)
I might even have a few left over prints of some other works for runner-ups as well…
The Funeral of Shelley - Louis Edouard Fournier
(from left to right in the centre: Edward John Trelawny, Leigh Hunt, Lord Byron)
If you’re into Mumford and Sons-esque folksy happy stuff, listen to this song by my two future housemates and one of their brothers, and see clips from my university town in the video. If there’s anything guaranteed to make you fall in love with Falmouth and Penryn, it’s this. This is going to be the song I listen to when I cry myself to sleep with nostalgia when I finally have to leave. It makes me in love with my life here. And in the background of the poi spinners you can see the KFC I work for!
- There isn’t a contemporary adaptation of Jesus Christ Superstar
- There hasn’t been a John Hughes-esque badass teen film in a long time. Remember when teen films used to be classics? I want the next Breakfast Club, St Elmo’s Fire, Pretty in Pink…
- There isn’t a biopic about Nellie Bly.
- There isn’t a sci-fi show about badass burlesque ladies.
- There isn’t a film about the Mad King of Bavaria starring Misha Collins.
- There has never been an adaptation of Frances Burney’s Evelina.
LA mara-what? I’ve been painting all morning.
when i’m sad i read out the entirety of howl to myself, getting faster and louder the further i go until i’m racing with the words on the page, just to let myself know there is a space for my voice in this world a space for me to carve out with my guts, but afterwards my jaw always really, really hurts, swollen at the joints, loose and too relaxed.
- *people go outside in movie about alien invasion*
- Me: That's so dumb, if there was an alien invasion would you go outside?
- Dad: No. I'd lock myself in the fridge.
- Me: Why?
- Dad: Why not?
FIGURES OF LORE | the keres, greek mythology
In Greek mythology, the Keres (Κῆρες; singular: Ker Κήρ) were female death-spirits — The Keres were daughters of Nyx. They were described as dark beings with gnashing teeth and claws and with a thirst for human blood. They would hover over the battlefield and search for dying and wounded men.
but right now i’m curled up in my boyfriend’s hoody, with avocado and jalapeno hummus on toast, debating whether to have green tea or fresh coffee, and everything’s pretty okay.
this library smells disgusting and these morons in front of me are chatting, singing to themselves, and spilling drink all over the desk
FOR FUCK’S SAKE THIS IS AN ACADEMIC INSTITUTION AND I HATE YOU
I’m reading an article on rape in The Changeling (17th c. play) an I came across an interesting 17th century discussion of consent that seems pretty enlightened (by which I mean astonishingly not-disgusting). A certain Michael Dalton writes that “to ravish a woman, where she doth neither consent before nor after, or to ravish a woman with force, though she do consent after, it is felony…if a man ravish a woman, who consenteth for feare of death or dures, yet this is a ravishment against her will, for that consent ought to be voluntarie and free…[It is a felony even] to ravish a harlot against her will.”
Okay, great. If conservative English Protestants of the 17th century could figure this out, why can’t contemporary romance and fantasy writers? :-/
An email my sister sent me this morning, because she has uncovered a Smart Thing and I wanted to share it with the world.
(Not to be too harsh on romance & fantasy writers—I am both, and my sister’s an accomplished fantasist herself—but, well. I’d say this gross viewpoint is much more widespread outside of literature, but it’s always especially disappointing to find problematic viewpoints in your own literary backyard.)
Eighteenth century culture was preoccupied with gesture and authenticity of gesture and physical expression which calls into question the way we write about bodies – whether you can verbally capture something that is by its very virtue and definition nonverbal. It then creates a meta-layer, whereby one becomes aware of the fictional nature of these ‘authentic’ representations. This preoccupation with the physical is manifested by Sterne’s references to pulses, blushing, swooning, all a product of another eighteenth century concern – that of the discovery of the nervous system, and how sentimentality derives from physiology. Thus another tension is created – that between reason, and passion – empiricism and feeling. Something discovered empirically, the product of modern science, lead to valuing sentimentality. Yet how can the two reconcile? Sterne is constantly attempting to balance the fullness of emotion and the philosophical importance of empirical observation and sensory experience. In this way he’s also addressing the sublime, the failure of language to comprehend the sensory body even though language is our only means of addressing and receiving the sensory body. In this way we have a failure of language that Sterne is very aware of – his experimental form is a result of solipsism, the inability to communicate the senses adequately, and attempt to constantly balance the chaos of subjective experience and existence with the clarity of eighteenth century empirical demands. An essay reconciling studies into the nervous system with the cultural preoccupation with gesture, tying in theories of solipsistic philosophy and an embryonic sublime. In the desperation to create an authentic representation of the body the representation becomes less authentic – it becomes hyperreal, a comedy in its self-consciousness.