l3monivy

[l3monivy]

when bears in trees said 'would everyone just shut the fuck up for a second'. i felt that

[l3monivy]

“how will you sleep at night?”

“next to my wife”

THE WAY I SCREAMED

[l3monivy]

[l3monivy]

"It is what it is" I say as I almost vomit from anxiety

[l3monivy]

people who left you compilation

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[l3monivy]

the scary part about getting better is that there's this constant fear that things will go back to what they once were

[l3monivy]

[l3monivy]

You don't have to earn rest.

[l3monivy]

"It's so over" may endure for a night, but "we're so back" cometh in the morning.

[l3monivy]

What I love about ducks is that they really do quack. It’s not just hype.

[l3monivy]

I went to a high school performance of Hadestown this weekend (it was fantastic btw, so polished and professional and all the actors, pit, and tech did a marvelous job). The audience was great too, full of applause and enthusiasm after every song. But one of my favorite moments was at the end, when Orpheus turned around. You could hear audible gasps from the audience, and then there was perfect silence for a full minute while the actors transitioned to Road to Hell (Reprise). No scattered applause as sometimes happens when a song ends and the next scene doesn’t immediately begin. No murmurs or whispers. Just silence. And Hermes’ actress milked that silence for all it was worth. She had total control of that silence. It was glorious. I’m sure many people in that auditorium— parents, teachers, supportive community members— showed up that night, not knowing the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice. My mother-in-law certainly didn’t, sitting just a few seats down from me. And that collective gasp, followed by heavy silence is exactly what it’s all about. That’s the whole point— it’s a sad song. It’s a sad tale, it’s a tragedy. But we sing it anyway.

[l3monivy]

sorry cant hang out. too scared

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[l3monivy]

[l3monivy]

the author's barely disguised longing for a kinder world