#‘When the rain stretching out its endless train - Imitates the bars of a vast prison - ‘ | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

beastlyidiocy · 3 days

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#bloodborne #micolash host of the nightmare #decadentart #every time i read his full title i read it in an announcer voice #micolash …. His greed sickens me #and so does his perspective nightmare cage.. Boy i can barely draw rhat thang #also the text is from the poem Spleen…..#specifically the lines which translate to -#‘When the rain stretching out its endless train - Imitates the bars of a vast prison - ‘#‘And a silent horde of loathsome spiders - Comes to spin their webs in the depths of our brains’#fyi his anatomy looks a bit weird because his clothes are so bulky and layered . and hes so skinny #He really did kill all those people Huh #i mean . u know what my forest grandpa slways says… sacrifices must be made ❕❕❕

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nonchalamment · 5 years

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Analyzing beautiful words:

• Spleen

- boredom

- melancony, existential tedium, “ennui”

- characterizes the decaying and romantic inner life

-> sensation of diversity and extraneity that come from being in a overwhelming and mortifying reality

-> Spleen, by Baudelaire

When the low, heavy sky weighs like a lid

On the groaning spirit, victim of long ennui,

And from the all-encircling horizon

Spreads over us a day gloomier than the night;

When the earth is changed into a humid dungeon,

In which Hope like a bat

Goes beating the walls with her timid wings

And knocking her head against the rotten ceiling;

When the rain stretching out its endless train

Imitates the bars of a vast prison

And a silent horde of loathsome spiders

Comes to spin their webs in the depths of our brains,

All at once the bells leap with rage

And hurl a frightful roar at heaven,

Even as wandering spirits with no country

Burst into a stubborn, whimpering cry.

— And without drums or music, long hearses

Pass by slowly in my soul; Hope, vanquished,

Weeps, and atrocious, despotic Anguish

On my bowed skull plants her black flag.

#words #baudelaire #spleen #french poetry #french #poetry #advice #reading #currently reading #readers #writers

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nottobepostponed · 6 years

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WHEN THE LOW, HEAVY SKY WEIGHS LIKE A LID ON THE GROANING SPIRIT, VICTIM OF LONG ENNUI, AND FROM THE ALL-ENCIRCLING HORIZON SPREADS OVER US A DAY GLOOMIER THAN THE NIGHT;

WHEN THE EARTH IS CHANGED INTO A HUMID DUNGEON, IN WHICH HOPE LIKE A BAT GOES BEATING THE WALLS WITH HER TIMID WINGS AND KNOCKING HER HEAD AGAINST THE ROTTEN CEILING.

WHEN THE RAIN STRETCHING OUT ITS ENDLESS TRAIN IMITATES THE BARS OF A VAST PRISON AND A SILENT HORDE OF LOATHSOME SPIDERS COMES TO SPIN THEIR WEBS IN THE DEPTHS OF OUR BRAINS,

ALL AT ONCE THE BELLS LEAP WITH RAGE AND HURL A FRIGHTFUL ROAR AT HEAVEN, EVEN AS WANDERING SPIRITS WITH NO COUNTRY BURST INTO A STUBBORN, WHIMPERING CRY.

AND WITHOUT DRUMS OR MUSIC, LONG HEARSES PASS BY SLOWLY IN MY SOUL; HOPE, VANQUISHED, WEEPS, AND ATROCIOUS, DESPOTIC ANGUISH ON MY BOWED SKULL PLANTS HER BLACK FLAG.

#ic

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