#desina
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Attico36 Graphic Assets for showreel during Desina Festival Napoli. 19.04.2024
#graphic#design#grafik#graphicdesign#visual#editorial#type#typo#typography#typeface#logo#logotype#illustration
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y’all
concept
Jed flusters Octavius so much he just reverts back to he first/primary language (latin)
Just;
Jed: -kisses Octavius’s hand-
Octavius:
Jed: Octy?
Octavius: Visne me nubere?
Jed: Huh?
Octavius: Hoc nolui! Nisi vis. I just- es calidissimus. Shit, non dicere voli id. Non quod tu non es! I just- eo desinas nunc.
Jed: Ok… Octavius, I understood none of that-
Thank you for your consideration
(Translations:
“Will you marry me?”
“I didn’t mean that! Unless you want to. I just- You’re very hot. Shit, I didn’t mean to say that. Not that you aren’t! I just- I need to stop now.”)
#For your consideration#just a thought#May or may not be based off a fanfic I read once and forgot the name to#jedtavius#natm jedediah#natm jedtavius#natm octavius#natm#night at the museum
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I FINALLY FINISHED COLORING IT 🤩🙌🏾 after two whole days…💀 I used ibisPaint OFF OF MY PHONE I’m very proud of the result🤭 really wish I had my iPad 🥹
YOU GUYS I’m gonna redraw my oc that I made back in 5th grade 💀💀 wish me luck
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She miser on my Catulle until I desinas ineptire
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Siemens 6FX5008-1BB61-3AA0 power cable for SINAMICS S120
Siemens 6FX5008-1BB61-3AA0 Power cable sold by the meter type: 6FX5008-1BB61 4x 16 C UL/CSA, DESINA MOTION-CONNECT 500 Type of delivery: Disposable drum Dmax=24.9 mm, Length (m)=200 Model: 6FX5008-1BB61-3AA0Categories: SINAMICS ConvertersBrand: SiemensSiemens 6FX5008-1BB61-3AA0 power cable for SINAMICS S120Siemens 6FX50081BB613AA0 power cable for SINAMICS S120
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Dear Shaqa-e-Bawas,
The Shrine that shown in a building was my bus that studied my mind.She shadows my mind.She was my living a written story.A Yaad hai tu mera jaani bakshi tu asam.An exuberant lie is that she is the other women that weaves and tried to assume me.She tried to seduce her intellect and wanted good sleep jewellery.She induced a poem that was a lie that was necessary to hone her deep seducing skilled Mard.A Mars and a Truben.A lie was she.A sheep Shephard lie.A Lin de donne se clan.She was the kindest might right then and then owned by a Siraj Se Mar de Taufana.A lost eye is that three based first soil that was her deep lies that die was a poet.She was infinity.She was stolen like the courage steps that took through to a lie.A lie kajol and a half.A lie and a half. A Death dying is she.Is she of good court and lie to her device.A lie is a rap of her Sambavs.Le Lin de Kosi and a half.A subdued right to her hand love.
Desina
#the english language#writers and poets#writeblr#writers on tumblr#writing#spilled ink#spilled thoughts#writerscommunity#spilled poetry#female writers#spilled writing#letters
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When Veritas sees Aventurine continue with his suicidal plan:
Miser Veritas desinas ineptire et quod vides perisse perditum ducas [what a drama queen my dear]
And then when he sees him back:
Venisti! O mihi nuntii beati visam te incolumen audiquem Avgins narratem loca, facta, nationes, ut mos est tuus, applicansque collum iucundum os oculosque suavibor. O quantum est homium beatitorum, quid me laetius est beatiusve?
Imagine Dr Ratio calling Aventurine sweet nothings and endearments under his breath in latin.
"Your idiocy never fails to suprise me, gambler. Today you are more beautiful than the last."
"You are late, my heart."
"How dull. There has never been a more lovelier man than you."
Aventurine has 0 idea what Dr Ratio is saying, so he pays someone to teach him latin.
... Now, his acting skills are put to the test, because he has to keep himself from blushing because now he understands Ratio when he mutters my dear, my only one whenever they talk.
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Il gigante fiorentino
A Firenze, nell’Ottocento, passeggiando per le strade del centro, capitava sovente di imbattersi in un personaggio alquanto curioso. Un omone grande e grosso, alto oltre due metri, e che sembrava ancora più alto perchè indossava sempre un cappello a tuba che lo proiettava ancor più verso il cielo.
Quasi sempre, accanto a lui, camminava una donnina, piccola piccola, anziana, che sembrava ancor più piccina al cospetto del gigante. Inutile dire che i due destavano l’attenzione dei passanti, che non potevano esimersi dall’osservarli e dal commentare la “strana coppia”. Il gigante era Mario Palazzi, un poeta improvvisatore, mentre della piccola donnina si conosce soltanto il nome: Assuntina. Mario Palazzi, oltre al suo cappello a cilindro, portava sempre con sé un bastone da passeggio ed una borsa di pelle a tracolla, dove custodiva le sue composizioni, che poi declamava sulla via. Giovanni Papini, a proposito del Palazzi, scrisse: “In questa borsa di pelle consunta e arrossata, ch’era il suo più amato tesoro, teneva le sue opere stampate e manoscritte, cioè degli opuscoli dov’erano raccolte le sue poesie più belle e altre poesie scritte a penna che egli era pronto a vendere a chiunque le richiedesse. Ma non le offriva con la voce e col gesto a nessuno. Era sempre silenzioso, austero, severo e quasi sempre mesto e sovrappensiero, sia che stesse ascoltando l’ispirazione della musa, sia che si vergognasse di quella sua spropositata statura, che attirava su di lui i lazzi dei beceri e dei monelli...”.
Una volta Papini si mise seduto accanto a Palazzi su una panchina di Piazza d’Azeglio e apprese da lui una vecchia canzoncina che recitava così: “Al tempo dei Medici un quattrin facea per sedici Ma ora coi Lorena se si desina non si cena Venuto Emanuelle non siamo che ossa e pelle…” Il Palazzi, in cambio di un sussidio, sembra avesse ceduto alla Specola il suo scheletro, una volta morto. Una volta, a seguito di una caduta, Mario Palazzi si ruppe una costola. Invece di dolersene, pare che se ne sia quasi compiaciuto, contento di non donare alla Specola uno scheletro intero…!! Personaggio davvero singolare, quasi un vagabondo, visse a lungo a Montedomini. Morì all’ospedale di Santa Maria Nuova nel 1913. Il suo scheletro? Nessuno sa che fine abbia fatto! Riporto una poesia di Mario Palazzi, che può servire ad inquadrare meglio il soggetto.
"Firenze civilizzata" A noi par d'essere Civilizzati Peggio che ora Non siam mai stati Se questo è il vago Giardin di Flora (Firenze) Era più bella Prima via Gora (attuale Via Montebello) Questo è il felice Secol de' Lumi Senza più arrosto Ma molti fumi Tutti siam dotti Il Cappellajo Se fa uno sgorbio E' Ghirlandajo E quel che i cavoli
Vende al mercato Vede suo figlio Sommo avvocato Spera nel titolo Di Generale Quello che vende Fino il majale Chi più dell'essere Conta il parere (apparire) Scambia il Te Deum Col Miserere E a conti fatti Può dirgli ognuno Sperasti pascerti E sei digiuno
Gabriella Bazzani Read the full article
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Catullus 8
Benjamin West Cupid, Stung by a Bee, Is Cherished by his Mother, 1774
Miser Catulle, desinas ineptire, Miserable Catullus, stop being a fool, sad Catullus, stop been a dink, et quod uides perisse perditum ducas. and what you see to be lost admit that it is lost. and what yiv lost admit tee. fulsere quondam candidi tibi soles, shining once you were white, cum uentitabas quo puella ducebat when you came to where that girl led you amata nobis quantum amabitur nulla. loved by us more than any other could be loved. ibi illa multa cum iocosa fiebant, there when many jokes were happining, quae tu uolebas nec puella nolebat, which you wanted nor did the girl not want, fulsere uere candidi tibi soles. shining nunc iam illa non uolt: tu quoque inpote〈ns noli〉, now she's stopped wanting, you must also stop, weakling, nec quae fugit sectare, nec miser uiue, neither follow she who flees, nor live miserably, sed obstinata mente perfer, obdura. but with a mind made up, stand fast. uale, puella. iam Catullus obdurat, goodbye, girl. now catulllus stands fast, nec te requiret nec rogabit inuitam. nor will he miss you or request you, unwilling. at tu dolebis, cum rogaberis nulla. but you will grieve, when you are not asked for at all. scelesta, uae te, quae tibi manet uita? wicked on, woe to you, what for you remains in life? baden, woe tiyi, what remaind fah yi in life? quis nunc te adibit? cui uideberis bella? who now will come to you? to whom will you seem beautiful? quem nunc amabis? cuius esse diceris? who now will you love? whose will you be said to be? quem basiabis? cui labella mordebis? whom will you kiss? whose lips will you bite? at tu, Catulle, destinatus obdura. but you, Catullus, destined mind endure it. Translated from Latin (R. A. B. Mynors (ed.), Oxford Classical Texts: C. Valerii Catulli: Carmina) into English and then into Geordie dialect.
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song for the ask game!!! failure by neffex!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YKqDiNJJPXk
Ooh, neffex is a fairly recent find for me 👀 I love how many of the songs I've heard so far are about stuff like this, though, the whole 'find what you're passionate about & fuck the haters telling you not to do it' thing.
Hmm... Definitely between Anaya & Desina, I think. Or just both of them. xD
I don't get what I want/I get what I need Everybody got to be learning from me/Everybody wanna be working with me ...So stop and breathe to find out who you want to be I hope that you're watching/Don't try to stop this That whole bit about the college degree & student loans Live the life you want now/A life you don't doubt/I could give a fuck how/Just figure it out
All very Anaya lyrics. xP
Every single day I'm heading off to my dream/And I get everything/That I damn well please I want it bad enough that Imma make it as an artist/....I promise you Imma be the one to work the hardest/I promise you I'm just getting started/And I promise that my skills are getting sharper Sounds like we're sold out/In front of a whole crowd/We lose control now Y'all take this shit too personally/Everybody got a different version of me Best lesson I learned is to keep on searching/Find your true passion and get to working Don't come back/pack your bags/Ya take a trip/...Ya find your niche/And make some racks/Don't hold back
Very Desina lyrics.
& the bit near the end with the 'everybody's got an opinion so which one do you prefer' and so on is very much the both of them. Because I'm sure neither of their families are particularly pleased about their respective career choices (or just general Life Choices, maybe) but like. They're both grown (& both have disposable income so they can afford to dick around a bit) & whose business is it what they wanna do anyway?
#thank you for the song!#Disconnected#Anaya#Desina#ask game#'scuse me while I just#copy+paste the lyrics of the whole damn thing xD#no tag ramble here huh#feels weird to post without one of those tbh
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colleague whom i see one (1) time in person turns out to be really fucking attractive and a lesbian. we vibe and i am a bumbling fool for the entire time we're talking, trying to signal that i'm also gay. she follows me outside although she said she had to go away. we kept making eye contact during our 4-hour class. i followed her on insta and now i feel like catullus because i want her to like the selfie i posted as bait And to see my stories because i'm cute and i want her to text me or at least like my pic :/ i'm bothered more than i should be... feeling a) some type of horny b) yearning c) complaining d) melodramatic and e) ready to compare the whole thing to a mythological episode :/ now i'm feeling super insecure because i have zero clue why people would like me to begin with, she's like. out of my league i think. and i don't even know if i'll see her in uni again so it's catullus vibes all over the place
#miser catulle desinas ineptire et quod vides perisse perditum ducas..........#jeebus christ.#i am giving pussy up and becoming a hermit i am not fit to interact with women#this is me being an annoying tumblr lesbian btw
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in liminal
When do you come to grips with your own mortality? Is it the very second before you die? Is it in the flames that strip your bones of their heavy flesh? When you watch someone you don’t know stand over your smoking corpse? For Sibyl, it was much much earlier in life. But now? He doesn’t feel his body hit the floor.
Time passes, an eternity of nothing. Tick. tick. tick. It can’t remember its name. For what is ‘dark’ when sight has no meaning? ‘Cold’ when feeling has no meaning? ‘Death’ when life has no meaning? Can you be unmade if there was nothing made in the first place?
The first thing you sees is yourself, four years old, standing across the lake. It’s December, more than two decades ago, but you can feel the snap of the winter chill as it touches your nose, the unruly blonde hair framing your face and the red scarf and mittens that your grandmother knitted. You see, so clearly, the child with the lopsided hat and ill-fitting coat. Sibyl. You know that’s Sibyl. You’ve never heard that name before. A could touch on your shoulder. Mama will be right back. His eyes meet yours and you offer a friendly wave. You only catch the beginnings of his lips curling upwards as your feet breach the ice and plunge downwards.
You are a bicyclist, pedaling through the streets on a clear May morning. The pleasant burn of a good workout has you in an excellent mood; there’s not a cloud in the sky. Just put one foot in front of the other. One, two, one two. It’s a comforting rhythm. A group of children feed geese in the pond to your left. Wiping the sweat off your brow, you consider the date you had last night. Maybe they’ll want to see you again? For just a second, you feel the chill of winter over your shoulder. When you glance up instinctively, your eyes pass over a child of around thirteen standing on the roadside with his own bicycle. He looks at you, and starts to speak. The truck, taking advantage of your turned head, catches you unawares. There is a bright flash of pain and then
You have spent a lazy evening with your partner at a lakehouse that you’re renting with a group of friends for the summer. They’ve all gone into town, so it’s just the two of you in the humid air of the living room. There’s nowhere you’d rather be. He says something to you, quietly, teasingly, and you nod, beckoning him to the stairway. Colder than the broken conditioning, you suddenly shiver, goosebumps raising on your bare arms, but the sense of chill is gone as soon as you felt it. It’s nothing. This is the perfect night. You tug its collar down so you can meet its lips with yours but find yourself tumbling in air as he watches in shock from above. Crack.
The smell of disinfectant and alcohol fills the air. You can’t feel your toes or your legs or your arms or your face, but you know that you are breathing. More than anything, you hope that the next time your son visits you, you can give him the sign he so desperately needs. That you can ask him his forgiveness, for anything. So you can tell him that he is loved. A strange, freezing shadow passes through the room, rustling your thin hospital gown as it goes by. Then someone follows. Gray eyes, black hair. Not your son, must be lost. Must be...
You hear the flatline.
You live these moments and nearly a dozen others in a loop. You die one thousand, one million, one billion times. All this suffering. It could have been ended with one death. And here, there is the chance to set the record straight. So die, Sibyl. Choose to die.
But that’s not what you wanted, is it? Deep down. You kept living. Tried to convince yourself that not getting close to people was enough. That staying apart and creating things to fill the space that people left behind would make up for everything you caused. That your curse would go away with time, and with patience, and with enough research. You were wrong. You want to live, Sibyl Lloyd Baxter. You are selfish and you won’t die. Kill to live. Die to survive.
The conclusion is simple. The moment where you really know you’re going to die, is a profoundly uninteresting one. It’s the thousands of minutes that you live with that realization afterwards, the restlessness. The fact of an end. It’s followed you from the start.
Become, Sibyl. Become.
#original#neque hoc metueris ne vivere aliquando desinas sed ne nunquam naturae convenienter vivere incipias /#- marcus aurelius (tsl. Greek into Latin)
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