Literature - Tumblr Posts
I think we need media especially fantasy and sci-fi that deal with the inconvenience of menstruation. It's such a common thing that is barely understood, by half of the population. Since media, art and literature shapes how we understand the world it could teach cis men how a period works, and that it's not utterly reprehensible. You've all heard that NASA story, that they sent like hundreds of tampons for a week trip.
- An elf panicking because they didn't pack enough pads/tampons for their quest through the woods.
- A casual trading of pads.
- Makeshift pads made in haste before the big boss battle.
- A character accidentally bleeding through their pants, and NOT being ridiculed.
- A character getting nauseous, or being too in pain to do what they usually could, maybe a cute pampering scene.
- magical pain relief
Periods are a little gross, just like other bodily excretions but they're nowhere near as bad as they're deemed. Stop stigmatizing them by showing them
Josef Hiršal & Bohumila Grögerová: JOB-BOJ (1968) Setiny: exhibition of Bohumila Grögerová’s poetry at Hvězda, Prague (17. 6. – 7. 11. 2021)
Bohumil Hrabal: Bambini di Praga 1947
“there are stains which cannot be cleaned without disrupting the structure of the fabric”
This quote demonstrates Hrabal’s art of aestheticization of banal phrases. The phrase is a a quote from an advertisement for a laundry detergent, but he gives it a completely different context and revives latent meanings in it, thus allowing it to come alive.
nahým a bosým posléze a oblečeným v cárech zlosti ve chvíli čiré beztesknosti zasteskne se nám po něze
then, dressed only in our anger naked, barefoot, penniless in moments of pure longinglessness we will long for something tender
Jan Skácel in Naděje s bukovými křídly (1983)
Virginia Woolf: To the Lighthouse (1927)
"It partook, she felt, carefully helping Mr Bankes to a specially tender piece, of eternity."
Jan Skácel: Podobný sýkorkám; čtyřverší XVIII
Jiří Kolář: ‘Vyvěs vyznač prodej’ in Návod k upotřebení (1969)
Hang a sign on your window: NOT WANTED: A STAMP COLLECTION NOT FOR SWAP: A FLAT PIANO LESSONS: NOT OFFERED DOG NOT FOUND
Write on your door: BE BACK IN A HUNDRED YEARS NON-STAFF ONLY DISTURB LITTERING NOT PROHIBITED PLEASE SPIT ON THE FLOOR ENTER WITHOUT PERMISSION
Place an advert: FOR SALE: A BABY CARRIAGE FOR OCTUPLETS LOOKING FOR AN UNINTELLIGENT MAN SMOKER, DRUNK, GAMBLER UGLY, PERVERTED, CONVICT WILL DEPOPULATE NEW YORK ON THE SPOT FOR SWAP: A MATCH BOX FOR A PYRAMID WILL TEACH TO WALK ON THE CEILING FOR FREE
Jiří Kolář: rukopis Prométheových jater (za který byl několik měsíců vězněn) | manuscript of Liver of Prometheus (for which he spent several months in prison) Světy Jindřicha Chalupeckého | The Worlds of Jinřich Chalupecký: exhibition in Prague City Gallery (16. 3. 2022 – 19. 6. 2022)
“What is done by today’s journalists, editors in publishing houses and political officials in editorial offices and ministries, the destruction of books, constant purges not only in second-hand bookshops, public libraries, but also societies and institutes, can only be called ‘the gassing of spirit’, and from here it is only a step, if it is not being done already, only a step to mass murder, to mass murder itself.”
Zpropadeně Meluzíno Ty ještě nemáš večeři a já mám schůzku s kukuřičným polem Dalo mi klíček od komůrky Uvař rychle nějakou hvězdu Poklidím lípám
Damn you, Melusine Dinner’s not ready yet and I have a meeting with the corn field It gave me a key to its chamber Quickly, cook up a star I will clean up after the linden trees
From Jiří Kolář’s debut Křestný list.
Jindřich Chalupecký wrote about it:
But what immediately surprised me was the peculiar character of Kolář’s idiom. It was neither literary, nor colloquial. It used the ordinary speech of ordinary people, which is not fixed and defined by literary norms, but while this language is usually used in literature to create contrast, in Kolář’s debut, it was the starting point of the poem. The vernacular interested Kolář because it eludes the function of a mere instrument of conveying information: it is also the subject of constant linguistic play, which by disrupting the outer form of language revives its structures and keeps it plastic to bring it back to reality and life.
The translation of the poem really is merely illustrative. There is no way to translate the beautiful zpropadeně and to keep the reminiscence of folk songs in dalo mi klíček od komůrky, and the familiarity and domesticity of ty ještě nemáš večeři... Great poetry really is untranslateable.
Je půlnoc kopřiv a půlnoc kopru, který promítá na černou oblohu své zlaté okolíky.
It is the night of nettles and dill, which projects its golden umbels onto the black sky.
Fnatišek Hrubín: Romance pro Křídlovku (1962) | Romance for Bugle (1962)
Victor Frankenstein is just like me frfr
A masterpiece
People should associate me with both the wolf emoji: 🐺 and the scroll emoji: 📜- I may be a werewolf but I am also a massive literature nerd anyways send me recommendations <3
“I’ll take my whiskey neat..”
My hand distanced itself from my slumped over body barely trying to hide its lustful intention as it laid on top of yours. Pure whiskey on the side as I frown at your oblivious question asking me, “Why are you touching my hand?”. I merely let out a chuckle as I continue to sip the golden poison we’ve normalized; it was this moment I drifted away. “Don’t worry darlin.” My lips sputter as I dart from my seat and walk out the bar. The tart aroma surrounding you only shifted around my spiced pine stench reminding me of your purity I wouldn’t dare taint.
What is the point of sailing if not for seeking change?
Freeing winds on my darkened hair dusted with the rains from the fluffy clouds that only zeus, champion of thunder, reigns after. A mere paddle boat resting neatly across; a heart skipping a beat like a drum anticipating the dull ring a machine makes when hades comes for a visit.
Ocean stills easily, reflection showing me a little girl one so young and innocent it’s like a dove is sleeping on your lap only to swipe at it for the new image to be a broken boy still growing into an eagle proud to be himself.
The cold shivers across your cheek like an empty promise left to sleep.
An aching pain fills your lungs, corroding your lips as you spit venom at your mum.
I wish I never had you
I wish I could leave
None of it has meaning, yet you cry yourself to sleep, thinking how the bringer of life becomes the opposite
I promise to be better only becomes a bitter speech, and the once graceful winter turns to a melancholic season.
Your and her promise will never succeed.