btvs appreciation week • day four - favourite
season, episode orseason finale(s)
↪ "We saved the world. I say we party."
The Wish (The Fortune Teller) Theodor von Holst ca. 1840
I saw this painting and was reminded of the poem “The Card Dealer” by Dante Gabriel Rossetti. I decided to look the poem up and learned that the poem had originally been written as a meditation on the painting. (http://www.rossettiarchive.org/docs/3-1849.raw.html#op77). Awesome. Anyway, read the poem. It’s one of my favorites.
“The Card-Dealer” (1852; revised 1870)
by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Could you not drink her gaze like wine?
Yet though its splendour swoon
Into the silence languidly
As a tune into a tune,
Those eyes unravel the coiled night
And know the stars at noon.
The gold that’s heaped beside her hand,
In truth rich prize it were;
And rich the dreams that wreathe her brows
With magic stillness there;
And he were rich who should unwind
That woven golden hair.
Around her, where she sits, the dance
Now breathes its eager heat;
And not more lightly or more true
Fall there the dancers’ feet
Than fall her cards on the bright board
As ’twere an heart that beat.
Her fingers let them softly through,
Smooth polished silent things;
And each one as it falls reflects
In swift light-shadowings,
Blood-red and purple, green and blue,
The great eyes of her rings.
Whom plays she with? With thee, who lov’st
Those gems upon her hand;
With me, who search her secret brows;
With all men, bless’d or bann’d.
We play together, she and we,
Within a vain strange land:
A land without any order,—
Day even as night, (one saith,)—
Where who lieth down ariseth not
Nor the sleeper awakeneth;
A land of darkness as darkness itself
And of the shadow of death.
What be her cards, you ask? Even these:—
The heart, that doth but crave
More, having fed; the diamond,
Skilled to make base seem brave;
The club, for smiting in the dark;
The spade, to dig a grave.
And do you ask what game she plays?
With me ’tis lost or won;
With thee it is playing still; with him
It is not well begun;
But ’tis a game she plays with all
Beneath the sway o’ the sun.
Thou seest the card that falls,—she knows
The card that followeth:
Her game in thy tongue is called Life,
As ebbs thy daily breath:
When she shall speak, thou’lt learn her tongue
And know she calls it Death.
John Scalzi gets it.
the doors of the church are now open
there is literally no difference between academic scholars discussing their interpretations of a text and a bunch of people yelling YOUR HEADCANON IS WRONG at each other
As a Masters student I can vouch for this.The difference is citations.
The tags are our footnotes and our commentary, as well as
random sasspeer review.
Dita Von Teese
WHAT THE HELL IS THIS
I waited 30 seconds for this 3 second video to load and it was worth it.
I AM MAKING THIS INTO A RINGTONE I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD
Tony: I had to convince Bruce that his theme song is NOT Ugly Side by Blue October.