You can only keep the last thing you ordered online if you can explain it to a medieval peasant. Keeping it?
yes
no
they call me a witch
results
You can only keep the last thing you ordered online if you can explain it to a medieval peasant. Keeping it?
yes
no
they call me a witch
results
Alastair, cover art for Manon Lescaut, 1928
Uh-oh, coming down with a case of “what-if-a-bunch-of-other-people-experience-these-symptoms-as-bad-as-I-do-but-they-suck-it-up-and-work-anyway-and-I’m-just-being-a-little-bitch”-itis
“Fiona Apple at Dingwalls” (1996) by Justin Thomas ♪ Gripping the mic in Camden’s basement heat
I love how different forms of art are all obsessed with each other. A book tries to capture the feeling of music, a painting tries to depict a scene in a book, a song tries to paint a picture. And it's always insufficient. No single form of art can encapsulate another form of art and capture the essence of it – but it tries, and its attempts are impossibly compelling. All the forms of art are in love with each other and spend so much time trying to express what makes the other kinds of art so lovely.