In the town where I grew up, there was a large statue in one of the parks, of a famous historical white colonizer. I’m not going to say who specifically, suffice it to say that it was someone who wasn’t worth memorializing for their deeds. And as you can imagine, this statue was a frequent target of vandalism, with paint or toilet paper or eggs on multiple occasions. Now, the local council was generally pretty lax when it came to repairing potholes or other public damage in the town, but every time, 24 hours after this particular statue was hit, the same person would always appear in a Hi-Vis vest, hat, mask and sunglasses, carrying a bucket of water, and wash it clean. They would do it as quickly as possible, but always made sure the face and the name carved at the bottom were generously scrubbed. This only encouraged people to do it again, and so it became a vicious cycle.
Within a year, the statue had sustained so much damage that it was unrecognizable and the lettering unreadable, so eventually the council came and took it down. Also apparently, the person in the Hi-Vis vest didn’t even work for the council. They were supposedly just some ‘good samaritan’ who cleaned it, often before the council even discovered it needed cleaning, so they just let them do it and ignored the problem. They didn’t bother putting the statue up again.
Much later, we found out that the anonymous 'samaritan’ had been deliberately washing the statue with a bucket of saltwater, which had dramatically corroded it, causing irreversible accumulative damage far worse than spray paint ever would have done. It’s even theorized that they were also often the one spray-painting it, just so that they had an excuse to come back after a day to wash it.
Anonymous asked:
u hold that beer can like circumcised dudes hold their cock. no gentleness. no care
chaotic and dumb dark academia things to do when you’re not feeling that deep
make paper planes out of discarded vintage bound books and have a throwing battle with a latin student for the best table in the library
get a fountain pen and write an essay in calligraphy ranking the top ten sluttiest classical composers
go to an art gallery and photograph classical statues solely at a horrible angle from under their chin. no good photography allowed
cut out and make a collage of excerpts of articles and old books except only choose ones containing homoerotic subtext
if you have long hair learn to use a hair stick except use a pencil so when you need to write something, you pull it out and let your hair fall down dramatically
drink sprite from your grandma’s antique porcelain teacups. basically just drink everything from antique teacups
thrift a cheap but fancy looking wine glass and exclusively drink coffee from it in the morning for the drama
As someone who doesn’t play an instrument, here’s dark academia aesthetics for the rest of the fine arts
Art
paint on your hands
charcoal under long fingernails
berets
shrugging your coat off onto the back of your chair and getting media on it anyways
worn down black prismacolors
failed inktober sketches all over the floor
crinkled sketchbook pages with a hundred stories drawn on the same page
science notes featuring the faces of tragically beautiful women
holding up artifacts and bones and timeless objects to the light and trying to preserve in paper
flowers pressed into the inside cover of your sketchbook
forgetful notes in bad handwriting
ballpoint pen all over your forearms. reminders and doodles both.
sharing a reference object with your crush
standing around the same printer that always says it out of ink yet always prints fine anyways
engineering a canvas against a bookshelf and stepping away to look at t after tireless hours spent staring at a single charcoal cheekbone
old aprons worn by a hundred people just like you before you
Debate
notes scribbled on your hand
your mouth going dry right before your event
witty comebacks and devilish smiles
dramatic trench coats flowing behind you
black coffee
a heart beating too fast
laying your head in somebody’s lap and lamenting about politics and a nation’s entropy
libraries in unfamiliar cities
diners with open books sprawled over the booth table
hotel rooms that haven’t been cleaned since 2012
an hour of prep time ticking away on a brass stopwatch
researching in the candlelight like you’re an 1700’s young lawyer trying to make a name for themselves with this impossible new case they’ve been presented with in jest
one hand intertwined with your partner’s, the other raised to the sky, shaking your fist at god.
Choir
hot tea with honey for your throat
singing in the rain
running a hand over the piano not to play, but to let your voice match each note
clamping you’re eyes shut and letting your voice carey through you
black ankle length stresses
putting your hand up to the window and humming
sheet music hidden beneath your math homework
song lyrics written between the dates of your planner
why is it always a male character going mad avenging his dead wife and never a female character cradling her dying pure of heart husband in her arms then dragging the whole world down with her
Anonymous asked:
