alienslayer:

francisperfectionbonnefoy:

deardakin:

0athenachan0:

tenitchyfingers:

ilgattopatata:

gwen-chan:

italiangaypotato:

lunavagantt:

rumidown:

georgeorwell:

lunavagantt:

luciferique:

you, about italian summer: aesthetic, beautiful people walking at dusk holding hands on the beach, reading a book by the shades of a tree, falling in love with the first italian person you meet, orange palette colours

me, an intellectual: sweating from every pore, too much heat, tree shades won’t save your weak soul, sunscreen cream PROTECTION 100, bugs, mosquitoes, MOSQUITOES EVERYWHERE, you look like you’re ill of chickenpox for all the mosquito bites, Divieto di Balneazione™, “COCCO BELLO COCCO”, people completely drunk and wasted on August 15th, when even the tiniest bit of wind rises people cheer and sing hallelujah all together

you: aw, I’m so jealous, I wish I could spend the summer in italy

me, emerging from my darkened living room at 2pm on a july afternoon like some kind of swamp demon, my hair a mess and my skin nearly bioluminescent from the mosquito repellent I just bathed in: you have no idea what you’re talking about 

italian summer aesthetic: tv newscasters warning you about The Exodus. beware, they say. but you cry. you know you can’t escape it.

More aesthetic: StudioAperto saying is the hottest summer of the last 800 years( *war flashbacks from 2003). Towns looking like ghost cities in the Old Wild West from 12 to 5. Radio is still playing Sotto I Raggi del Sole by Brusco. Kids playing football on the beach IO VE LO BUCO QUESTO PALLONE MI INSABBIATE L’ ASCIUGAMANO

sun dried corn fields and scalding asphalt from the summer of 2003 are my default post-apocalyptic aesthetic

That guy on the beach who sells bracelets and summer equipment that you never buy but you’ve befriended him anyway 

Mothers crying at tops of their lugs “Don’t bathe, you just eat, you’re gonna die” to children who are gonna bathe anyway. “Cornetto” ice-cream eveywhere. Playing soccer of boiling sand. Autostrada del sole under the scoarchign sun. 

Taking public transport and either dying in a pool of your own sweat, or finding the really modern bus and freezing to death because the driver doesn’t know the meaning of ‘moderation’. Waking up in the middle of the night because the mosquitoes decided to buzz right into your ear

“It’s not the hot weather, you know? It’s the humidity!” 
They look at you, nodding knowingly while they gasp for air, same as you. 

And this summer’s tormentone follows you everywhere, just like every other year.
In shops, on the radio coming from 50 different stations all at the same time, harassing your ears from the ads and being used in every single fucking Youtuber’s video you might happen to come across. Popping from everywhere, you hear it from the cars speeding by as you try to sleep, you hear it hummed by teenage girls with shorts and a gelato in their hand while they go around the town’s market, sometimes you have to see people pull some ugly move from the little dance that comes with it (but Occidentali’s Karma is an exception, you’d dance it all day screaming ALE’ and that would never tire you out). 

It lasts 6 months, and then it just… disappears. All it leaves in its wake is a vague sense of nausea, frustration, and fear that you’ll have to listen to the same damn song for the billionth time.

And worst part – what they never tell you about – is that, through the brainwashing, you end up liking it. Tapping your fingers if you do happen to listen to it again.
Just a little. 

All schools are closed. Kids are free. They are everywhere. Watching you. Judging you while listening to Volare out loud. Calling you signora. You feel unsafe. You try to escape but the melting asphalt has melted your shoes. You’re trapped. DragonBall Z is on tv again. Soon September will come and with it all the backpacks and school supplies ads. You feel nostalgic but also remember the Esame di Maturità. Never again. People forget that deodorants actually exist. The lake’s beach is so full of German people you’re starting to wonder if you’re still in your home country. You’re blue (da-bu-di da-bu-da) and there’s a murder on the dance floor. You made sure to park your car well under the shadow but five minutes later the sun is burning every part of it. You take a deep breath and try to get inside the car. You cannot breathe anymore. Drought Alarm! Remember to drink plenty of water and never leave the house during the hottest hours! Take extreme care of kids and senior citizens. You’re trying to complete your Settimana Enigmistica under your ombrellone, but the kids of your acquaintance from the beach keep screaming. They’ve probably been screaming for hours now. What time is it anyway? Have three hours passed since you had lunch? Who knows. Better wait a bit more before going to take a bath in the sea. Mom said you might feel sick and drown. 5 horizontal: the end of the world. Two letters.

And if you are on the beach… ‘ACQUAGYM!’ ‘BALLO DI GRUPPO’ ‘BAILA! BAILA EL RITMO VUELTA!’.

You are still in your small town and need food. Any. No supermarkets are open. Nothing is open. Everyone is away. You have to go to another town to hope to find something open. Will you manage? Or will you melt in the car during your journey?

Watching LOTR, while they climb Mordor, you chug down water you kept n the freezer the whole night, because the fridge doesn’t make it enough COLD, and look at them. They are sweating less than you. Mordor seems nice. They have wind at least. 

Finally, you have a free day. Your regione doesn’t have the sea, because why the fuck being lucky when you can be a sore loser, so you go to the lake, HOPING to find some chill, some wind, some fresh air. You just find… Germans. All of Germany decided to come.

I should do Italian Summer Gothic.