#and this poem has been haunting me ever since I found it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

softguarnere · 8 months

Text

It Will Have Been Worth It

David Webster x reader

Soulmate!au in which the first words you ever hear your soulmate say appear on your skin when you turn thirteen

A/N: Out of everything I've ever written for this fandom, this fic has been one that has given me the most trouble. According to my notes, I started it on October 31st of last year 😬 None of my ideas for it felt right when I had them on paper, and I eventually just left it sitting in my drafts. Randomly got inspiration for it a few days ago, and now it's done! Better late than never, I guess A very special thank you to @brassknucklespeirs (welcome back babe, I missed you!!!!) and @liebgotts-lovergirl who both chatted with me about this fic last fall when I started it, and who both helped me with ideas all those months ago 💕 As usual, this is written for the fictional depictions from the tv show - no disrespect to the real life veterans! Warnings: alcohol, mentions of war, the author using every impressive high school vocab word she could possibly remember

Just because David has a large vocabulary doesn't mean that he's in total command of it at all times. Throwing around words that make other people furrow their brows as they try to ascertain what he means brings him some sense of satisfaction, but he also has a habit of flashing his arsenal of expressions when he's particularly nervous, hoping to throw off whoever has made him feel as if he's lost his footing. And when he's had a few drinks? Forget about it – all the words he once had at his disposal are suddenly either strung together to form nonsensical sentences or are nowhere to be found.

Is he pretentious? Perhaps, although he would argue that there's much more to the story. An elementary school teacher taking a liking to a poem he wrote when he was eight and exclaiming, "David, I think that you could be a great writer some day!" may have started him down that path, but he ultimately blames the words that appeared on his skin when he was thirteen.

He used to love looking at his parents’ soulmate tattoos. "What a lovely name" on his mother's wrist and "A rose by any other name would smell as sweet" on his father's. It always seemed so romantic to him, the thought that those had been the first words that his parents ever heard each other say, and that they got to flaunt those beautiful lines that they had given each other.

"If it takes fighting a war for us to meet, it will have been worth it" appeared on the inside of his forearm on his thirteenth birthday. A beautiful line, really.

It's haunted him ever since.

"Make sure that you give your soulmate a tattoo that's just as pretty." His father had winked at him and slid him a piece of birthday cake – strawberry with vanilla buttercream frosting, he still remembers – unaware of the panic he had just set off in David's chest. Because that was the first time he had realized that, yes, he was responsible for giving his soulmate a poetic tattoo. His own is a beautiful turn of phrase. Whoever his soulmate is, they deserve a line that looks just as pretty on their own skin. It’s a duty that he comes to take very seriously.

Every person he meets, Webster makes sure to compose an amiable greeting for them, just in case. He’ll quote Shakespeare if he finds they’re particularly attractive, invoking his parents’ first meeting, since you never know. So what if some people push hard sighs through their nose whenever he opens his mouth to speak? He’s a student of literature; producing striking sentences is half of his job.

And, he reminds himself, one day he’ll find his soulmate, and he won’t have to worry about creating turns of phrase that are unequaled and unforgettable – except for his novels, of course. But whatever words he provides for his soulmate’s mark, he’s determined to make them as dazzling as the bright light thrown from a suncatcher on the clearest summer day.

. . .

It’s at seventeen that he learns that not everyone finds their soulmate. The library is quiet, save for the sounds coming from the diligent scratching of pencils, the turning of pages, and the soft breathing of focused students. He turns a page in his own book and is confronted with the staggering statistic that only twenty percent of people are recorded to find theirs.

“That’s less than one fourth of the population!” He exclaims to himself without meaning to, disrupting the tranquility of the study space and garnering several peeved looks for his outburst. A seemingly unnecessary one to everyone else, but justified in his own mind.

Twenty percent! He’s still aghast as he gathers his own books and escorts himself from the library. The cool breeze blowing through the late afternoon can’t even distract him from the train of thought that has now run off the rails, chugging along through his mind with no sign of stopping.

Because now, come to think of it, people get married all the time, soulmate tattoos or not. And there’s no law or anything stating that you have to marry your soulmate once you meet them; they’re simply the person who would be the best suited for you. You could go about your lives as nothing more than just friends – or worse, nothing at all, even if you did find each other.

To say that the conclusions reached that afternoon astound him would be an understatement of epic proportions. He’s never quite the same after that. But it doesn’t stop his extraordinary expressions.

. . .

War breaks out. He leaves college for the experience. He volunteers for the paratroopers because, even though they’re new, they’re the best. If he wants to write about war – or write anything good, really – he’ll have to get his hands dirty with experience so that the sentences that stain his pages can be clean, clear, concise, and indelible to his readers. Honestly, it’s not until he hears one of the other men in his company point out that the new migrations and travel opportunities given to them by the conflict may well improve their chances of finding their soulmates that he realizes that statistic he once read will soon be incorrect.

For a brief and terrifying moment, Webster – as he is now called amongst his fellow soldiers – thinks that maybe Joe Liebgott is his soulmate, and that he’s responsible for giving him a really awful line. Webster had made an offhanded comment about the quality of the eggs one morning at breakfast, and the Californian had given him such a perplexed look that Webster’s panic led him to believe that the cab driver must have “What do they season their eggs with around here? Sawdust?” somewhere on his person, and that the reason he remained so quiet around him was due to not wanting Webster to hear him speak so that they would never know if they were actually soulmates. Luckily those fears had been laid to rest when Webster caught a glimpse of the words “Cabbie, if you drive any faster, I think the car will start flying” on his leg during a run up Currahee. It turned out that he simply didn’t agree with Webster’s observations on the quality of the eggs. Still, Webster remembers to be more careful with his words.

When he can be, actually. Which is not when he’s been drinking.

The British pub is loud with the sounds of servicemen singing and laughing well into the night. The general consensus that they’re finally going to be thrust into combat soon has filled many men with a renewed zest for life, and from the sounds and sights all around, people are relishing the nights like these while they can. And who can blame them?

“What did they even teach you at Harvard?” Hoobler wants to know as Webster downs a shot. “I mean, as a literature major, and all.”

“Is it just reading?” Skinny Sisk questions. “’Cause if so, then anyone with a library card can probably get a degree.”

Webster purses his lips, his glass returning to the table with a harsh slam that announces the displeasure that he’s trying to keep out of his voice. “Ha ha ha. Very funny.”

“I was being serious,” Hoobler clarifies. “You know, just out of curiosity, and all.”

“How do you even use a literature degree?” The conversation has caught the attention of Joe Toye and George Luz at the next table, and they turn to join Webster, Hoobler, and Sisk, suddenly very interested in the academic intricacies of studying literature.

“Well, I’m studying literature because I want to be a writer,” Webster admits.

“And write about what?”

Webster makes a vague gesture, trying to encapsulate their environment, the lives they’ve lived since enlisting, the world itself – everything. “War,” he says instead, an understatement.

“Hey!” Luz says brightly. “You could review books. There’s an idea.”

Toye cocks an eyebrow. “Is there money in that?”

“You could review Hitler’s book,” Luz continues. “Really tear it apart on it’s word choices, and all that.”

“Hitler can read? Who knew!” Skinny asks, making everyone laugh.

“What do you think he even would read? In all his spare time, I mean, when he’s not invading countries and forcing men like us out of our homes to come and stop him.”

All eyes immediately turn to Webster, expectantly awaiting an answer. The literature student freezes with a bottle of beer halfway to his lips.

“What?” He asks.

“It was a question, Professor,” Toye says. “You gonna answer it?”

“You were serious?”

“I asked, didn’t I?”

Despite himself, Webster can feel his eyebrows shoot up, betraying his surprise. “How would I know?”

“Well, in your expert opinion,” Luz suggests.

Skinny nudges Hoobler. “He just doesn’t want to admit that he doesn’t know.”

Heat rushes to Webster’s face, and it’s not entirely from the warm glow of the alcohol. If it weren’t for the dim lighting of the pub, the tips of his ears would probably be glowing a bright pink with his ignominy.

“They didn’t teach me that at Harvard,” he says.

Hoobler smirks. “Uh huh. Sure.”

“Awe, come on!” Webster exclaims. “I’m just trying to fight a war. I am not prepared to make speculations about Hitler’s literary preferences!”

“Excuse me,” a new, much sweeter voice cuts in. At once, all the men’s defenses are down as they turn to see two prepossessing women standing at the edge of their group. They look familiar, somehow, and if it weren’t for the dim lighting and the alcohol, Webster would swear that he’s seen them in passing before. “Hi, I’m Evelyn, and this is my friend (Y/N).”

The second woman, seemingly a little shyer, offers them a small wave and a smile as her friend takes the lead. Perhaps it’s the darkness playing tricks on Webster’s eyes, but he could swear that she’s looking at him, and that she suddenly looks a little fidgety as the introduction goes on.

“We’re with the Red Cross,” Evelyn continues, her words providing explanation as to her familiarity. Then, implausibly, she fixes her gaze directly on Webster. “(Y/N) here has been watching you for a while, so I decided it was high time that we came over and introduced ourselves.” She leaves the obvious unspoken – because war is an uncertain thing and it’s better to die with no regrets than to always wonder what could have been.

Me?! The other paratrooper’s eyes flick between (Y/N) and Webster as he stands, his friends struck with the same sense of wonder. With Skinny or Tab, this sort of scene is not infrequent, but nothing of the sort has happened to Webster – if he’s being completely honest, not even in college.

He clears his throat. So focused on willing his hands not to feel sweaty through sheer force of will, Webster extends his for a shake, not even bothering to watch his words.

“Hello. I’m David Webster,” he says, noticing how soft your hand is in his. “It’s nice to meet you.”

You beam at him. “If it takes fighting a war for us to meet, it will have been worth it.”

He freezes. Behind him, he can feel his friends tense up as well. “Oh my God,” he whispers, for it’s all he can do. The words that he’s been waiting his entire life to hear have just come out of your mouth – and he’s just recited what must be the blandest line in the history of soulmate tattoos!

Webster rolls up his shirt sleeve and reveals his tattoo, the beautiful line staring up at him in confirmation. Air vacates his lungs, leaving him breathless as his heart pounds in his chest.

You begin to roll up your own sleeve, and Webster winces at the anticipation of seeing his introduction on your arm. But when the ink on your arm is exposed, you glance up at him, something like a smirk playing at your lips.

“Oh my God,” Webster says again, wanting to kick himself, and for a completely different reason this time.

“It was the first thing that I ever heard you say,” you tell him.

Evelyn gasps, then slaps a hand over her mouth, though it does no good to contain the giggles that still pour out. The other Easy Company men crowd around, trying to catch a glimpse of your arm.

There in the pub, in front of everyone, the first words that you, Webster’s soulmate, ever heard come out of his mouth stain your arm, making several people laugh: I’m just trying to fight a war. I am not prepared to make speculations about Hitler’s literary preferences!

At least now he doesn’t have to waste the rest of his life being so cautious with his words.

#david webster #david webster x reader #band of brothers #band of brothers imagine #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers x reader #soulmate au #my writing

73 notes · View notes

feelbokkie · 2 months

Text

Thank you for the tag @skzonthebrain 🥰

❤︎: Who is your favorite KPop group?

skz is my ult group (but day6, svt, ateez, btob, and txt have my attention also)

❤︎: Which member sparked your interest first?

like a lot of stay, felix. specifically kingdom week money cather felix

❤︎: Who was your first bias?

hyunlix, baby

❤︎: Who is your current bias?

❤︎: What makes them your current bias?

kim seungmin. minnie. seungminnie. seungmong. love of my life. light of my life. my favorite puppy. the man who bias wrecked his way into my heart. i think pretty much everyone knew seungmin was my bias before i knew. ffs, i threatened to hit him with a stick for not smiling in pcs and one of my emoji anons sent me a photoset of him to calm me down. and it worked. i think his smile got me first. like, i already liked his singing, especially when i was watching kingdom and heard him in both btob's i'll be your man and iu's love poem. i've, more recently, been getting hypnotized by his dancing. but his smile? i took my eyes off hyunlix for two seconds to look at his smile and that was it for me. amy pointed out that i pout like seungmin (like a week or two before i changed biases) when i'm focusing and that made me incredibly happy. and i know this man is funny. he's a comedic genius. but he's personality. how he always quietly looks out for the members. especially when they're all eating or something and seungmin when they're all eating and he'll offer chan (or whoever is in charge of cooking) food too before grabbing his own. and the kr videos i've seen of him too just added so much more to him that i couldn't help by love him. i could go on forever, but i think it's also the fact that i'm similar to him but I didn't realize it into a few months after i realized he's my bias

❤︎: Who is your bias wrecker?

listen--

❤︎: Which member (s) are you currently obsessing over that aren’t your bias/bias wrecker?

they all wreak me but lately, this man has been haunting me

❤︎: When did you first discover this group?

i discovered them twice actually. first time was in december of 2022. i spent most of the month at work, school, and the hospital (not for me) and there was a lot going on. watching whatever reels or tiktoks popped up on my fyp.

and then i was doing poorly mentally after my brother 😵 and just stopped pretty much everything. and in february 2023, i found them again. or rather, they found me and i've been holding their hands ever since.

❤︎: Have you ever been to one of their concerts?

not yet but i'm taking a cheeky little trip this summer and the locations and dates kinda line up so i'm going to try to manifest my way to a show. that or rob a bank ange get tickets for the world tour (whenever they announce that)

❤︎: What are some of your favorite songs by the group?

the tortoise and the hare

hero's soup (so upset it never got rerecorded)

leave

cover me

4419

circus

double knot

silent cry

rock

cheese

and so many other that atp i might as well put their discography

No pressure tags; @amyyscorner @ashitshowforalot @hyuuukais @kangaracharacha @puppysmileseungmin @tfshouldidohere @itshannjisung and anyone else!

#tag game #feelbokkie rambles

11 notes · View notes

iwillstopcrying · 7 months

Text

Ever since you left, I’ve been waiting for you.

It’s been one, two, three years, the time passes indefinitely. I’ve dedicated many poems to you, but nothing feels enough. Someday, I’ll write a book for you, I'll read it to you when we next meet. I'll smile and place it in your tired hands, and tell you this is what I’ve been doing, this is what my mind has been crafting since the moment you left. This is my gift to you, it’s ugly and confusing. This is what your absence has created.

When we talk, I’ll tell you this gift is what I've spent my lifetime achieving, and ask you what your lifetime was meant to give me. I’ll tell you, all 12 year old me was given from you was grief.

You’ll tell me that I was angry at you, so angry, and you didn’t know how to calm me down. You’ll tell me it burnt holes in our throats. I’ll scoff in your face. I’ll tell you, of course I was, I learnt it from you! You left a child with something heavier than anything their soul had heard of. You let your child hurt because you didn’t have it in you to learn how to be a father.

You’ll tell me I would never have written that book if you’d stayed. I’ll say it’s a mess, it makes no sense. You’ll look at me and say that I don’t either, and it’s okay, because I’m still beautiful.

I’ll tell you, if that was the case, why would you have left. I’ll tell you, you were too weak to even say you loved me. You’ll look at me with your soft eyes and your soft words, you’ll tell me I was too. We’ll hold the silence like a competition.

I’ll tell you, I regret living my life for you, you weren’t even there to watch it.

I’ll start walking away, and you’ll let me, I think you'll let me. I don’t think you’ll ever stop me. I forgive you for it.

I am still mourning, and grieving, and drowning; I built you a separate life with my own bare hands. Slip straight inside it, if you’d like, if you want to come back. My door is always open. I won’t complain, this time I'll tell you I love you.

I don’t think I'll ever get used to you being gone. I never thought you’d leave this early; you were meant to see me grow up.

I can’t hold your hand anymore. The thought haunts me, rolls round and round my mind every night, when the grief takes a hold of my throat and my heart. I can’t chase you through fields, or play tennis with you, or football, or chess. No one will let me win like you did.

I like to imagine you’d love my girlfriend. She's smart and sweet. She likes computing, too; I wonder if she’ll be anything like you when she grows up (the good parts, at least). I hope I am there to see it. I wish you could too.

Today, I sit down at our table. I tell you about my day, and imagine your responses - it makes everything slightly more bearable, when the acceptance is heavier than the guilt itself. I say, when I grow up, I want to be a criminal laywer, or an author, or anything that’s not you. It echoes round the room in silence. I miss your judgement.

I search for you in everyone. I strive to find something, anything that resembles you, something that looks, or feels, or sounds like you, I wait and wait and wait for some sort comformation that you’re still here.

I’ve never found it, I doubt I ever will - but, your love is still a part of me. My memories are still a part of you. I’ll remember that.

I’ll keep waiting.

23/9/23

#i love poetry #poetry #i love writing #i miss my childhood #writing #mitski #words #spilled feelings #spilled poetry #i forgot ab this acc #poem #story #greif #guilt #acceptance #writer #poems and poetry #tumblr poetry

15 notes · View notes

wildkitte · 10 months

Text

Creusa must die

I have been a little bit obsessed with Creusa’s character ever since I first translated Aeneid in my first ever text course in university 5 years ago (dear god). Her disappearance, Aeneas’ devastated, mad dash to find her and her final appearance as a ghost have been haunting me for all these years without an end in sight. Apparently not everyone shares this obsession, as there is comparatively little research on her (if we compare to Dido or Camilla – perhaps only Lavinia is as ignored as Creusa is and she at least has Ursula K. Le Guin batting for her), and even my professor said: “Creusa just dies, but it doesn’t really matter why she does”.

But it does matter! Creusa’s disappearance is the only way the Aeneid can happen! Creusa’s death is the only way Aeneas is free to perform his duty to Rome! Creusa must die, so Rome can be born!

It’s interpretation time, baby.

In a way Creusa is the perfect wife – for both Aeneas and also in the sense of Augustan values. She is loyal to her husband, she has performed her duty as a wife, bearing a son for Aeneas. Creusa is also the one to remind Aeneas to fulfill his duty as paterfamilias and protect his family instead of seeking death in the carnage of Troy (see 2.675-678). Rivoltella’s article La Morte Di Creusa E Didone Nell’Eneide Ed Il Motivo Del ‘Seguito Amoroso’ details the motif of following (sequor) in the Aeneid and touches on this topic of Creusa as the ideal wife.

Now... You can probably imagine how devastated I am that I have apparently not saved anywhere the summarized translation my prof provided for me of Rivoltella’s article (there’s also interesting stuff about ‘following’ as an erotic motif in archaic Roman literature but also in later erotic poetry, i.e. Catullus – it’s a really good article, shame I can’t understand Italian). If you want to read it, it can be found here – if I remembered smth incorrectly I’ll be forever ashamed

But from memory: in the Greek marriage tradition, the place of the wife is at home. When man goes to war, wife stays behind (as a mirror to the Aeneid, we can raise Penelope from the Odyssey – she stays behind, waiting for Odysseus for 20 years, staying loyal to him by staying where he left her), and the battlefield is traditionally the place of a man. Roman marriage tradition is different in this sense, or at least attitudes had shifted a little by the time Vergil was writing the Aeneid. The duty of the wife was to support her husband, which then developed into wives leaving the household to follow their husbands to previously male-dominated places – for example, the battlefield (at least Julia the Elder, Augustus’ daughter, apparently travelled to meet Agrippa where he was campaigning when they were married - almost died because of a flash flood on the way too, funnily enough in Ilium).

From this perspective Creusa is kind of best of both worlds: she both follows her husband to exile, following him as a sign of ultimate loyalty – but with her death, her ghost is kept in Troy “by the gods’ Great Mother”, and so she stays, like a good wife should, at home, tending to the corpse of Troy forever. Creusa, with her sacrifice, performs pietas – duty to the gods (delivering the prophecy), duty to the country (ensuring the founding of Rome and continuation of the legacy of Troy), and towards family (convincing Aeneas to stay with his family, demanding he care for their child, and sending him away to his journey).

Rivoltella suggests that Creusa even “over-sacrifices” herself – she is ready to follow her husband to peril, while also ultimately staying in Troy, so devoted to her husband she is ready to sacrifice herself for his fate. Keith (2000) suggests that “if Aeneas seals the success of his imperial mission with the ‘sacrifice’ of Turnus at the conclusion of the poem (12.950-2), he inaugurates the epic project over the ghostly shade of his wife.” Creusa’s death and her prophecy is the catalyst for Aeneas’ entire journey, the final push out of Troy.

There’s also of course the fact that without the loss of Creusa, Aeneas could not love Dido. Dido and Aeneas are inherently connected by tragedy, widowhood – I do not think Dido could have opened her heart to Aeneas, or that Cupid’s attack on her would have been as effective, without this connector, the devastating premature loss of their spouses. But Creusa has also given Aeneas something Dido has not and can never give: a son, a child to continue the line. That she has given Aeneas a son is something that already puts her “above” Dido in a way – Dido has not birthed any heirs, does not even have a little Iulus to remember Aeneas by as he leaves. Creusa’s son will be the one to continue the great line of Trojan kings and become the founder of the glorious line of Roman people. In this way, too, Creusa has fulfilled her duty to both Aeneas and the future Roman empire.

Creusa’s prophecy can’t happen without her death either: she promises him “a royal wife” waiting in Hesperia, and naturally Aeneas can’t marry Lavinia if Creusa is still alive (and same would apply to Dido, if they had ever been married – sorry Dido).

Creusa is actively an obstacle for Aeneas’ fate, and like user @cakemoney BRILLIANTLY pointed out:

[ID: tumblr tags #aeneid daily #something something from a character standpoint juno is an antagonist because she just hates his ass #from a metaphor standpoint juno is the antagonist because devotion to family / duty to your spouse is? an obstacle? #that aeneas must overcome / cast aside in order to found the roman empire? hhhhhhh. End ID]

I am literally eating my hands, this is such a good observation. Marriage is an obstacle in Aeneas’ fate! If he stays in Troy for Creusa, if he stays with Dido, he can’t fulfill his duty. And so, he must be miserable for the rest of his life (my prof pointed out that he seems to accept Lavinia as his wife out of obligation, yet another thing that has been decided for him, and at this point he is simply too tired to resist).

My best friend started reading the Aeneid after I had talked their ear off about it for the past year, and just finished book 2 with this brilliant observation: Creusa acts as a metaphor for Troy itself. Just like Aeneas goes back to her, and she is already gone, so is Aeneas’ struggle to found Troy over and over again doomed, because Troy is now ashes and forever out of reach (no matter how much he wants to embrace it, manus effugit imago…).

Creusa died the moment the Greeks breached the city gates and yet Aeneas drags her memory across the Mediterranean, planting cities that never grow, shadows of the former kingdom and what once was, a pale imitation of what he lost that night. “There in store for you happy days,” Creusa tells him, but I think that ship has already sailed.

So Creusa must die, as does Troy, so that fate can be fulfilled. She must die so Aeneas has to do what gods have set out for him to do. Creusa is Troy – she must burn so Aeneas can leave, and yet he spends all of his journey dragging her corpse behind him, never free of the ghost that disappeared to thin air in his arms.

And that’s all folks, my final Creusa post! Thank you for indulging with my analysis of my favourite Aeneid blorbo, I shall cease tormenting the tag with my rabid dog energy (at least until she gets mentioned again lmao). Your tags have been absolutely wonderful btw, and like said, if you have more Creusa articles for me or want just want to rave about her, PLEASE DO!

Here finally the promised reading list:

Grillo L., 2010, Leaving Troy and Creusa: Reflections on Aeneas’ Flight, CAMWS 106, 43–68.

Hughes L., 1997, Vergil’s Creusa and Iliad 6, Mnemosyne 50, 401–423.

Keith A. M., 2000, Over Her Dead Body, Engendering Rome: Women in Latin Epic, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 101–131.

Perkell C., 1981, On Creusa, Dido, and the Quality of Victory in Virgil’s Aeneid, Women’s Studies 8, 201–223.

Perkell C., 2021, Creusa and Dido Revisited, Vergilius 67, 117–138.

Rivoltella M., 2002, La Morte Di Creusa E Didone Nell’Eneide Ed Il Motivo Del ’Seguito Amoroso’, Aevum Gennaio-Aprile 2002, Anno 76, 81–100.

#creusa #aeneid daily #the aeneid #wildkitte #this post is a little all over the place bc this is the stuff i was forced to cut out of the final thesis #this isn't linguistics this is literary analysis said my prof and it's true #im still a bit miffed #so i haven't really done my reading properly since march. sorry #hope you've all enjoyed my creusa insanity this week!

15 notes · View notes

querren · 5 months

Text

I found this on another blog a month or so ago and knew I wanted to save it for today. I'm reposting it as my own so that the poor blog I found it on doesn't suffer this long confession/ramble/whatever-this-is being attached to a reblog. Even though I already reblog a lot of sappy/romantic crap on this page, this is highly personal, so I'm a bit hesitant to post it but I really want to say it somewhere. So, here goes.

Today used to be the day I'd look forward to most every year. A year ago today, you said "Yes" when I asked you to marry me. I drove past the cabins a few hours ago and couldn't help but think of that morning, the bitter cold and the beautiful skies. I never once thought that I would ever dread this day. I have been stressing about today for months, and now it's here.

It's been more than a month since I said goodbye to you, and at this point I have spent the better part of this year (a terrible way to describe a unit of time in this instance) separate from you. I thought that it's what I needed in order to heal, but so often I'm afraid I've made a mistake. I thought it was the right call; professionals said it was; those closest to me said it was. But I don't feel any better than I did a month ago; I often feel worse. And sometimes it feels like I never even said goodbye at all, because you haunt me every night when I go to sleep. Whether the space has helped at all or not, I genuinely can't say, but I think my heart would say that it hasn't. I want to come back so badly, but I'm terrified, and I don't know what decision is the right one. I keep hoping that I'll wake up one day and see that you've reached out, but I know that that's not going to happen.

I still very much believe that this poem describes us. Seven months since we separated and, despite everything you've said, everything you've insisted, I still believe this. I don't know if that's because I'm still in denial (which I know I am), or if it's because of all of the things that you've said during this process that changed down the line—it's likely some combination of the two—but I still believe this poem describes us.

I decided that today, I'm wearing my ring.

I'm still angry. I'm still so angry, but more than anything else I feel alone. Because at the end of it all, there's nothing you could ever say or do—nothing that could ever happen between the two of us—that would take away how much I love you. Even if I do one day move on, as you may have, I know I'm destined to search for you in everyone I meet in the future.

I still don't fully believe you, that you've moved on. That you're okay with this. It's not that I think you lied to me, not intentionally, rather that I think you still don't know for yourself how you feel; that you feel some passing certainties in the moment that fade when one instant turns into the next. That you're just afraid of the possibility of getting hurt again and having to experience all of this pain anew, which I understand. And maybe that's simply me projecting (I know it is to some degree). Maybe it's just my denial. But... part of me believes that you believe this, too. That our souls can't part.

It's as you yourself said on the night I said goodbye: "We're not most people." We never have been. For seven years, we always beat the odds; what's stopping us from doing it this time, too?

Or maybe I'm just insane. Maybe I'm still clinging to a fantasy that doesn't exist anymore. But for now, I will continue to believe that it's true, because it's the only thing that I can do. It's the only thing keeping me going.

I'm almost certain that you'll never read this, which is part of the reason I have the courage to send this out into the ether at all, but if you do see this: I hope that you're okay. I hope you've made the most of the time you've had since we parted, that you're not just surviving but thriving. I hope you've created wonderful memories and that you continue to do so, and I can't wait to hear about them some day.

I'm sorry that I've been gone, sorry that we ended up here at all. I miss you more than you will ever know or understand. I hope you've remembered to give Alec a hug whenever you've missed me, too.

To Charon and back. Happy anniversary, love.

#Spotify

2 notes · View notes

aquilacalvitium · 2 years

Text

Strauss

Last year, I had a haunting dream about an abandoned house. I don’t remember much apart from an old woman with atrophy, a man who died at sea, cluttered and ruined rooms and an overgrown garden.

The day I had the dream, I started to write out what few words I remembered into a poem, and it’s been gathering dust ever since. Tonight, I finally reopened that old draft and finished it.

Be aware, I’m not a poetry fan so I don’t have much practise at all. I normally wouldn’t touch poetry with a ten foot pole, but my dream really inspired me. It’s pretty short.

Content warnings for death at sea, suicide and abandoned buildings

An old abandoned garden. An old abandoned house.

A long-forgotten tale, of the family once named Strauss.

The tragic deaths that befell them, few souls have yet to hear,

For it is impolite to share gossip, about those who are stood near.

The door hangs off it’s hinges, the carpet seeps with mould,

Once you step inside the hallway, the air becomes quite cold.

The walls are cracked, the windows bare, there’s clutter in every room,

The few looters that dared set food inside, soon found it became their tomb.

“Who are you?” Asked the ghost, “you are not welcome here,”

“I’m sorry sir,” said I, “I mean no harm so do not fear.

I am here as an observer, to see the fates of those long gone,

I am here to tell their stories, to see that they move on.”

Mister Harold Strauss, he met a tragic fate indeed,

shot down in a duel with his brother, on the ground he was left to bleed.

Little Missus Paula, wife of the man shot dead,

saw no more reason to go on, from a rope she hangs by the head.

Poor Aunt Owen, she sits by the fire, for she was stricken with atrophy,

Was caught by the flames of the warming hearth thanks to the pain in her sewing knee.

Uncle Sergeant Fredrick, feared no storm nor wind nor wave,

His body never found nor buried, for the brine became his grave.

A single room stands empty, awaiting souls that were never born,

Missus Strauss spent days on clothes, that still await to be worn.

The record player stands still, no music played in years,

but faint songs may be heard, if you stand and strain your ears.

Be careful as you walk, dear visitors, through this old and dusty house,

The many items that remain here still belong to the family Strauss.

Mister Harold’s pipe and Missus Paula’s vase may be covered in layers of grime,

but in this place, holding a thing that’s not yours is considered a terrible crime.

The garden is our final stop, the weeds grow wild and free,

the crops are destroyed, the greenhouse in ruin, dead vines choke the sycamore tree.

The fence still stands in places, though most beams have long since rot,

Feet no longer walk these paths, and the dirt trails have been forgot.

O’ old forgotten home that lies in ruin undisturbed,

no bark of dog nor call of crow has near this place been heard.

The dwellers have now left this plot, leaving just an empty house,

no soul will ever again hear of the tragic tale of Strauss.

#creepy #poem #poetry #creepy poetry #tw suicide #tw hanging #tw death at sea #thalassophobia #abandoned #abandoned house #inspired by a dream #aquila thinks #aquila writes

7 notes · View notes

paranormalrealism · 2 years

Photo

FULL INTERVIEW WITH

AUTHOR Juliette Willows

Orville: Tell us about yourself:

Juliette: Juliette Willows is a nom de plume I created. There’s quite a story behind it. It started off with me wanting a pen name that “sounded romantic,” seeing as I want to write romance. You’ll enjoy this first part, Doc, seeing as you’re a fan of the paranormal.

Growing up, the house I lived in was haunted. Actively so. Our main “resident” was a girl (sometimes a child, sometimes an adult) we named Juliette. We were all quite fond of her. So I borrowed her name.

Ever since I was a child, I’ve always been obsessed with willows. Weeping willows, pussy willows, even the name Willow. I never knew why. My mother recently told me a story she’d kept secret for over 40 years, but I have permission to talk about it, so I’ll tell you all.

Before she had me, my mother was raped and almost killed. She never reported the crime, even when she miscarried at 4 months, alone on a deserted beach. The baby was a girl. She named her Willow, and buried her in the forest. There are other factors that fall into this, but now I wear the name proudly (just like the willow bough tattoo around my forearm) - for the sister I never knew I had, who died so I could live.

Orville: How long have you been writing?

Juliette: I’ve been writing ‘seriously’ for about five or six years, I would say. When my daughter left for university, and I found myself a very young empty nester. But I’ve always wanted to write, and I wrote my first real poem at the age of 13. I know it by heart, to this day.

Orville: What got you interested in writing?

Juliette: I think reading got me interested in writing. I would devour all these amazing stories that would allow me to just disappear from my life. The best form of escapism, especially when life isn’t the best it could be. I wanted to be able to do that for someone, too. Write stories that would let them escape for a little while, and be transported to other places.

Orville: How many books do you have published?

Juliette: So far, the only novel I’ve published is The Lady Phoenix. I did have a poetry book on Amazon (I believe it’s still visible), but I’ve pulled it because, in all honesty, it was rushed, and is horrible. Filled with mistakes, and horrific formatting. You live and you learn, or so they say. I plan on republishing it once it’s had a complete overhaul.

Orville: Are your books self-published or traditionally published?

Juliette: The Lady Phoenix is self-published. I had my heart set on one particular agent, and I told myself if he said no, I would self-publish. He didn’t say anything at all, and so, my book baby was sent out into the big bad world.

That being said, it’s still a dream to have at least one book traditionally published, so I plan on trying again with the next novel (and the next, until someone says yes to something).

Orville: Where can the reader find your books (include a link)?

Juliette: My book is available in multiple places, so the best way to find it is by clicking on my website where I have the links to many of the places it can be found. (I’m still fighting with Amazon to link the versions, so if the reader is looking for the eBook version, they’ll have to click on my name on Amazon to see it.)

http://juliettewillows.com/

Orville: Are you a plotter or pantser?

Juliette: This one is easy, I’m a pantser, through and through. I’ll often have a general idea of where I want to take the story, but for the most part, the characters tell me what to write. I know that might sound silly – “they’re not real, they’re make-believe characters” – but to me, they’re real. They’re living, breathing, feeling beings, and they know their story better than I do, so I tend to let them lead the way.

Orville: What makes your writing unique?

Juliette: I don’t know that anything is truly unique anymore, in the way that every theme/idea has been done, and done, and done. But it’s not so much about finding something that’s never been written about before, and more about what the particular story looks like through my eyes. I think we’re all unique individuals; ten of us could be given the same topic to write about and come out with ten different, unique versions of the same story.

Orville: What are your hobbies outside of writing?

Juliette: Hobbies? What are those? Hahaha Honestly, between writing, my business, and my day job (unfortunately, I’m not yet at the point of not needing one), I don’t have much time left over for hobbies these days. Although I try to read as much as I can (it’s never as much as I’d like to), I enjoy singing, designing (interiors – I have a diploma in interior design that mostly collects dust), and love horseback riding. I haven’t been in a couple of years, and I miss it terribly.

Orville: Who was the greatest influence in your writing career?

Juliette: My greatest influence will always be the Queen of Romance herself, Nora Roberts. There are many amazing authors out there, both old and new, traditional and indie, but she will always be my number one.

Orville: Do you have a favorite quote?

Juliette: Do song lyrics count? There are so many, here are two.

“[Let’s] be the breeze that won’t stop blowing” – reminds me that no matter what, regardless of what comes by way, what obstacles are put in my path, I need to keep going. The breeze never stops blowing; sometimes it’s hard to feel, but it’s always there. (Young, Alive, and in Love - by Tim Hicks)

“Some believe in destiny and some believe in fate, but I believe that happiness is something we create.” – Although I do believe in fate and destiny to a certain degree, I do also believe we're the writers of our own stories, and that we’re the only ones responsible for our happiness (I talk about that in my upcoming non-fiction book, All Kinds of Happy Little Things: A Probably Flawed Guide to Finding Happiness.) It’s taken me a long time, and every day is still a work in progress, but I’ve finally accepted the fact that if I want something to happen in my life, I need to be the one to make it happen. (Something More - by Sugarland)

Orville: Tell me about your work:

Juliette: Besides writing, I’m also co-owner of a company I started with my best friend in January of 2020. Affinity Writing & Editing Services (AWES) is still technically in its infancy, given the state of the world, but I’m so proud of the work we’ve been able to do so far, and I look forward to many years to come. It’s my goal to grow in the next twelve months, hopefully to the point where we might have to bring on another editor to help out (fingers crossed!). Before the summer of 2024, it’s my goal to be writing and working AWES full time.

Orville What genre do you write?

Juliette: I refuse to niche myself, which I understand is probably a mistake, but I write multiple genres. Romance is something they all have in common, however, as I’m a sucker for a happy ever after.

The Lady Phoenix is a romantic thriller, but the second book in the series will be more of a drama (and also LGBTQ+). My current fiction WIP is an urban fantasy with a heavy dose of…er…the kind of stuff I won’t allow my mother to read. And then, of course, my non-fiction, as I mentioned above. This, however, will most likely be a one-off, as I much prefer letting my imagination run free in the land of make-believe.

Orville What are your book titles?

Juliette: My published book is The Lady Phoenix

Orville: Is your work on Kindle Unlimited?

Juliette: It is, yes.

Orville: What are you currently working on (when will it be available)?

Juliette: My two next publications will be:

(As mentioned earlier) All Kinds of Happy Little Things: A Probably Flawed Guide to Finding Happiness – I’m hoping to have this published before the end of 2022.

And, Author of Discord (to come in 2023)

Also coming up in the next couple of years will be: Kindred (book 1 of an urban fantasy trilogy based in New Orleans), and Birth Rite (title may change) - this was meant to also be part of a trilogy, but I believe I’ll be re-working it to be a standalone. This was the very first manuscript I finished, but the first draft is extremely rough and needs a complete overhaul. This one probably won’t be for everyone (mainly those who don’t love the ‘chosen one’ trope), and is based in the Midwest (USA) and Northern Ireland. (Also very much inspired by Nora Roberts.)

I would also love to have the second book in my Haven Shore series (following The Lady Phoenix) published before the Blue Bird Book Tour in the summer of 2024. I’m not sure if I’ll meet that goal, but I’ll try my best!

Orville: Who is your target audience?

Juliette: My target audience is definitely adult. I think anyone who might have enjoyed the Virgin River series (also on Netflix) might also enjoy The Lady Phoenix and what will follow in that series. I do touch on sensitive topics and use some foul language and explicit sex scenes, so it’s definitely not for everyone.

Orville: What advice would you give a young person planning a writing career?

Juliette: I think the best advice I can give to a young person is “don’t wait.” Don’t wait for ‘one day’ or ‘someday’ – the timing will never be just right, perfection is unattainable. If you want to write, then write!

The next piece of advice is probably the most important one: ‘Don’t cut corners.’ Meaning, don’t skip any of the important steps. If they’re planning to go the traditional route, most of the steps are covered. But if they’re planning to go indie, it’s SO important to not cheap out. Yes, it can get expensive, but if this is something they’re serious about, then they need to treat it as such. Don’t skip the editors. Don’t skip the formatting. Don’t skip the beta readers, or the critique partners, or the proofreaders. Every step matters if you’re going to put out the best version of your work.

Even in doing so, things can still be missed (as I’ve found out). I’m currently working to fix some missed errors in The Lady Phoenix so I can republish a more refined version.

Orville: Do you think there are writing themes that are underrepresented?

Juliette: Honestly, I don’t believe so. There are so many writers out there writing stories from every possible theme. Especially these days, I think every world issue, every movement, every belief, or lack thereof, and everything in between, can be found in literature. Whether fiction or nonfiction, there’s something for everyone.

The issue of underrepresentation comes with lack of marketing (something I’m having trouble with, myself), and I feel that’s something many of us could afford to get better at doing.

Orville: Share anything you want to have included

Juliette: I’m going to veer off slightly with this one, and talk about Twitter, since this is the platform this is being shared on.

It’s common knowledge that the writing community is THE place to be if you’re anyone in the writing or reading world. It’s also pretty common knowledge that we like to have fun over here, and that fun isn’t always centered around the business of writing.

That being said, I’d like to emphasize the importance of being respectful, especially with someone you don’t know, or have no previous rapport with. People might see all colors of flirting between a bouquet of different people – these people almost always have previous rapport.

Don’t assume to know someone, someone’s personal life, or the motives behind anything they say or do online, simply by what you see (or think you see) on Twitter. We all carry burdens, we all walk through our own storms, most of which are not shared.

This isn’t high school; we are all adults, and, for the most part, chasing the same goal: to gain some level of success as a writer. So let’s check the drama at the virtual door, get along, and have fun while chasing those dreams

#author interview #author #juliette willows #romance books #KindleUnlimited

4 notes · View notes

stellamancer · 2 years

Note

HELLOOOO 3, 9, 10, 32? (I hope this isn't too many q's LOL I would ask you the whole list if I could 💀)

LMAOOO no it's not maooo it's great! for procrastinating!

3. What is your writing ritual and why is it cursed?

First I think it's hilarious because I think I asked you this one too lmao. Okay, first version of the ritual is I get off of work and tell myself 'oh i get off at a decent time I should write today' and I'll get home, get changed, maybe eat and then usually I'll take a nap for anywhere from two to three hours. I'll wake up again and then open the chromebook on the bed. Then I'll open twitter and tumblr and finally around 8 or 9 at night I'll open the word doc and try to write some words.

The second version of this, when I'm off work, I'll tell myself I'll write all day but instead I'm in the computer room watching videos and on twitter or I'm in the bedroom watching, idk, Deku vs Kacchan Part 2 for the 500th time. Or playing fucking Nier Re:incarnation. Either way, I don't start writing until 8 or 9pm.

It's all cursed because more time is spent on prepping for the writing than.... actually writing lmao.

9. Do you believe in ghosts? This isn’t about writing I just wanna know

Hmm. I'm on the fence, I guess. They might exist. I think the world is more fun thinking that they might exist LMAOO.

10. Has a piece of writing ever “haunted” you? Has your own writing haunted you? What does that mean to you?

I feel like 'haunting' comes in two forms, one in written line and the other in scenes but both are the kind that keep coming back to you, like you can't stop thinking about them. But also like... Idk 'haunting' feels like a more serious connotation... Like it's hard to feel 'haunted' by some hilarious kind of scene, you know?

Anyway, I want to say yes, I've been haunted by some writing but I can't really think of anything specific at the moment... At least not in the sense that I've described here LMAO.

32. What is a line from a poem/novel/fanfic etc that you return to from time and time again? How did you find it? What does it mean to you?

I FEEL LIKE THIS IS JUST LIKE THE LAST QUESTION LMAO....

I had to think really hard about this one and I'm just gonna post the whole poem here since it's not that long:

Please do not deplore yourself. Even if the world does not forgive you, I will forgive you.

Please do not deplore yourself. Even if you do not forgive the world, I will forgive you.

So please tell me. What will it take for you, to forgive me?

Uh. I found it from over exposure to Higurashi LMAOO. Um. I don't think there's any deeper meaning. I just think it's neat LMAO.

[weird questions for writers]

#ask games #mao tag #i feel like i didn't answer those last two properly #i will have to think on them more LMAOOOOOO

3 notes · View notes

josy57 · 1 year

Note

The Silence of the lambs, The Conjuring, Silent Night, Bloody Night, The Haunting 🖤

The Silence of the Lambs: What was something that you used to be afraid of that you aren’t afraid of anymore?

I don't know that that's the direction that fear tends to go with me. 😅 Most of the things that frightened me as a child still do today and, if anything, I've developped new fears. The closest thing to 'getting over a fear' I've done recently as to do with my childhood terror of house intrusion. It so happens that I did come face to face with a robber earlier this year and have lived to tell the tale. It certainly hasn't freed me of the idea that I would very much like men not to break into my home, but it has changed the fear from its unreasonable, primal, near supernatural childhood state into a more realistic, adult one.

If anyone's interesting in that whole story, I wrote a poem about the experience.

The Conjuring: If you could learn any new skill, what would you learn?

In a parallel universe, I would have loved to be born in a musically-minded family so that I could have learned to read music and play the piano when young, so if I were freed from all time and money constraints, that might be the route I would go.

Silent Night, Bloody Night: What’s your least favorite holiday? Why is it your least favorite?

I'm not very into holidays in general. I know that sounds depressing but I found that the expectation around them can make them especially lonely times. The one that gives me the most anxiety is often New Year's Eve. The one that I feel the most unfazed by is probably Easter (the only part that made it nice as a child was the chocolate egg hunt, but without it, as an atheist, I don't really see the appeal).

The Haunting: Have you ever been convinced that your house is haunted or that a ghost or other villain was after you?

Not that my house was haunted. But as a teenager, I used to have incredibly vivid, detailed dreams, many of which had to do with being chased and some of which had ghostly elements (though I must say those two categories were rarely linked, since ghosts were never a threatening presence in my dreams). So while I never believed I was haunted or posessed or anything of that sort, I did, in some way, feel connected to some realm beyond the explainable.

Thank you for the questions, dear 🖤

Ask me Halloween-themed questions

#ask game #get to know me #ask me questions #Halloween

2 notes · View notes

astoldbygingersnaps · 2 years

Note

Totally crashing the party late here but 6, 8, 24, 32

6. What is your darkest fear about writing?

jesus christ we're coming out of the gate STRONG with this bad boy.

i guess my chronic writing-related fear is that the stories i create are either objectively not good or just completely irrelevant and frankly said fear haunts my every waking moment. no biggie tho.

8. If you had to write an entire story without either action or dialogue, which would you choose and how would it go?

i would choose dialogue. DIALOGUE DIALOGUE DIALOGUE because i Love It So Much and have found ways to utilize a dialogue-only strategy for ~*~artistic purposes~*~ in my writing before ala the break-up scene in band au chapter one. so i think it would just be a very abbreviated version of my typical writing style in that i already do tend to lean very heavily on using dialogue to highlight character/plot development and to discuss themes & conflict. it would just lack a lot of the glimpses into the characters' interior lives and like. sick descriptions of haunted spaceships.

24. How much prep work do you put into your stories? What does that look like for you? Do you enjoy this part or do you just want to get on with it?

itttttt really depends on the fic. i will say that some projects i've done, because of the nature of the setting or the plot structure, just don't require a lot of research or planning. for example, something like the friends with benefits oneshot i wrote that has somehow become my most popular shiita fic required little to no storyboarding/world-building because it was a character piece set in the naruto canon. but obviously You Know Who required SIGNIFICANTLY more effort because i was sitting down to write a series that was going to take place over a period of about five years AND i was working with a canon that i had only the slightest familiarity with.

for the most part, i do tend to put more emphasis on making sure character beats are authentic and relationship development is impactful than always have 100% accuracy to any canon or setting i'm working with (see my perhaps laughable lack of detail to most things music-related in band au, because that's just Not The Point at the end of the day), but when that attention to detail IS needed to really make said character beats land (like in jurassic world au, for example) i will make a serious effort to nail them down. when that effort is necessary, i do tend to enjoy it, because a lot of time learning more about a world will give me ideas on how to flesh out plot points i'd only thinly conceived of in passing (read: literally 80% of star trek au, which can be credited to me opening random articles on the star trek fanwiki and going 'hey that sounds neat' and throwing it in).

32. What is a line from a poem/novel/fanfic etc that you return to from time and time again? How did you find it? What does it mean to you?

(cw for vague descriptions of implied homophobia/substance abuse/mental illness)

a part of me is deeply tempted to cheat and say literally all of far from born again by mediest, because that fic has haunted my brain like a ghost since the moment i read it a few years ago. it's honestly one of the most searing and uncomfortably real/relatable portrayals of mental illness and addiction that i've ever read, and there are parts of that fic that genuinely make me feel like someone took an ice cream scoop to my heart and started carving out bits--but, like, in a fun way. the part that i will highlight, though, is this bit from the first chapter:

Are you in a relationship? Have you always been interested in men? Those past girlfriends, were they just PR? How do you think this will affect your work? Here’s a guy who says the two of you hooked up at a nightclub—care to comment? Do you think you’re pulling focus away from your talent by making the conversation all about your sexual preferences? Do you think audiences will be able to see you as a believable leading man after this? Sylvain’s career hits a brick fucking wall. Directors lose interest. Interest among journalists remains volcanic. They want to know where he’s going. They want to know how he’s feeling. They want to know who he’s fucking. They want to watch him implode? Sylvain’s a people-pleaser. He’ll give them what they fucking want.

because it's both SUCH a fucking great way to end a chapter and also really captures that almost addictive high you get when you just. blow your whole life up in a way that i hadn't read/felt before. so yeah! if you like fire emblem three houses PLEASE read this fic (with caution) because it's a masterpiece and also it burned my house down. i love it.

#antipodeanpineapplelump #asks and memes

3 notes · View notes

sword-dad-fukuzawa · 2 years

Note

hi! :] for the weird questions for writers: 1, 10, 32, 40

Sparrow!! hi!! Ty for the ask, this'll be long XD

Weird Asks

1. What font do you write in? Do you actually care or is that just the default setting?

Alegreya, 12 pt, single spaced! Sometimes, when I feel spicy, 11 pt 1.15 spaced. I've written in this font since middle school so now it's just My Writing Font and I find it easiest to write in. I've been forever ruined for other fonts.

10. Has a piece of writing ever “haunted” you? Has your own writing haunted you? What does that mean to you?

YES. SO MUCH WRITING HAUNTS ME. MY OWN WRITING HAUNTS ME CONSTANTLY.

When it comes to the writing of others haunting me, that means that it just quietly lives in the back of my head and appears occasionally. A lot of oneliner quotes from books I haven't even read haunt me, and sometimes they sit in the foyer of my brain, demanding to be written about. Some books have quite literally changed the course of my life; Osamu Dazai's No Longer Human comes to mind. I am perpetually haunted by themes and narratives and I wouldn't have it any other way.

My own writing haunts me in a different way. It's more that I'll look at some of my old concepts and ask myself why my current concepts seem so lackluster, why I remember being genuinely excited for most of my old ones but can't bring that same enthusiasm for my current works. I know for a fact that I'm a better writer now--I've reread my old work and winced at some of the dialogue, the pacing, the fight choreo and scene descriptions--but concepts that grab me by the throat these days are few and far between. It's my BSD fic era that haunts me the most.

32. What is a line from a poem/novel/fanfic etc that you return to from time and time again? How did you find it? What does it mean to you?

Here, I'll give you two.

The opening lines of Mary Oliver's "Wild Geese" saved my life. I found it off of tumblr :)

Without getting too personal, it was a revolutionary idea for me that I didn't have to spend my life desperately trying to reach some unattainable ideal of a "good person." Not a "good partner" or a "good friend" or a "good child" or a "good writer." I could just exist and try to be kind.

The other line that haunts me is Asagiri Kafka's writing process, because it's influenced how I simplify my characterizations. I don't remember the exact line, but in the wake of Mori's stage actor's passing, he talked about how he explores characterization and keeps it consistent: he bases a character on three "vectors," or personality traits, and sticks to them. Here's the TL I read, and here's the lines that haunt me in particular.

Ahhhh, Asagiri-sensei. Never change.

40. Please share a poem with me, I need it.

HA okay this is my favorite poem that's about writing. It's extremely weird and I love it a lot. It's "Purity," by Billy Colllins.

My favourite time to write is in the late afternoon, weekdays, particularly Wednesdays. This is how I go about it: I take a fresh pot of tea into my study and close the door. Then I remove my clothes and leave them in a pile as if I had melted to death and my legacy consisted of only a white shirt, a pair of pants and a pot of cold tea.

Then I remove my flesh and hang it over a chair. I slide it off my bones like a silken garment. I do this so that what I write will be pure, completely rinsed of the carnal, uncontaminated by the preoccupations of the body.

Finally I remove each of my organs and arrange them on a small table near the window. I do not want to hear their ancient rhythms when I am trying to tap out my own drumbeat.

Now I sit down at the desk, ready to begin. I am entirely pure: nothing but a skeleton at a typewriter.

I should mention that sometimes I leave my penis on. I find it difficult to ignore the temptation. Then I am a skeleton with a penis at a typewriter.

In this condition I write extraordinary love poems, mostly of them exploiting the connection between sex and death.

I am concentration itself: I exist in a universe where there is nothing but sex, death, and typewriting.

After a spell of this I remove my penis too. Then I am all skull and bones typing into the afternoon. Just the absolute essentials, no flounces. Now I write only about death, most classical of themes, in language light as the air between my ribs.

Afterward, I reward myself by going for a drive at sunset. I replace my organs and slip back into my flesh and clothes. Then I back the car out of the garage and speed through woods on winding country roads, passing stone walls, farmhouses, and frozen ponds, all perfectly arranged like words in a famous sonnet.

#ty again!#weird asks

5 notes · View notes

declanowo · 7 months

Text

31 Days of Horror - Day 8 - Deadstream

08/10/23

While preparing what to write for this discussion, sat downstairs after finishing off some leftovers from my dinner, I noticed out of the corner of my eye the knife next to me spinning; in an instant, my hand clapped down on the knife, and I was unsure if it was a vision or a memory. Was there really something there, spinning the knife, or had it been a disassociated daydream, a mere trick of the eye and nothing to worry about? I hurried upstairs, after making a herbal tea, and I am now writing from my windowsill, the cool breeze creeping into my bedroom.

My parents have discussed the idea of ghosts roaming our house since I was old enough not to be entirely petrified - my mum has described the figure as a Victorian looking girl, although she often confuses this character with myself. As you can probably tell, I have always been mildly sceptical to the concept myself, although not closed off from it completely - I like to entertain the idea that maybe they do exist, and maybe they don’t, that way if I’m ever posed with concrete evidence, I will be neither correct nor incorrect.

A similar scepticism coats Deadstream, a found footage film from 2022. We follow disgraced internet personality, Shawn, as he attempts to revitalise his image and career after many a scandal. Such a plot is less fiction, and more commonplace now, however, we see Shawn enter a haunted house, with a sense of limbo encompassing him. He both believes in the existence of ghosts enough to not doubt their appearance, nor fear a mere creak in the night, yet he is confident enough in their falsehood that he is in a position to stay in the house overnight, throwing away the keys and any thoughts of escape.

Shawn is played by Joseph Winter, who co-wrote and directed this film with Vanessa Winter. The character is portrayed perfectly, he is infuriating to watch, yet not enough, for me at least, to make the film itself impossible to enjoy. Quite the opposite occurs instead, as having a protagonist we don’t root for allows us to feel somewhat twisted in our desired outcome - I was hoping desperately by the end for a sombre ending. For me, I found his performance inherently comedic, which is definitely the intended tone. Similarly to Spree, we are meant to find this character to be somewhat pathetic, his fear juxtaposes his relentless drive for money, the irony of it all is something especially funny as a result of how real it feels. People like Shawn exist, they will do anything for more money, including putting themselves in this level of danger, unable to flee when they realise it is impossible to escape with their lives or dignity intact.

Humour is a heavy element of this film, largely this is satirical, and hinges on the pitiful character of Shawn. Throughout this film I was laughing non-stop, yet it manages to suddenly shock you with scares - I find this to be an excellent balance of horror and comedy, although the humour definitely rides on whether or not you understand the caricature that Shawn is, I imagine older viewers may struggle with that element of the film.

Thematically, the villain of this film is excellent, leaning deeper into the ironic tone the film holds perfectly. Chrissy Stone plays Mildred, a character who just wants an audience for her poetry. The several zombified characters we meet are pawns in her scheme, nothing but indoctrinated fans. Of course, this parallels Shawns character, the myriads of children who send videos in during his stream show this through their defending of his actions as their clips draw to a close - they are an embodiment of innocence, corrupted by one man's pursuit of popularity, and more so, money. Both characters indulge in different evils - Shawn corrupts for money; Mildred kills so people will hear her poems.

Deadstream excels at the monsters it creates, each of which are conventionally creepy. I love the transformation Mildred has from Chrissy, with the sudden injection of gore coming as a shock - this once mostly PG livestream is now tainted. Her design wilts, from a modern and human person, to a pale monster. The effects evolve as her form devolves, taking bouts of attacks. The police officer is a great effect change too - one that feels obvious to the audience, yet watching the hope dry from Shawn's eyes elevates the moment excellently. Finally, the young boy is maybe my favourite of the film, his appearance is somewhat normal from behind, although we sit pondering what may be different about him when he turns around. Never could I have imagined the creature torn from his chest. Excellent subversion and scare.

A quick note I want to make is about how much the chat scrolling past elevates the film! It was a feature I loved in Spree too, which I mentioned once before and I feel as an apt film to pair with this one, both in tone and topic. It certainly adds to the rewatchability of the movie, and adds some really fun jokes.

I also find the framing device for this to be exceptionally fun, growing up surrounded by streaming, and enjoying watching them in the background while I play games or work on my writing (although often I find them too distracting) really helped me fall in love with this movie.

Before discussing the ending, I want to mention a few things that didn’t work so well for me! Sometimes things felt like they were put together too easily for our character, at least in my eyes. I guess the motif of the fingers felt kind of off for me, and while it was a viscerally gross image, I didn’t love it entirely. There’s an element of convenience to it, and yet, it ends up being unimportant by the end. Somewhat - I’ll get to that. I loved a lot of this film and what it was doing, yet Shawns character sometimes feels inconsistent, and maybe that’s the point, but sometimes he feels like he is breaking past the level of intelligence he should have.

The ending gave me exactly what I had been dreaming of for the whole movie - bleakness and hopelessness. After believing to be free, Shawn is suddenly swarmed by all the other spirits in the house. The film ends as we presume he is killed, although there is no certainty to this. Excellent ending! Bleak, and cathartic. I’m not one to wish death upon characters, unless it results in a really good ending or moment in the story, in which case I am all for it.

Deadstream was a very fun time, a film I found so easy to watch and yet so enjoyable to consume!

While writing this on my windowsill, someone walked past me, staring up at what I was doing. At night, the path near my house is usually empty, and I always feel a weird sense of embarrassment about me when someone notices me, like it’s a dirty secret I’ve been caught out in. When this happened, I felt similarly to how I had felt during my possible encounter with a ghost tonight, and I guess Deadstream evokes a similar fear of humanity as it does to the supernatural. Throughout this film, we fear that a person can be this annoying, constantly he bigs up his scandals leading to us questioning how he reaches such a height on his viewership. Humanity is far more terrifying within this movie than the murderous poet zombie, and it makes us root for her, rather than the annoying man.

9/10

#horror #horror movies #shudder #deadstream #review #halloween #creative writing

1 note · View note

orpheusstation · 7 months

Text

What I'm here for.

This year Stockholm’s Cinema Queer Fest is centered around rage. Since attending the program release I have been haunted by the reality of rage. There is a James Baldwin quote that is now breath to me and it goes like this: “To be a negro in the country and to be relatively conscious is to be in a rage almost all the time.” Rage and anger are familiar to me. I am learning to make space for them in the world, to make them other people’s problems and not just my own, but this ancestry of rage, community of rage, is new to me. I am also now interested in how to make this rage productive, not merely in my interpersonal life, but to direct towards real change and manifestation. I think it is possible, but I am also only twenty years old and my life is in constant transit.

After rage, Baldwin began following me around. He appeared as an excerpt in one of the most god-awful books I’ve had to read yet in my college career, but the little indented quotation of his power moved me so thoroughly that I began hunting him down rather than waiting for him to find me. I bought Giovanni’s Room earlier this year, but I’m still trying to finish Song of Solomon (which has been an excellent read so far). I desperately wanted Baldwin’s voice, though, the intense degree to which he could evoke emotion, his masterful ability to suck me in swiftly, into the worlds that still brutally reflect our own. I took myself out to a cafe in Sofo and I wanted to wander around after I finished my work. I looked really good that day, and I felt it would be a shame just to go back and rot in my room. It was also sunny out. I came across an English bookstore just a block over from the cafe I was at and began my hunt for Baldwin.

I got Giovanni’s room at the Open Bookstore in Chicago, alongside a pocket copy of Susan Sontag’s Notes on Camp. It was hands down maybe the best bookstore I’ve ever been to (although one of the staff recommendations was Tender is the Flesh and I think that book is awfully written). Maybe I’ve only ever been to shitty bookstores, but this one had a fantastic selection that not only met some of the more obscure texts on my reading list but also added many more books to that list. The little English bookstore I found definitely falls under the shitty selection, but they did have two books by Baldwin. I had already read his short story Going to Meet the Man so I bought the overpriced copy of Jimmy’s Blues and Other Poems. I have a limited amount of books I brought from home here, and my copy of Sylvia Plath’s Collected Poems did not make the cut. I’ve been missing having a bedside book of poetry, and the slim size of the book wouldn’t be obtrusive when I inevitably pack to go home. It’s been a couple of weeks since then and someone else in my life has been consuming a lot of space in my mind which takes me to my next musing.

James Schuyler’s A photograph is nestled within Jose Esteban Munoz’s Cruising Utopia. Schuyler’s poem whisked me away in a similar fashion as Baldwin’s excerpt, except my obsession was with ecstasy and not rage. The type of ecstasy Schuyler is getting at, and the one I’ve reflected the most on is that kind of feeling of looking back with joy. I feel rage more often than I feel ecstasy, but life has been pretty good for me recently. When I went swimming with friends a couple of weeks ago I remember looking back at the sunlit shore, at all our clothes and belongings messily strewn about in our haste to get in the water, and I was seized by such joy that I did not care that much when a large wave washed in and almost took all my belongings into the water. I have few moments in my life that inspire ecstasy, or rather sometimes it is just hard to find them, but in some moments they wash upon me and I am whisked away.

I like thinking of rage and ecstasy in this simultaneous fashion. They make sense together, for it is maybe in this life where I am so filled with rage that these moments of ecstasy are so beautiful and so simple. I forget them so easily and yet they continue to find me in soft and quiet ways. The rage makes me desire ecstasy, want to fight for it and to know this is a reality we are all entitled to have. This blog will be a disorganized journey of this fight and exploration. I’m interested in black punk, black poetry, and black rage and what any of this has to do with how we manifest action into our lives.

#black tumblr #punk #writers and poets #james baldwin #james schuyler #rage #ecstasy

0 notes

mahdithemagician · 1 year

Text

The Bird With One Wing

I HAVE AN IMAGE THAT HAUNTS MY MIND FROM A STORY I HEARD A LONG, LONG TIME AGO OF A BIRD WHO LOST ONE OF HIS WINGS.

He spent many years trapped on the ground and in despair he would look up each day longing to be up in the sky completely liberated. The rest of the story is a blur in my memory but when I think of René I can’t help but feel that the bird turned out alright and that he found a way to fly again beautifully.

“It Can’t Be Done Any Slower” is a catchphrase used by Héctor René Lavandera, known to the world as René Lavand. René was born September 24th, 1928 in Buenos Aires and was only 7 years old when he learned his card trick. As a 9 year old child René would suffer great tragedy when he was hit by car while playing in the streets during Carnival, an accident in which he lost his right hand.

"IT WAS AN ACCIDENT THAT DEFINITIVELY DETERMINED THE PATH I WOULD TAKE. IT SEEMS AS IF I OWE SO MUCH TO THAT CRUEL TWIST: MY DISTINCT PERSONALITY, MY ARTISTIC CAREER, MY SUCCESS IN THE WORLD."

As a young man René fell into a gambling addiction and lived as a gambler. As his technical abilities improved he considered making his living as a cheater but knew that it was an empty road. René was 22 years old when he began working at the Banco de la Nacíon Argentina, a job which paid the bills while he honed his art. In the corner of his desk he had hidden a deck of cards and in the corner of his soul… many dreams.

“INSTEAD OF FEELING SORRY FOR HIMSELF, HE STARTED TO PUSH HIMSELF, TRYING TO COME BACK TO LIFE, FEELING THE FIRE THAT FLOWS THROUGH THE VEINS OF MEN WHO WANT TO PUSH BEYOND THEIR OWN LIMITATIONS. A FIRE THAT NOTHING AND NO ONE CAN EXTINGUISH. PROOF THAT LIFE IS STRONGER THAN DEATH AND THAT LOVE IS STRONGER THAN PAIN.”

- Ascanio on Lavand

At 32, he debuted on stage at the Tabarís Theatre in Buenos Aires. René’s magic was like nothing ever seen before. Everything that came out of René was beautiful. He has “a way of looking, of being, of moving, that is harmonious and dramatic”. He spoke of life as a marked deck, shuffled by the hand of God and in his hand a deck of cards appeared to be pieces of cardboard painted with strokes of dreams, lies and love. René would speak poetically, his stories filled with imagination and beautiful metaphors. René Lavand was so highly regarded by his peers that famous poets, authors, and songwriters such as Rolando Chirico, Ricardo Martín, and Don Atahualpa Yupanqui wrote stories, poems, and lines for his exclusive use.

René achieved tremendous success, appearing on The Ed Sullivan Show and The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson as well as countless other programmes internationally and was able to tour the world performing his magic.

The line he used to close several of his tricks was "No se puede hacer más lento", it references the slow, graceful, confident and determined manner in which he moved and is also the title of his signature effect.

I couldn’t do anything with a deck of cards when I started to study sleight of hand. I remember watching a video of René perform “No se puede hacer más lento” and dreamed of being able to do magic like that one day. It was the first piece of magic that I really dedicated myself to learning and I’ve been studying it since I was 17 years old. It’s a piece that I’ve grown with and has grown with me and I always perform it as a tribute to René who has had such an impact on my magic and my life.

youtube

When I was 22 years old I heard that René would be performing his show in Italy. Even though I didn’t even have a cent for the trip I forced myself to find a way to get to Italy to see him. By the time I arrived to the theater in Italy I was exhausted, having traveled for almost 2 days without sleep. I was so tired that my eyes kept closing and I would drift into microsleeps until one time I opened my eyes and René was on stage preparing for the show. I was wide awake by the time the show started and René performed some of the most beautiful magic I have ever seen. In his old age I honestly expected him to have slowed down technically but he amazed me as he, without hesitation, executed his incredible sleight of hand flawlessly. The stories he told were so touching that the audience was in tears.

I’M SO HAPPY THAT I WAS ABLE TO MEET RENÉ WHILE HE WAS STILL ALIVE. THAT’S GOING TO STAY WITH ME UNTIL THE DAY I DIE.

If there is someone in the world who is alive who you want to meet please don’t wait.

DO IT TODAY, AND IF YOU CAN’T DO THAT TODAY THAN YOU SHOULD AT LEAST START SERIOUSLY PLANNING IT RIGHT NOW. YOU DON’T HAVE FOREVER AND NEITHER DO THEY.

YOU WILL NEVER REGRET IT.

René said that audiences, in their final applause, gave him the sensation of having arrived to rescue him and he would usually end each show with a story that his friend Rolando Chirico wrote on a paper napkin:

“Thank you. Yes, I did forget something: my farewell story.

An old Oriental magician lost his right hand at the height of his fame. He suffered greatly. With that hand he had entertained thousands of children and adults.

One day he cursed the gods of fate and he was condemned to eternal sleep. He was condemned to live in a cage which could only be opened by one’s right hand. He passed many cruel years there.

But one day, unexpectedly, the door opened. He rushed out crying tears of joy thinking that at last he had been forgiven; but he was struck paralyzed when he noticed that from the handle of the door hung his right hand.

From those long forgotten ages of the past, his lost right hand had come to rescue him.

I want to say to you here, ladies and gentlemen, that tonight you and all of the audiences of the world, are for me precisely that:

A KEY THAT OPENS MY CAGE… FOREVER.

THANK YOU.”

THANK YOU RENÉ!

#magic #magician #argentina #beautiful #inspiration #Youtube

0 notes