#respoken

[kosmicwraith]

Respoken Words Project! This video is a collaborative piece between Artists and Voice Actors to revoice words spoken in-game or lore-exclusive pieces. #Destiny2MOTW #Destiny2Art #DGEZ

Reupload on my part, had some old edits I thought I checked on before final release, but it's all good now! 😁

#Destiny2MOTW #DGEZ #destiny 2 #voice actors #Destiny2Art #Mara Sov #Osiris Destiny #Asher Mir #emperor calus #Saint-14 #andal brask #tevis larsen #toland the shattered #the witness #young wolf #ghaul #ghost

[joy-haver]

I can’t sing but listen to this in your head

Mostly Occapella with some light instrument backings. Slow, light Cajun accent. Harmonies.

:

Rumble on home.

D. Am. Em

Thunder, sounds different, in the city.

C. Am. E

It’s sharp, and it’s loud, and it’s gritty.

It doesn’t roll loose, like it does -in the open,

Spreading, instead of getting, respoken.

And I miss, my mom -sometime.

But I don’t wanna see her, I just wanna cry.

She’s wasting away, in a town -of graves,

And you never leave; their alive.

Chorus

And I’m thinking, Of changing, my name.

To something that sounds, exactly the same.

Or maybe I’ll just be, A Breeze On The Wind,

And I’ll carry, the storm clouds — home - again.

Chorus

And the flowers, they fall, all around,

Their blue, and yellow, and purple an brown.

And they flood — my street, with delicate : leaves

Their dying, and licking, and kicking my feet.

[moondonky]

Sharp barks

The language of Cerberus, the snaps of Anubis, the barks of dominance,, does not matter if ur far or close,, your soul will feel it, respoken by the laodiceans,, takes a dog to understand it, canine teeth of Osiris to command it...

Can u hear it, from across the universe, rough rough rough the dogs be barking

[astrologylunarfish]

September 2021 Happenings! ✨

September is calmer than August, it’s a good month to get things sorted out before Mercury goes retrograde at the end of the month. Spend time on taking care of your needs and focusing on effective solutions.

September 6th: New Moon in Virgo-new beginnings related to health, service, taking care of ourselves. Electric positive shifts.

September 10th: Venus moves into Scorpio-love and values become no frills, requiring depth and connection.

September 14th: Mars moves into Libra-out action leans more towards peacemaking and being supportive with any type of conflict. Actions will be more passive though.

September 20th: Full Moon in Pisces-intuitive, optimistic, spiritual full moon.

September 22nd: Autumn Equinox(northern hemisphere) and the sun moves into Libra-month of balance and fairness. We have a literal balance between light and dark.

September 26th: Grand air trine between the moon, sun and Mars. Good time to think and make plans and come up with ideas that promote success.

September 27th: Mercury goes retrograde in Libra, communications especially involving old relationships, could be love or friends that require something to be reevaluated, respoken about, a time to ponder.

#astrology #transits #September 2021

[archester-creations]

We Took a Chance (like we were dancing our last dance)

They were married in summer. There'd been a short argument over the wedding date. Della insisting on the fall because that's when the nights grew longer. Selene insisting on spring because the season reminded her of Della, beautiful and sunny. It was Donald who'd stopped their brief fight. Summer because that's when they met.

The wedding decorations had been easy to choose, even though the flowers weren’t. Stars tastefully littered the dining hall, sparkling silver paper practically glowing from their spots, hanging from the ceiling with clear blue strings. Smaller bits of paper- tiny, glittering suns- scattered across sky blue tablecloths. Dark blue ribbons etched with silver intertwined with golden ribbons etched with a lighter, softer blue. Night and day mixing.

Eventually the flowers were chosen. Snowdrops. White blossoms, bowing their heads. They hung down softly from their vases spaced five chairs apart on the tables.

Everything was beautiful. But there was still more to be done.

Between both brides, they were pretty sure Donald was the one freaking out the most. He'd pace back and forth, almost fighting with Scrooge about the difference between whites and blues and yellows. Even with everything she'd seen in her travels. All the beautiful colours that swirled like a kaleidoscope in her memory, it was likely she hadn't realized till then there were so many intricacies for such simple colours. Della didn't really understand it. A mind for colour wasn't something she'd ever had. Although apparently both Donald and Scrooge did, the way they were talking about ‘cotton white’ and ‘sunshine yellow’ and ‘artic blue’ and ‘amber’ and ‘lace’ and ‘sky’ and quite frankly one could lose their mind in it. It would be a lie to say Selene wasn’t also concerned with the colours. But she didn’t lose herself as badly as them.

Della fell into the seat beside Selene with a sigh. “Have they picked a yellow for our wedding?”

“Not yet, but they have it narrowed down to three,” Selene answered.

“You’d think they were the ones getting married,” Della said, getting a short laugh out of Selene.

She elbowed her fiancé gently in the shoulder. “You’re Scrooge’s first kid to get married and Donald’s baby sister, give them a break.”

Della rolled her eyes, groaning and slinking down in her seat. “But it’s not this serious! I told you we should’ve just eloped.”

“And miss this?” Selene smiled. “Nope. Plus I think Scrooge would’ve actually killed me if I had taken this from him. Remember what he said when we finally told him we were dating?”

“Yeah,” Della said with her own laugh. “I’m still not sure if he was bluffing or he really did find something that could kill you.”

Selene threaded her fingers through Della’s and kissed her temple. “I for one plan to never find out.”

“Wimp,” Della teased. She tilted her head up and kissed Selene soundly on the beak when she looked down. “I'll protect you.”

“My hero.” Selene smiled, her forehead against Della’s. With a matching teasing grin Della bumped her beak against Selene’s.

“You two!” Scrooge’s voice called and they separated with a sigh. “Which one?” He held out two swatches of yellow with Donald holding out the third.

Expression morphed into a frown, Della looked at Selene.

The vows weren't kept on paper. They were kept in the minds of the women who spoke them, a bit messy and staggering but all of it confident and true. Words of proclamation they'd already spoken and promises once whispered between each other in quiet moments now respoken in front of a small audience, no less sincere.

No less adoring.

Their bodies were kept close and when they kissed, their foreheads stayed together a few moments longer. Only breaking away when Fethry announced them as wives. Both turned toward the small crowd gathered, their hands held together. It wouldn’t be until later that anyone realized that was the first time either girl had looked away from the other since Della walked in on Scrooge’s arm.

Festivities are had after and both wives-the term so new their twin smiles burn like a binary star every time someone says it, every time they think it- sneak out soon after the cake is shared. They lead each other up a hill far away from the laughter of the others and Storkules’ loud voice. Far from the artificial lights.

Here the night is warm and the grass is chilled. Fireflies flicker simultaneously far from their reach and right next to them. They sit close. Not even an inch separates them where they lie near the peak of the hill. The night is quiet. And the sky is bright. It’s late enough that it shows like a painting, thousands of stars clustered together. For a long while they stare up at it in shared silence. Until Selene broke it. She stretched out a hand to the many galaxies in front of them. To the dust clouds and the exploding stars; the nebulas and binary systems, and all seemed to glow as one. “All of it,” Selene spoke quiet as the gentle night breeze.

“What?” Della whispered back. Just as still. Just as quiet.

“Every star you can see,” Selene replied. Her voice was steady, her volume consistent. “And every one you can't. All of them are yours; I promise them to you. As my wedding gift.”

Della’s heart stuttered and her breath caught. “Selene,” her tone was more reverent in the chill than it had ever been. “You don't- You can't. Not to me.”

“They're mine to give, mine to share, and I want to with you.” Selene took Della’s hand in hers and squeezed. “I always have, ever since your family’s plane crashed on the island.”

“Thank you.” The words are watery. Between one blink and the next Della kisses Selene. It’s gentle and deep; hard and chaste; a breathing contradiction. When Della pulls back the stars shine in teary eyes. A hand cupped Selene’s cheek. Della searched her wife’s eyes as she uncharacteristically hesitated. “I- That is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done, I don’t know what I did to deserve you but I promise you I won’t make you regret it.”

“You never could,” Selene replied simply, a hand over the one on her cheek.

                         It’s less than a year later when Della makes her doomed trip into those stars.

#ducktales #dellene #della duck #selene #established relationship #precanon #fluff #wedding fic #wedding fluff #constellation au #della duck constellation au #femslash february #writings

[strange-lights-and-stardust]

[untitled wedding poem]

A thing about becoming Gwyn’s godspouse.

Not ready to post this on my wordpress yet. Contains reference to domestic abuse, alcohol, the pandemic, and some sexual imagery.

(untitled wedding poem)

1.

Do You remember our wedding day?

Not Nos Galan Gaeaf, not Halloween,

The day we celebrate

But the day I admitted we were married. 

The day that story became Real.

2.

You’d been nudging me for months. 

In the last few days with music:

Bruno Mars’ “Marry You” 

(Not my usual genre)

Echoed through my head

Along with the opening theme of Wedding Peach

Where magical girls who are angels fall through the sky:

“The sparkle is a wedding ring!”

Indeed. 

2.1

The first time I met Rhiannon

She officiated some kind of ceremony

In a grand cathedral

With Creiddylad in the pews full of compersion

And girlish sparkling eyes

Always cheering us on as You took me to the altar

And I stopped You--

“I thought we weren’t doing the godspouse thing?

We settled on Dedication instead…”

You got that deer-in-the-headlights look

(Pardon the expression), 

As if thinking fast on Your long nimble legs

And said, “Do you trust Me? There’s a word 

A word for what I’m doing

A word that makes sense for us

But I can’t describe it to you yet.”

2.2 

And as You took me to the altar

And we knelt before Rhiannon

You declared before Gods and men

And beings of all genders

With romantic bombast

“I am taking Thorn as My lover.”

I blushed.

3.

And over the months, You kept saying

“It���s a story we call on when it suits us.

How do queer fae witches fit into marriage anyway?

Look at My ring: dark metallic blue

With two dragons of mother-of-pearl.

Let Me take you on a coffee shop date--

Brighid makes a mean pot of coffee.

You don’t have to use any word

That makes you uncomfortable.

But in every way that counts

I married you.”

3.1

“When did You marry me?”

I hoped it was Halloween

The night of my vows

Full of sparkling prayer beads and choked emotion

Solemnity and terror and joy and candles and wine--

A raised eyebrow.

“When do you think it was?”

3.2

I remember You spoke about that night like a wedding.

“Your Godds will be there to give you away.”

And with teasing velvet in Your fangs:

“You’re so impatient for your Dedication. Like a bride

Waiting for her wedding night.”

I couldn’t help but see Your point.

Lifelong vows at an altar, with witnesses, and celebration

In the presence of Deity

In the presence of my Love

And afterwards I spoke about it like a honeymoon

I spoke about it like an anniversary

I spoke about You like my valentine,

When my human spouse left me alone that night.

4.

I thought I should tell them before I let myself say “godspouse.”

I felt Your reluctance.

I thought you were possessive, maybe.

I don’t think it was You. 

I thought it was courtesy and respect to my partner.

I know it was fear.

I know the reason You stopped me from telling them about my vows

Before they happened

And stopped me from sharing our wedding wine with them.

5.

Remember the ring?

The silver and crystal ring?

The random dollar store ring?

The ring from the twelfth day when You proposed

Which I gave back on the thirteenth day  

When we changed it to Dedication?

The ring that’s been on Your altar ever since?

5.1

You told me to wear it

Because I told You “Yes.”

And we circled back to that moment

And retold Halloween as a goth wedding.

5.2

I went out walking during a plague

I went out journeying with my Bridegroom

I came back with secret joy

I came to Your altar alone in my bedroom

And poured us both vodka and diet coke (all I had)

And ate honey on bread

(In Your feasting hall we were feeding each other cake)

And You linked my arm in Yours

And we raised each cup to our lips.

I was so happy

Tears in my eyes

Alone and frozen cold

In a house with an abuser

During a worldwide pandemic

And an uncertain future

But I was over the moon. 

6.

Black carriage

Graveyard beside an old church

Misty orange moonlight

Vows respoken

Moonlit ballroom, in Faerie

Feasting Hall

A silver-haired Lord in black

A King who dances

A King who welcomes the guests

A King who sits me at His right hand

Eyes full of love

6.1

Ancestral cavern

Black velvet bedchamber

Painted beasts on stone walls

One rose on a two-person table

Smoke-shadows by the firepit

Candles and silver and crystal

Warm deerskins and wolf furs

Red satin sheets

“I can finally take you in My arms, as your Husband.”

I take it You’ve been waiting.

#devotional poetry #gwyndeity #Gwyn ap Nudd

[aziraphalesangel]

i mean by all means please tell me if i’m wrong, but “respoken” and “figmented” are words right?

if not i’m still not changing them, but i feel like i’m going slightly crazy

#my post #writing

[nomanwalksalone]

SUBDUCTION

by Réginald-Jérôme de Mans

The Earth is six billion years old, but the oldest surface of the floor of its oceans – more than 70% of its area – is only two hundred million years old. At the boundaries between tectonic plates, rather like a geological conveyor belt, a process called subduction forces surfaces down, down, down below the Earth’s crust into its mantle. In such a way ancient surfaces are continuously, inexorably destroyed and renewed without any regard to human life, span or sanity.

I thought of this process reading a post by my friend @dirnelli.  Dirnelli runs a well-known social media account of his trials of mainly secondhand suits, jackets, trousers and outerwear.  He often has them “respoken” to his dimensions, and later directs readers to where they may acquire his cast-offs. A true samsāra. One reader asked him why he always seems to be selling garments he so recently has bought and altered to fit himself.  My friend’s reply made me pause my needling because it resonated with me. Don’t seek the logic or utility of his #menswear actions, he explained, for he is in a permanent state of trying new things, keeping a few, selling the rest and moving on. Inexorably, like the merciless grinding of the planetary surface we stand on.

One of the most widely subscribed ideas in men’s clothing media is the revelation, imagined to be like that of a sculpture in a block of marble under the hands of a virtuoso sculptor, of a permanent self, attired not just in the fig leaf that hides the shame of our trope but in clothing of timeless elegance and indestructible quality. It’s the ideal behind so much writing about menswear, that there are a handful of totemic garments (from biker jackets to cap-toed oxford shoes) all men’s fashion derives from and returns to.  And by extension, that only one or two makers create the Platonic ideal of each totem.

Dirnelli’s shown that’s not the case, pointing out for instance how a new (relatively) cheap ‘n chic label has improved on the cut and detailing of a certain famous maker’s classic blouson, and reminding us, over and over again, that a well-fitting and well-cut suit whose insides are fused or half-canvassed is better to wear than a handmade, hand-canvassed suit that isn’t flattering to your own body. 

Over and over again.

That’s what I’ve needled my friend about, for he’s certainly already sampled the arguable best of suits (a suit made for him by our favorite Paris tailor), yet continues to cycle through the new acquisition and subsequent disposal of dozens of other garments from countless other labels and makers. 

I had to pause my needling (no pun intended) because I, too, am caught up in that endless and inescapable process. #menswear discourse culminates with the “grail”: the magic vessel of uncertain identity that is supposed to mean the end of adventures.  Except #menswear is full of grails.  And those of us lucky enough to attain one or more of them generally awaken, as did Perceval in the hall of the Fisher King in the very first legend of the holy grail, to find the celebration over.  Promised to contain all our style hopes and dreams, #menswear grails are leaky vessels.

So it was with this pictured rollneck, not just a grail but close to a literal unicorn: an ancient, mint condition substantial rollneck sweater knitted in Scotland for the defunct haberdasher A. Sulka… out of pre-ban vicuña.  Before international restrictions on its sale were imposed a half-century ago, the vicuña risked becoming as mythical as its fellow ungulate the unicorn. Because it can’t be cultivated domestically (it’s thought that the alpaca, whose fur is a bit more wiry, may be a domesticated form of the vicuña), vicuñas were hunted and killed before they could be sheared.  

Even before the ban made the price and the legend of its fineness skyrocket, vicuña’s softness and decadent backstory made it suspect in the popular imagination: for kept men (who can forget the line “As long as the lady is paying for it, why not take the Vicuna?” in Sunset Boulevard) and hustlers like Count Lippe in Thunderball, so unaffordable by honest work that it was a metaphor for luxurious corruption – the obituary of Sherman Adams stated in its very title that the former Chief of Staff to President Eisenhower had to quit after accepting a the gift of a vicuña coat from a friend. 

I found an unbelievable opportunity to obtain the unattainable, and have spent years persuading myself each time I wore it that I didn’t mind its butter yellow color (yet another rarity, since vicuña is usually not dyed from the darker natural color of most vicuña). Or that its sleeves felt just a hair too short, or that I should prize it for anything more than it happening to be a trophy.  Trophies (and grails, if we are to believe the ending of Raiders of the Lost Ark) aren’t used, they simply sit somewhere to be admired or forgotten. 

Clothing is not a trophy. Like Dirnelli, I bought this garment to try, to experiment with it, to see how it felt (as an old friend 50 feet from the ocean once said, just “like a really nice cashmere”).  I shall pass it on to someone else, not in dissatisfaction, but in subduction, the inescapable, shattering, flattening and ultimately chaotic release and renewal of our very substance. May my friend’s property be preserved.

#rjman #reginaldjeromedemans #menswear #features

[milkboydotnet]

That kingdom is not the 'rule' or the 'reign' or the 'sovereignty' of God, but rather a reversal of all such power, a reversal which is the sacrifice of God, a sacrifice enacted in the ritual action of primordial sacrifice, but now enacted in the most common events of life itself. Hence the parables of Jesus are profoundly offensive to their hearer, but incredibly powerful in that very offense. This power is seemingly irresistible to its real hearer, but is inevitably lost or reversed when it is respoken in a traditional or established language, and above all so when it is respoken in the traditional language of religion. This is just what occurs in the synoptic gospels, so that only a deep deconstruction of the language of the gospels could call forth anything echoing the original power of the parables, and thereby the parables become most offensive to everything that we know as 'God.'

Thomas J. J. Altizer, Godhead and the Nothing

#quote #kingdom of god #godhead #thomas j. j. altizer #death of god theology #death of god #radical christianity #radical theology

[virgin-martyr]

Echo respoken by a thousand labyrinths, – An opium divine for hungry mortals' hearts!

Charles Baudelaire, excerpt of “The Beacons,” from The Flowers of Evil (trans. James McGowan)

#charles baudelaire #french poetry

[pehlayaxar]

Over time, the same few loves respoken. To me you are the same as you were always. You, with the vials and the kidnappings. You, with the flowers and the worrisome haircut. You, with the walls so stiffly white. You, with the too-much makeup. You, shapeshifting, picking up new habits and perfumes and genders. And you, even after all these years, so invariably welcome.

[dailydevotion16]

*Translation 4.1*

*The Personality of Godhead, Lord Śrī Kṛṣṇa, said: I instructed this imperishable science of yoga to the sun-god, Vivasvān, and Vivasvān instructed it to Manu, the father of mankind, and Manu in turn instructed it to Ikṣvāku.*

Purport

Herein we find the history of the Bhagavad-gītā traced from a remote time when it was delivered to the royal order of all planets, beginning from the sun planet. The kings of all planets are especially meant for the protection of the inhabitants, and therefore the royal order should understand the science of Bhagavad-gītā in order to be able to rule the citizens and protect them from material bondage to lust. Human life is meant for cultivation of spiritual knowledge, in eternal relationship with the Supreme Personality of Godhead, and the executive heads of all states and all planets are obliged to impart this lesson to the citizens by education, culture and devotion. In other words, the executive heads of all states are intended to spread the science of Kṛṣṇa consciousness so that the people may take advantage of this great science and pursue a successful path, utilizing the opportunity of the human form of life.

In this millennium, the sun-god is known as Vivasvān, the king of the sun, which is the origin of all planets within the solar system. In the Brahma-saṁhitā (5.52) it is stated:

yac-cakṣur eṣa savitā sakala-grahāṇāṁ

rājā samasta-sura-mūrtir aśeṣa-tejāḥ

yasyājñayā bhramati sambhṛta-kāla-cakro

govindam ādi-puruṣaṁ tam ahaṁ bhajāmi

“Let me worship,” Lord Brahmā said, “the Supreme Personality of Godhead, Govinda [Kṛṣṇa], who is the original person and under whose order the sun, which is the king of all planets, is assuming immense power and heat. The sun represents the eye of the Lord and traverses its orbit in obedience to His order.”

The sun is the king of the planets, and the sun-god (at present of the name Vivasvān) rules the sun planet, which is controlling all other planets by supplying heat and light. He is rotating under the order of Kṛṣṇa, and Lord Kṛṣṇa originally made Vivasvān His first disciple to understand the science of Bhagavad-gītā. The Gītā is not, therefore, a speculative treatise for the insignificant mundane scholar but is a standard book of knowledge coming down from time immemorial.

In the Mahābhārata (Śānti-parva 348.51–52) we can trace out the history of the Gītā as follows:

tretā-yugādau ca tato

vivasvān manave dadau

manuś ca loka-bhṛty-arthaṁ

sutāyekṣvākave dadau

ikṣvākuṇā ca kathito

vyāpya lokān avasthitaḥ

“In the beginning of the millennium known as Tretā-yuga this science of the relationship with the Supreme was delivered by Vivasvān to Manu. Manu, being the father of mankind, gave it to his son Mahārāja Ikṣvāku, the king of this earth planet and forefather of the Raghu dynasty, in which Lord Rāmacandra appeared.” Therefore, Bhagavad-gītā existed in human society from the time of Mahārāja Ikṣvāku.

At the present moment we have just passed through five thousand years of the Kali-yuga, which lasts 432,000 years. Before this there was Dvāpara-yuga (800,000 years), and before that there was Tretā-yuga (1,200,000 years). Thus, some 2,005,000 years ago, Manu spoke the Bhagavad-gītā to his disciple and son Mahārāja Ikṣvāku, the king of this planet earth. The age of the current Manu is calculated to last some 305,300,000 years, of which 120,400,000 have passed. Accepting that before the birth of Manu the Gītā was spoken by the Lord to His disciple the sun-god Vivasvān, a rough estimate is that the Gītā was spoken at least 120,400,000 years ago; and in human society it has been extant for two million years. It was respoken by the Lord again to Arjuna about five thousand years ago. That is the rough estimate of the history of the Gītā, according to the Gītā itself and according to the version of the speaker, Lord Śrī Kṛṣṇa. It was spoken to the sun-god Vivasvān because he is also a kṣatriya and is the father of all kṣatriyas who are descendants of the sun-god, or the sūrya-vaṁśa kṣatriyas. Because Bhagavad-gītā is as good as the Vedas, being spoken by the Supreme Personality of Godhead, this knowledge is apauruṣeya, superhuman. Since the Vedic instructions are accepted as they are, without human interpretation, the Gītā must therefore be accepted without mundane interpretation. The mundane wranglers may speculate on the Gītā in their own ways, but that is not Bhagavad-gītā as it is. Therefore, Bhagavad-gītā has to be accepted as it is, from the disciplic succession, and it is described herein that the Lord spoke to the sun-god, the sun-god spoke to his son Manu, and Manu spoke to his son Ikṣvāku.

*Translation 4.2*

*This supreme science was thus received through the chain of disciplic succession, and the saintly kings understood it in that way. But in course of time the succession was broken, and therefore the science as it is appears to be lost.*

Purport

It is clearly stated that the Gītā was especially meant for the saintly kings because they were to execute its purpose in ruling over the citizens. Certainly Bhagavad-gītā was never meant for the demonic persons, who would dissipate its value for no one’s benefit and would devise all types of interpretations according to personal whims. As soon as the original purpose was scattered by the motives of the unscrupulous commentators, there arose the need to reestablish the disciplic succession. Five thousand years ago it was detected by the Lord Himself that the disciplic succession was broken, and therefore He declared that the purpose of the Gītā appeared to be lost. In the same way, at the present moment also there are so many editions of the Gītā (especially in English), but almost all of them are not according to authorized disciplic succession. There are innumerable interpretations rendered by different mundane scholars, but almost all of them do not accept the Supreme Personality of Godhead, Kṛṣṇa, although they make a good business on the words of Śrī Kṛṣṇa. This spirit is demonic, because demons do not believe in God but simply enjoy the property of the Supreme. Since there is a great need of an edition of the Gītā in English, as it is received by the paramparā (disciplic succession) system, an attempt is made herewith to fulfill this great want. Bhagavad-gītā – accepted as it is – is a great boon to humanity; but if it is accepted as a treatise of philosophical speculations, it is simply a waste of time.

[llo-ro-na]

We are all one question, and the best answer seems to be love—a connection between things. This arcane bit of knowledge is respoken every day into the ears of readers of great books, and also appears to perpetually slip under a carpet, utterly forgotten. In one sense, reading is a great waste of time. In another sense, it is a great extension of time, a way for one person to live a thousand and one lives in a single lifespan, to watch the great impersonal universe at work again and again, to watch the great personal psyche spar with it, to suffer affliction and weakness and injury, to die and watch those you love die, until the very dizziness of it all becomes a source of compassion for ourselves, and our language, which we alone created, and without which the letter that slipped under the door could never have been written, or, once in a thousand lives—is that too much to ask?—retrieved, and read. Did I mention supreme joy? That is why I read: I want everything to be okay.

mary ruefle on reading

#mary ruefle

[existential-celestial]

Rubens, garden of sloth, stream of oblivion, Pillow of blooming flesh where no one can make love, But where life’s spirit flows and tosses ceaselessly, As wind does in the skym or seas within the sea,

Leonardo, a mirror, sombre and profound, Where charming angels with ingatiating smiles Burdened with mystery, are seen within the shades Of glaciers anf of pines that border the terrain;

Rembrandt, sad hospital full of strange whispering, The one adornment there, a giant crucifix, Where prayer is full of tears, and rises from the filth— Abrupt across the room, a ray of winter sun;

And Michelangelo, vague place where Hercules Mingles with forms of Christ, and rising very straight Above the mighty ghosts, which in the dusky light Will stretch their fingers out, and tear their winding-sheets;

Rage of the boxing-ring, impudence of a faun, You who could call to beauty vassals in the camp, Great heart puffed up with pride, feeble and jaundiced man, Puget, sad and forlorn, the convicts’ emperor;

Watteau, this carnival, where many famous hearts Wander about like bright, flamboyant butterflies, Decor is cool and light under the chandeliers That pour down madness on the ever-circling dance;

Goya, a nightmare full of things unspeakable, Of foetuses one cools for midnight revellers, Old women at the mirror, children fully nude, Dressing to tempt the devils, very carefully;

Delacroix, lake of blood, the evil angels’ haunts, Shaded within a wood of fir-trees always green; Under a gloomy sky, strange fanfares pass away And disappear, like one of Weber’s smothered sighs;

These curses, blasphemies, these maledictions, groans These ecstasies, these please, cries of Te Deum, tears Echo respoken by a thousand labyrinths,— An opium divine for hungry mortals’ hearts!

It is a call passed by a thousand sentinels, An order shouted through a thousand speaking horns; It is a beacon on a thousand citadels, A cry of hunters lost within a mighty wood!

For it is truly, Lord, best witness in the world That we might give to you of human dignity, This ardent sob that rolls onward from age to age And comes to die in the meeting of your eternity!

Charles Baudelaire, “Les Phares (The Beacon),“ from Les Fluers du Mal (translated by James McGowan)

#charles baudelaire #the beacon #poem #the flowers of evil #words #les fleurs du mal #french literature #*

[omg-casualbeardstudent]

Respoken Words by Ocram http://ift.tt/2yTpPw8

#IFTTT #SoundCloud #Melodic #Electronic #Drumstep

[respokeofficial]

Celebrating summer with a Respoken canoe picnic 🛶🥂 . . . . . #respokeespadrilles #respoke #ctlakes #woodencanoe #lakestyle #loveboat #ctsummer #canoepicnic #ctstyle #connecticutsummer #picnicstyle #picnicfashion (at Connecticut)

#woodencanoe #ctsummer #ctlakes #loveboat #respoke #ctstyle #respokeespadrilles #picnicstyle #picnicfashion #connecticutsummer #canoepicnic #lakestyle