Bullet points? Bullet points!
· I was watching The Far Pavilions last night (again) and Wally quotes Aurora Leigh to Ash and I really liked it. This bit:
Earth's crammed with heaven,
And every common bush afire with God:
But only he who sees, takes off his shoes
· Two days in and I'm really enjoying Write Something, you Miserable Fuck. It's both wildly distracting and oddly motivational.
· I saw Blue is the Warmest Color on Friday and I... didn't really like it. Sorry Palme D'Or et al. It skipped ahead in time at odd moments but the characters didn't really change at all, as if they were stuck in a timewarp of their lust, which I guess they were, you know, until they weren't. It introduced ideas that it didn't follow through on and it was also a bit long and boring. What had made Adele seem youthful and interesting at the beginning just made her seem unable to get over herself by the end. Was that the point? IDK. I don't think I like films about obsession that much! I just wanted her to get over it and go have fun with all the other hot women out there. Their love was hot and explicit but it didn't come across as irreplaceable. Adele just needed to try again! And shut her mouth when she was eating and wipe her nose occasionally. The lingering shots of snot, omfg! Not hot!
· Still working on my fics for femslashex and smutfest. I really should stop writing this and get them finished. I keep getting distracted by ideas for yagkyas though. Too many fests-syndrome. I found a book in a charity shop today that details all the Naval, Marine and Air Force uniforms of world war 2. Suddenly it seemed essential to own that! Any ww2 fics I write now will be highly accurate on the uniform front, jsyk.
· In the same charity shop they also had s1 of Stargate Atlantis so I bought that. No idea when I'll get time to watch it but it seems like time I did.
What does exile taste like, my darling,
what is it to know loneliness?
To know the sun's loneliness in the empty sky,
to know a reflection's loneliness inside the mirror frame,
to know the heart's loneliness in the breast.
Life pulls us
towards an alley where drifts of snow fall on us.
Path after path leads through
a mocking hall of mirrors.
Feet will forget the melody of stroll,
Hands will no longer hear blood bubbling
through narrow veins.
And hearts, O our hearts, will be so weak love leaks away -
or not - I do not know. But I do know, my love,
there is a way back - through memory's mirror.
I reach for the chapter of simple miracles:
the spring was heavenly silk when you first said,
'Hello my little sister.'
Behind my teenage front lived a baby - a thousand-year-old pupil.
Later, your letters flooded my dark eyes with light:
those letters were the gnosis of Persian poetry.
Years later, the nightingales of Moscow
heard the Epic of the Kings from your tongue
and envied the phoenix.
Soaring tuse trees on the verges
saluted the poet Hafez's flowing cypresses,
the chime of church bells
was the tinkle of camel-bells of the poet Sa'di's caravan.
The caravan has gone - lost in desert dust.
And now, O camel-driver, carrier of loneliness, O my brother,
what does separation taste like?
In this world are scattered letters
that spell out loud and clear - this:
Wait, my darling, spring will come ...
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ninetydegrees