#just some reflexions or poems

[naive-daydreamer]

"I love my mother. I really do.

And I know that she loves me too. I know that she made difficult choices in order of that love and I know that she sacrificed a lot too. I love her for that, for chosing me over other things, other people, other choices.

But there are days where I cause her to be angry, by disobeying her, by not listening to her, and she says the cruelest things I never thought I would hear from her, and I can't help but think that a part of her, a little yet significant part of her, thinks that I owe her for that. I, her only daughter, owe her all the sweat, all the tears, all the blood she lost for loving me. A part of her that will always blame me for what she had to do.

And I don't know if I should feel like I do owe her my own sweat, tears and blood.

Should I? Is it true that I owe her all of that? Is it true that I have to give all of that back to her one day? Do I have to sacrifice myself too? ”

—a quiet thought that I had to write down.

[daisiescomelate]

Sukuna's vessel: nightmares (Short Extra)

As Sukuna's vessel nightmares... were a thing. When your body became used to the curse being inside you, and as Sukuna spend more and more time close to your own consciousness, the link between the two of you became more solid, and sometimes some things found their way pretty easily through the bridge.

After the fever subsided you thought you'd be safe; but it was absolutely terrifying when they reapeared, when instead of fussy memories of a bad dream they became vivid recallings of Sukuna's life that followed you throughout your day.

For Sukuna's frustration, he had no way of stopping it from happening; so he would keep an eye on you during your sleep, trying to use what he had that he could call "good memories" to cover the horrors that kept tormenting you.

You came to learns many things about him that way.

Most of the things he had to show you were from a time far away and forgotten, when he would walk into the depts of the woods or hills to sit down under a tree to meditate. Some times you could see Urame, some times he was by himself. The quiet singing of the birds, the ruffling of the leaves, the warm of the sun over his skin.

He also had memories of himself in his room in the night under a candle light with ink and paper both in hand to write. Letters, and poems, and short reflexions of his day.

Sometimes dinners with Urame or quite strange friends -which was more rare-, some wild people that presented themselves at his doorstep and he found interesting enough to invite in without beheading them.

Other times, images of a journey passing by a village and observing their people come and go, and play or work.

Alongside those, the most mundane forms of Sukuna, hunting or washing by a river.

Him holding you in his domain also helped with the worst of it, but those glimpses of life were almost worth all the nightmares.

N/A: I'm working on a second part for the Reader as Sukuna's vessel prompt asdfkhlj someone requested it on the comments I promise I'm not ignoring you I'm just a very slow writer. This is just a bite size idea that I had in the meantime. Thank you for reading!

[just-a-music-and-poetry-lover]

this is a poem

Nothing has been happening the way it should

I can't seem to be able to organise myself.

Everything I write sound like shit to my ears.

I've scratched the back of my hand until it was bleeding (again).

This bedroom is messier every time I tidy it up.

I'm always more anxious, but how come?

Isn't this the best part of my life?

I've been drinking coffee every day

And staying awake through the nights

Just to try and do some work I can't do during the day.

I definitely haven't been taking my meds like I should,

I don't know what they do

But I've been taking them for years

And it's too damn late to ask the doctor that

Or tell her that I don't think they're working.

I finally removed my chapped nail polish

(I'm getting my nails professionally done when this is all over),

I'm back to not being able to face my reflexion

And I can't remember the last time I showered.

My grandmother is in the hospital (she might not make it)

And I just realised I never told her I loved her, out of embarrassment.

That makes me think I'm a failure,

Like I disappoint everyone around me,

That I'm not being the best son, grandson, nephew, cousin,

Friend, student or patient that I could be.

And that reminds me that I'm writing this at 3 am,

That I have a test tomorrow that I'm so not prepared for,

That I asked a girl out for a coffee and she left me on read.

And that reminds me that I probably should've given

The poem some spaces, but then I remember

That it was on purpose because the poem now looks

Exactly how I've been feeling lately. Messy, crumpled up,

Unable to escape its fate and looking like it's never gonna end (until it unexpectedly does), completely and utterly

Fucked up.

[lex-reflexions]

reflexions | on process

as i write more, i think y’all will catch onto how MUCH i overthink.

my artistic voice, my authentic self, my made up problems.

it’s been annoying to deal with on a daily basis, so now i’m going to annoy y’all with it too — at least someone else will have to hear these thought spirals.

my “process” doesn’t really exist

i have this vivid image in my head of being tied by my ankles to a floaty rushing down a river. i can’t see what’s in front of me and looking backwards feels dizzying, so i’m forced to just flop along and hope i don’t crack my head on a rock.

depressing as it may sound, that’s what life feels like a lot of the time, especially inside my mind.

i think what makes creativity so liberating is it makes momentary sense out of the chaos.

it’s my way of taking a thought captive — even if just for a moment — and making something new.

the unsexy part comes shortly after the cute moment is over

and i try to use it for art.

in the past,

it’s felt like trying to freeze a ray of sunlight in place

put a cloud in a bottle

whatever other analogy hits for you.

it was a fools game.

the easiest way to lose inspiration

is to dwell too long on the beauty that you lost

to time,

to your own mind

to a random bird that flew by as your eureka moment happened.

when i dwell too long on that forgotten moment

my mind and soul come to a halt and become consumed by

an illusion of “the authentic moment” that i lost.

i think i think too much about authenticity and how inauthentically I articulate myself when I’m doing it for an audience.

a blurb from a poem i’ve been sitting on.

i think the further i get from a moment that’s inspired me,

the more i feel like i’ve lost an “authentic” account of what made me fall for that moment in the first place.

i could go on, but it’s fruitless. authenticity is a fickle thing to chase.

authenticity…

as many like to describe it, is a trap.

a trap for artists like me — artist still not sure they have a voice worth hearing.

authenticity, rawness, “un je ne sais quo” is this shiny thing you can show the world to prove you know what you’re talking about.

instead of dwelling on something so intangible that it drives me mad,

i’m learning how to live harmoniously with my mind.

to actually listen to it. and let what it tells me inform my creative process.

after some time listening to my thoughts, i can sort through which i want to capture.

that’s about as far as I’ve gotten so far.

i’ve got a little better at making space for my mind to wander,

and a LOT better at allowing myself to settle on something that my intuition wants to.

next,

i want to more methodically learn how to take all of these newly captured thoughts and turn them into art. fun stuff

i want to dwell on when i feel most inspired

i want to do all of this consistently enough that i make my future self proud

in the long run,

your creative process is probably going to look different than mine, but i hope that over time, we can learn how to speak about our creative process together. I’d love to hear your thoughts if you feel so inclined.

if you’re looking for something new for inspiration. considering checking out this lovely playlist. it’s updated regularly.

[the-sanest-person-here]

Poem 1

people only see what they want to see

they only look like how you paint them in your head to be

she will never feel the ease of perfection

when her mind will do anything but reflexion

sometimes shes there, usually not

for some, its hard to keep up

when her moods change like sun to moon

when her mind is just a mass of dunes of thoughts never written doqwn

never spoken out

never acted on

so full with the desire to release

but one doesnt see that

when her perfection and her master are hiding

[takethemonetandletsgogh]

what i've been reading (august 2022)

disclaimer: I have been reading way too much. I work in the literary field so I have access to a lot of books and I don't know how to control myself.

books

Orphic Paris by Henri Cole: I have nothing good to say... sorry

Plainwater by Anne Carson: speechless. best read of the month. I devoured it in 2 days it was THAT good. Anne Carson never disappoints.

Crossing the Water by Sylvia Plath: amazing, beautiful, my favorite Plath collection so far it was just so so so good; I'm speechless.

Anthology of Palestinian Poetry: very interesting and so diverse collection of poetry from Arabic and Palestinian poets! Some were better than others but a great introductory read to delve into this field of poetry:)

The Essential June Jordan: this blew me away. one of the most impactful read of this year. I loved it so much I want to read it again and again and again.

Selected Poems by Paul Auster: a bit repetitive in the leitmotivs but it was really interesting. I need to read more of this author!!

The Albertine Workout by Anne Carson: great reflexion / poem on the character of Albertine in Proust’s Search for Lost Time. Would need to read it again after reading Proust to fully understand though.

Poems 1962—2012 by Louise Glück: a re-read. loved it even more than the first time. I can't express how much I love her poems.

The Royal Game by Stefan Zweig: such a compelling short story !! I couldn't put it down. highly recommend for a short read.

articles

“Anne Carson's Splintered Brilliance” by Charlotte Shane (2016) : “Anne Carson lives for the breaking up, the separation. She’s trafficked in fragmentation for a long time: Her career as a scholar of ancient works, which are often fragmentary or have no definite author, required becoming intimate with the incomplete, the impossibility of completion”

“The Handmaiden” and the Freedom Women Find Only with One Another by Jia Tolentino (2016)

On Rediscovering the Natural World Through Ovid by Nina MacLaughlin (2019) : “We grow close and closer, as with a friend, a love, the members of one’s family, so, too, a city block on the commute, the shifting light, the shape of the leaves on the Japanese maple around the corner. The tiny patch of lavender on a corner near my apartment that I see each early morning, a version of a friend. I am curious about it, interested in its presence and its growth: Who planted it, I wonder. Why’s it here?”

mangas & comics (I've been reading A LOT of those........)

Spy Family vol. 1 — 8 by Tatsuya Endo : I spent a whole 5 days selling them at the Paris Japan Expo back in July and they were so popular I decided to read them and I really liked it!! It was very funny and endearing. Very glad I stole magnets for my fridge at my job back in July.

Seuls vol. 1 — 13 by Fabien Vehlmann & Bruno Gazzotti : very interesting French comic I used to read when I was a child and recently discovered again!! Highly recommend. About children surviving some sort of 'apocalyspe' alone when every grown-ups have disappeared.

Le Bateau de Thésée vol. 1 — 10 by Toshiya Higashimoto : manga about a man trying to fix his family history that has been ruptured by a tragedy. Very reminiscent of Erased. I liked the world-building as time travels can be sometimes confusing. Not very convinced by the ending though. The main character is so prettily drawn!!!

Beauté vol. 1 — 3 by Hubert and Kerascoët : another French comic I used to read as a child (which I was probably too young to read...) and recently discovered again. This book is GORGEOUS (I love Kerascoët's artstyle<3) and asks some extremely interesting philosophical questions about beauty and politics.

Mon papa dessine des femmes nues by Philippe Dupuy : very heart-warming comic about art, fatherhood and sensibility. Dupuy's illustrations are mind-blowing and this feels like a true trip inside another world. Very interesting questions on culture and art in general, through the lens of children.

memoir research

"On Rediscovering the Natural World Through Ovid" by Nina MacLaughlin (2019)

“THE MYTH OF DAPHNE ON A COIN MINTED AT DAMASCUS.” by Gabriela Bijovsky (2003)

“ORACLE TREES IN THE ANCIENT HELLENIC WORLD.” by Luís Mendonça de Carvalho, Francisca Maria Fernandes and Hugh Bowden (2011)

“POETRY, METAMORPHOSIS, AND THE LAUREL: OVID, PETRARCH, AND SCEVE.” by JoAnn DellaNeva (1982)

“The Roots of ‘Daphne.’” by J. L. Lightfoot (2000)

“Ovid’s Metamorphic Bodies: Art, Gender, and Violence in the ‘Metamorphoses.’” by Charles Segal (1998)

[recovering-and-healing]

135 Ways You Can Practice Self-Care

You are more important than your to-do list, so prioritize your well-being above some of the little extra tasks you might think you need to do—to help yourself feel better. Saving your self-care for when you have time on your hands results in putting it off. This is why it’s important to start now, you are your own best friend.

1. Drink some water first thing in the a.m—stay hydrated. 2. Write down five things every day that didn't totally suck. 3. Make a menu for the week. 4. Try that new yoga class. 5. Take a new route to work, or learn a new language. 6. Have a mini dance party. 7. Take five minutes to decompress every day. 8. Move for at least 30 minutes a day. 9. Get some sleep already. 10. Practice kegel exercises. 11. Start your day with something pleasant. 12. Get your om on—mediate. 13. Confront your negativity—on paper. 14. Get a tomato plant. 15. Stop to smell the coffee—literally. 16. Volunteer just one hour a month. 17. Go purse shopping, get a smaller handbag (for your back). 18. Have a family dinner. 19. Sit up straight. 20. Don't eat the kale if you don't like it. 21. Detox from technology and work. 22. Plan a workout date with a friend. 23. Enjoy breakfast. 24. Do some planks. 25. Say no to those dinner plans if you dont want to go. 26. Cleanse your space—declutter. 27. Listen to music. 28. Treat yourself to trips to the cinema. 29. Practice gratitude. 30. Laugh out loud. 31. Read for pleasure. 32. Enjoy the beautiful weather. 33. Make self-care mandatory in your life. 34. Take your creativity off the shelf and start a new project. 35. Talking—you are not alone. 36. Brain dump. 37. A to-do list item. 38. Hang with kitties. 39. Take a bath. 40. Get a massage. 41. Get your hair done. 42. Get a manicure, and a pedicure. 43. Ice cream and wine. 44. Buy fresh flowers. 45. Call someone. 46. Get some sun. 47. Watch clouds. 48. Let yourself have a good cry. 49. Comfort food—suck on some hard candy, or have some chocolate. 50. Do a puzzle. 51. Colour. 52. Go to the beach. 53. Go for a drive. 54. Garden. 55. Watch the sunset. 56. Plan your vacation. 57. Watch the sunrise. 58. Cuddle with a pet. 59. Snuggle a human. 60. Light a scented candle or some incense. 61. Make a little pouch and fill it with rice and some lavender, or dried rose petals; use it as an eye pillow. 62. You can also make one that fits in your palm; it’s a great thing to fuss + fiddle with when you are feeling anxious. 63. Scream it out. 64. Get some professional help. 65. Take meds daily. 66. Write in a journal. 67. Start small. 68. Read a self-help book. 69. Join a support group. 70. Think about your positive qualities. 71. Practice asking and receiving help. 72. Buy yourself a present. 73. Practice forgiveness. 74. Play with children. 75. Pray. Find spiritual mentor. 76. Make a vision board. 77. Plan short term and a long term goals. 78. Go on with dates. 79. Get out of debt. 80. Just relax. 81. Write a poem or a book. 82. Cook out. 83. Learn to play an instrument. 84. Learn to say NO. 85. Take time off. 86. Get “me time”. 87. Turn off cell phone. 88. Self reflexion. 89. Learn who you are. 90. Figure out what you want in life. 91. Get coffee with a friend. 92. Get out of bed. 93. Be inspired. 94. Go to symphony or ballet. 95. Social justice engagement. 96. Say “I love you”. 97. Talk to an old friend. 98. Ask for nurture. 99. Kiss. 100. Turn off the TV. 101. Swaddling in a comfy blanket. 102. No make-up day. 103. Compliment someone. 104. Smile at yourself in the mirror. 104. Drink some soothing tea. 105. Set a boundary for yourself. 106. Pop some bubble wrap. 107. Play your favourite board game. 108. Go on a date—even if that means taking yourself out. 109. Create a self-love box/jar. 110. Re-arrange your room. 111. Leave yourself a note in your lunch. 112. Deep condition your hair. 113. Place a few drops of an essential oil (lavender) behind your ear. 114. Plan a mini stay-cation. 115. Change the background of your computer or phone to an uplifting quote. 116. Go on a weekend retreat. 117. Search random things on Pinterest. 118. Start a blog. 119. Share your responsibilities with someone. 120. Share a recent accomplishment with others. 121. Spend some time near a lake, river, or stream. 122. Download an app that helps with anxiety and stress relief. 123. Streeeetch. 124. Let go of something that has been bothering you lately. 125. Move 1 thing from today’s to-do list to tomorrow’s to-do list. 126. Thank someone who is deserving. 127. Send a funny Snapchat. 128. Prepare and eat your favorite meal when you were a kid. 129. Exfoliate your skin. 130. Catch up on TV shows that you haven’t had time to watch 131. Look up more often, and I mean this quite literally. 132. Watch funny cat videos on YouTube, meow 133. Spend some time in silence. 134. Write a love letter to yourself. 135. List your reasons for living.

Self-Care looks different to different people.  Create a more permanent and lasting self-care routine that best fits you and your needs.

source: Health Journal & others.

[rawliverandcigarettes]

Writing Questionnaire

Hello people, it’s been a while. I was tagged by the delightful @natsora in this one ! I tag @stories-of-arani, @kiranwearsscienceblues, @autodiscothings and @bronzeagelove if you haven’t done it and feel like doing this.

Short stories, novels, or poems?

I like all three, I have slowly warmed up to short stories over the years, and now I really appreciate this form as well.

What genre do you prefer reading?

I kinda prefer nonfiction like essays or autobiographies, and literary fiction. It’s been a while since I read a scifi or fantasy book that really managed to caught my attention, mind and heart (which is a shame).

What genre do you prefer writing?

I recently discovered I had a crack for realism, as in the french literary movement, of bringing out the mundane out of the extraordinary. It might seem super counter-intuitive, but I really feel like we get to touch the absurd and the heartfelt out of the human experience when we bring it down to just... living, and what it costs, and what it does to us. But that’s more for the general feeling; in terms of genre, I really like to write scifi, literary and horror/thriller.

Are you a planner or a write-as-I-go kind of person?

I do both, and it totally depends. I write short stories with very few preparation and I mostly pants them, but novels require more planning to remain coherent.

What music do you listen to while writing?

What goes with the scene. It can be indie rock, it can be soundtracks, it can be dark electro. Or, when I’m very very tired and need to hold the night writing, I can even turn to the unglory of eurodance and hardbass so I can bounce around as I write in absolute shame and agony.

Fave books/movies?

For the movies, I think my heart will forever go to the Lord of the Rings trilogy, which amazed me with new things to discover in storytelling, sound design, cinematography and much more every time I’ve seen it again since my first viewing at age 8.

For books, I’m not sure I could pick a favorite one, because let’s be real folks -I skipped reading a lot those past few years. So I’m going to go with Drawing Blood by Molly Crabapple, which is a fantastic autobiography that talks about politics from the 2000′s and later (the Occupy Wall Street movement, Greece, etc), the burlesque stage of New York, her life and self discovery as an artist and an activist, and fueled me with a fire to do things that matter. It’s maybe not my favorite book, but it’s the one that shook me the most those past few years.

Any current WIPs?

I have 3-ish at the moment.

Halfway Home is obviously the big one. I haven’t posted an update on this for the longest time, but I’ve been very busy doing anything but working on it, but I’m slowly carving the final outline. So much has changed you guys. I’m finally embracing structure a little bit more, and I think it does good to the story. 4 years on this bitch, still a mess. I really love it, but I’m starting to tire, not gonna lie. Still, I really need to get it out in 2019, because after I’ll be too much of a boring adult with regular income to do it justice.

I also have another project, for an original novel. I have the global outline already, and even though I need to research and polish a few details, I’m amazed at how fast it came together and how crisp the story is. It’s a major departure from the messy slug that is Halfway Home, and I even have good hopes to get it published someday. But I’m not getting to it before finishing Halfway Home, otherwise I’m afraid I will never find it in me to get back to the pain of it.

Then I have a short novel horror collection, in french. I have three quarters of the first novel, which might be the weirdest thing I ever wrote, about parasites and showers and green beans. It’s called “Gant de Toilette” (washcloth? I think it’s the correct translation), and I don’t even know.

If someone were to make a cartoon out of you, what would your standard outfit be?

Black top with long sleeves, black shorts, stockings and high heels, which is my standard everyday thing when I go out. Maybe my chainsaw necklace, even though I lost it recently :(

Create a character description for yourself:

She becomes colder the closer you get. Not much, but there is a flicker in the soul, the muscle tension -what was warmth and rageful empathy now comes with an afterthought, a plastic film maybe. You wonder if it’s egotic, if it’s dissociation, if anything before was ever true or meaningful, but you don’t ask, because if you ask, you suspect she wouldn’t know what to reply. After all, she lives within, so what does she know of herself.

(agreed, this is maybe not the most flattering portrait I could have made))

Do you like incorporating people you actually know into your writing?

I’m inspired by people I know, and I do incorporate parts of how I perceive them in my writing, but I don’t think I would straight-up pluck out someone I know from real life and put them in my story. It would feel wrong to me, and kind of uninteresting too.

Are you kill-happy with characters?

Hmmm good question. I think I am, like I enjoy killing off characters in meaningul ways and crafting the situation around, but it really depends on the WIP and whether it calls for it or not.

Coffee or tea while writing?

Both. Not at the same time, obviously, but I alternate. Cappuccino is also awesome.

Slow or fast writer?

Fast when I do write, which has not been extremely often lately.

Where/who/what do you find inspiration from?

.Everywhere really, since inspiration is but a patchwork of stuff we get to experience. Dreams are a big one; some of my most vibrants ideas come from dreams. Otherwise, reflexions on poeple, anxieties about the world and personal experiences are what drives me most of the time.

If you were put into a fantasy world, what would you be?

A low nobility in that subplot that isn’t going anywhere but still seems desperate to make a point.

Most fave book cliche? Least fave book cliche?

I think I just love the weird family of outcasts trope way too much for it to be reasonable, and I hate unnecessary romance or family links revealed to actualize characters’ relationships, because I feel like it often cheapen things or flatten them.

Fave scenes to write?

Two characters bonding bittersweetly. I can’t find any other way to describe that sort of scenes and I apologize.

Most productive time of day for writing?

Night. No question asked.

Reason for writing?

Self discovery, a way to make sense of the world, a way to speak to others with deeper layers than speech alone, and for the made up character my mind feels obliged to.

[naive-daydreamer]

People, let me ask you all a question:

What do you think when you have an existential crisis or a mental breakdown?

I think that I am in need of a boyfriend or a romantic partner.

Then I recover and think that what I truly need are two things: to play the argentinian hymth in the Big Ben as a public manifestation of defiance, and to try to be a better christian.

Am I the only one that has those ideas?

[nepomenovana]

mind and body

i feel myself

falling again

i feel myself

losing it again

i feel myself

not feeling again

it was all

fun and games

until i started to

fear my reflexion

again

it was all

okay

until i started to

see all the changes

in my appearance

again

now though,

it is not okay,

it is nowhere near that

i am not okay

i need to feel

the control again

i need to feel

the relief again

i need to feel

my lightness again

fuck what people think

fuck what they say

fuck how some say

that i look okay

and fuck how some say

that i look different

and especially

fuck how some say

that i look huge

that i take too much space

when i am standing

or sitting

fuck all that

it has always been

a battle

between my mind

and my body

the only difference is

that this time

i am here

for the win

—

i am truly sorry about this one. i am just struggling with myself right now and i needed to put my suffering into words. if you understand this poem and especially if you relate to it, please, take care. you are not alone. ever. even when it feels like the whole world is falling and everything is crashing. even then, you are not alone.

#edrecovery matters!!! 💪🏻

[wilwywaylan]

A Kiss to build a Dream on

Fandom : Les Misérables

Modern!AU because everything is fluffy and everyone lives, Feuilly x Enjolras, 3176 words.

Prompt was : “Things you said when sleeping” but then the plot bunny bit me.

Written for the Enjolras x Feuilly week

Also on AO3 !

The first thing that Enjolras noticed when he first met Jehan's good friend, was his very firm handshake. So firm, in fact, that he was tempted to check discreetly on the state of his fingers. But he didn't. Instead, he immediatly got swept in a profound discussion with the man about discrimination in the workplace. They stopped when Combeferre tapped him on the shoulder as he left, and that's only then that Enjolras realized that it was one in the morning and he'd spent all evening talking with his new friend, listening to him intently. Everyone had left, even Grantaire who usually was the last one to go home. They parted ways in front of the Musain, now closed and dark, but not before Enjolras managed to get the man's word that he would come to the next meeting.

He came to the next meeting, and the one after. Soon, Feuilly had become a fixture of their association, and even more, of their little group. He discussed art, litterature and philosophy with Grantaire and Jehan, medicine, sciences and the mysteries of nature with Joly, Musichetta and Combeferre, play-fought with Bahorel and Eponine and with them (or rather, fought), danced with Courf and let him play with his hair, talked in several languages with Marius, listened to all of Bossuet's puns, even the worst ones, and made a few of his own, cooked with Cosette and suggested her several recipes. He knitted everyone gloves and hats and scarves, illustrated Jehan's poems, took some boxing lessons with Bahorel and Grantaire, and baked Polish goods for their meetings.

And of course, he had long conversations with Enjolras, about the political or societal issue at hand. Enjolras was always pleased with those discussions, because Feuilly had very strong, interesting opinions, and his arguments were well-thought and precise. And he could talk about everything under the sun. Usually, their conversations started about the issues they faced or wanted to adress, and quickly moved from there, jumping from subject to subject. They could talk like that for hours, and frequently, they did, starting after the meeting and going on until they were finally thrown out of the Musain.

Enjolras loved those moments, when they had dealt with the sujets du jour, gotten everything ready for their next meeting, planned petitions, actions and rallies, and they finally unwound. The others enjoyed that time in their own ways, discussing and making fools of themselves - well, for some, making fools of themselves was their hobby -, playing cards or unwinding in various ways of various intensity. Feuilly was usually sitting at the back, watching the others. Sometimes, when he felt energetic enough, he joined them. On those days, Enjolras chatted with Courfeyrac and Combeferre, or watched Grantaire draw.

But often, Feuilly was content with staying back and watch. Enjolras poured them two cups of coffee and joined him. He had had troubles breaking the ice the first time ; talking was easy in front of a crowd, being full of passion and fury about a societal issue. But when they were just the two of them, he found out to be... way harder. Especially when Feuilly was looking at him like that without smiling. Just attentive golden eyes set on him. And just on him. He had tried to ask him his stance on the last work laws. What had come out of his mouth didn't really sound like any sound a human voice could make. Luckily, Feuilly not only didn't mind, but had seemed to understand what he was trying to communicate, and answered in jest. And soon they were caught up in a deep conversation.

They did it again the next time. And the one after that. Soon, it became a routine, a routine Enjolras appreciated immensely. Feuilly was good company : never judging, never screaming, never setting things on fire. He always talked in the same even tone, and if he swore a lot in colorful ways, sometimes in other languages, and if sometimes his voice became cutting as steel, he never screamed or yelled. And he had oh so many interesting opinions ! Enjolras could have stayed like that, listening to him for hours. The end of their little sessions left him wanting for more, always.

But how could he have more ? They already spent hours talking, after all meetings. They couldn't start eating at their meeting time. Not only did they still have work to do, but the others wouldn't let them hear the end of it. Especially Bahorel, who loved almost nothing more than poke fun at his roommate. Enjolras could have asked Courfeyrac, but to the same result. He mulled over the idea until it finally dawned to him : maybe they could see each other out of meeting time ! It was so easy, a perfect idea ! To be fair, it was 3 AM when it dawned on him, and it seemed like a genius idea at the time.

Now that he finally knew what to do, there was a new obstacle : actually do it. It meant actually invite him. Going to Feuilly, tell him that he wanted to spend more time with him. Feuilly would know that Enjolras was appreciating his conversation and company. Well, Enjolras hoped that he did. After all, he didn't want his friend to feel like he was bothering him, right ? But did Feuilly feel good about their talks, at least ? Or did he just humor him because he felt sorry for the blond kid who needed someone to entertain him, the one who clung to him because he showed him some attention ? Okay, that one wasn't really fair. After all, he did have qualities, didn't he ? Or he wouldn't have gathered a whole club around him, and such good friends. And Feuilly wasn't the kind of person to endure something that bothered him without telling it exactly like it was.

So it was more or less certain that Feuilly did really enjoy their moments together. But did he want more, too ? Or was he content with what they had ? Or did he want... less ? Maybe. Maybe he wanted to breath a little, spend time trying to pin Bahorel on the table for a count of three, or braid Jehan's hair with Cosette, or draw tarot cards with Musichetta, or read, or... anything else, really. Maybe he wanted some time for himself, he already had so few of it. Maybe he just didn't want to say it. When he came to that part of his reflexions, Enjolras invariably shook his head, chasing away the bad feeling squeezing his chest. No, if Feuilly really didn't enjoy their time together, he wouldn't have wasted time with him. Feuilly did like their time together. Feuilly did like... him ?

What ? Where did that come from ? That was... a logical course of thoughts, of course, Feuilly did seem to like him but... why did he think that ? Why did it come into the conversation like that ? And... why did it feel him with a strange feeling in his chest ? A strange, warm feeling that spread and make his heart beat a little faster. That was... strange. That was the kind of warm feeling Courfeyrac sometimes talked about, when he had seen someone he might fancy. Did that mean...? No, that couldn't be. Enjolras vowed to push the feeling under the rug and never, ever think about it again.

Finally, after a long, very long discussion with himself, Enjolras finally decided to take the step and invite Feuilly for coffee. He spent at least fifteen minutes trying to compose a message that wasn't too eager or distant, just casual enough. Not easy for someone who never did things casually. That wasn't him at all.  Enjolras did all things with fiery passion, and that included sending texts. But he had to rein himself a little. No need to scare him now.

The half-hour it took for Feuilly to answer was awful. More than awful. Enjolras had never felt so bad. Except maybe after a violent protest when he got most of his face bruised and couldn't even move because of broken ribs. Okay, so maybe he had already felt so bad, but not that kind of bad. Not the angry burning in his veins after a bad law was passed despite their efforts. Not the discouraging feeling of helplessness that sometimes took him in the middle of the night. Not even that gut-clenching feeling he got when he had to visit his parents' estate. Well, it had a hint of that, in the way his stomach seemed to be squeezed, but he was way more agitated than those times, feeling like pacing back and forth. And he sensed something light in his chest, and warm too.

The soft beeping of his cellphone startled him, and he almost dropped it in his haste to pull it out. He unlicked it with trembling hands. His heart was beating so wildly it was threatening to jump out of his chest at any moment. The letters danced in front of his eyes for a few seconds before settling into words. Two words, in fact. "okay" and "when ?". He re-read them twice. Feuilly had always been a man of few words. But those were positive words ! He agreed ! He wanted to see him outside of the ABC meetings ! He did want to spend more time with him ! If he managed to fix a date, of course. A coffee date, that would be perfect. Everyone knew Feuilly didn't time to indulge in anything else than reading in the subway and going to their meetings. A coffee date would be perfect for him. Five o'clock, after his shift, at the nicest coffee joint he knew, the one that had that fantastic organic coffee they both loved. He just needed to invite him. Which only took him three tries to manage to write something that could pass as relaxed. Once done, he carefully put the phone down. And prepared himself for the twenty-four anguished hours of waiting.

The next day, without fault, he was at the coffee shop. A glance at his watch showed him that he was fifteen minutes early. Well, good. He wouldn't miss the time by accident like this. Now he just needed to wait. He pulled up an article on his phone and started reading to pass the time, and forget about the pinch in his stomach. He tried not looking at the time too much, but it was hard. Minute by minute, it was passing. Five minutes left... then two... finally, five o' clock came... and went. And no Feuilly. Enjolras tried not to feel bad. Feuilly was a very busy man, and probably was running late because of work. Or the subway. Nothing bad. Of course.

Finally, while he was pondering on if sending a text would be seen as overbearing or annoying, Feuilly's beloved red and white hat appeared between two people, small orange curls escaping from the brim. Its owner made his way through the crowd, and Enjolras walked to meet him.

- You made it, he said, relieved.

- Of course I did, Feuilly answered. I told you I would.

- And I didn't doubt you.

That... sounded a little sappy, but Feuilly didn't seem to mind. Enjolras went to order their drinks, glad to have something to do. Feuilly almost jumped on the cup offered to him, warming his fingers on the cardboard.

The park on the other side of the road was not as packed as the sidewalk, and they walked along the path, side by side, enjoying their drinks and making small talk about their day. Enjolras couldn't help but steal little glances at Feuilly from time to time. He seemed to really appreciate his pumpkin spice latte - Enjolras had remembered it was his favourite -, drinking it slowly, his eyes even shining a little. The steam from the cup had turned his nose and cheeks a cute pink. He looked happy like that, perfectly content with the situation.

- Are you alright ? Feuilly suddenly asked.

Enjolras realized he must have zoned out and forgot to answer him.

- Ah, yes, he quickly said. I'm just... distracted. I think.

- Too much on your mind ?

- You can say that.

Too much, yes... But opposite to his usual preoccupations, his mind was now filled with the speckles of gold shining in Feuilly's eyes and dancing on his hair, and his relaxed smile, and the freckles scattered on his nose. And the way he talked.

They sat on a bench, side by side. Maybe a little closer than usual, since Feuilly's arm kept brushing against Enjolras' side, making him shiver. It wasn't due to a lack of space, of course, since they were the only ones sitting there. He tried to act casual, pulled a book out of his bag, opened it at the page with the bent corner and showed him the text he wanted his advice on. Feuilly immediatly dove in  - he couldn't resist a book - and started commenting along his reading. Enjolras was listening intently, as he always did, but his mind kept focusing on Feuilly's mouth. And he wondered how it would feel to kiss him. Would he feel all that passion, the fire he always put in his arguments ? Or just the coffee he drunk by the gallon ? Or something else, something purely Feuilly ?

And where did those ideas come from ? When did he go from spending time with his friend who he loved talking with, to wanting to kiss him and taste the pumpkin spice on his lips ? When did he start to want to kiss people anyway ? Well, if he had to choose someone to kiss, yes, maybe he would opt for Feuilly, because of all the reasons for which Feuilly was his beloved friend. Beloved, yes. That was the word. Precious. Valued. Irreplacable. Because Feuilly was nice and interesting, and ruthless when he needed or when some anvils had to be dropped, and always there when Enjolras needed him, whatever the reason. And he would probably be lost without him.

- Enjolras ? You there ?

A hand in an orange mitten waved in front of him, pulling him out of his reverie. He quickly smiled to reassure his friend :

- Yes, of course, I'm listening.

- Is there something in your mind ?

There was a hint of concern in his tone, and Enjolras felt guilty for worrying him. He could lie, of course, tell him that it was nothing concerning him, that he was alright. But Enjolras was never one to lie, not even on personnal matters. Of course, it could change everything. Feuilly might deem him disgusting, or at least, not want to hang out with him anymore. He might take his distances, and abandon their late-night talks. Enjolras wasn't ready to lose that, but he needed to do something, anything, to get rid of the weird sensation in his chest. All this went through his mind in a second, and decided him to answer :

- I was thinking... that I would like to kiss you.

All this considered, Feuilly looked... not too surprised. His eyebrow rose, and he nodded a little, but didn't run away or slap him.

- Kissing me ? he repeated.

- Yes. I've been thinking about it. Of course, he quickly added, I'm not saying that I asked you to come here just for this. I was very interested in getting your opinion on that text, really, and the idea has just crossed my mind, and...

He was rambling. Any second now, Feuilly would bolt out of his seat and run away and leave him with his half-drunk coffee, leaving only behind an empty cardboard cup and a smell of pumpkin and ink.

Feuilly didn't bolt. He didn't even scream or yell. He just looked at him with his usual half-smile, and waited for him to be done.

- Only you, he remarked, would try to justify wanting to kiss someone, and not kiss them.

- Of course not ! Enjolras cut him. I mean, how would I know you would consent to it ? I can't touch you like that, in that manner, without even asking about it first. This is...

- Are you really telling me kissing me without asking would be assault ?

- That's what it is.

This time, Feuilly let out a small laugh.

- You're... well you. Very you.

He sounded amused. Good. Enjolras wasn't sure he could handle Feuilly being angry, or hurt, but being laughed at, he could. Beside, Feuilly had a nice laugh. And a nice light in his eye when he was watching him like that, head tilted a little.

- So, Feuily asked, what would you do if I gave you consent ?

Enjolras couldn't do anything but gape at him. He knew his mouth was hanging open, and he was probably looking like a goldfish, but his brain was still trying to wrap around what had just been said. Consent ? Feuilly would consent ? He would ? Did he ...? It finally dawned on him : Feuilly had just said that he would agree to be kissed. That Enjolras could kiss him, and he wouldn't kick him or slap him or anything. That he wanted it.

He bent down, very slowly, attentive at any gesture Feuilly could make. But Feuilly didn't move, just waited. Their lips met briefly, just a small kiss, that sent sparks in all Enjolras' body. He didn't push it further, just enjoyed the contact. Judging by Feuilly's now full smile, he had enjoyed it too.

They looked at each other for a moment, perfectly still. Enjolras was not too sure of what to do. Kiss him again ? Ravish him on that bench ? Take back the book like nothing happened ? He was still wondering when Feuilly moved. He grabbed Enjolras' coffee, took a sip. His other hand grabbed Enjolras' and squeezed.

- I would love to stay here and kiss you again, he said, especially when you look so cute like this, but it's starting to get cold. What do you think of going to your place, and read a little more ?

Only then Enjolras noted that Feuilly's nose and ears were red with the cold. His were probably too, judging by the burning sensation on his skin. He got up, grabbed his bookbag, waited for Feuilly to do the same. As they walked away, Feuilly took his hand, interlacing their fingers together. Enjolras handed him the coffee. They would have to talk, of course, just to know where they were going with that, what was awaiting them beyond that kiss. But for now, holding his hand and watching him, that was all Enjolras wanted.

[hauntedcollectorkittythings]

Week 4: Translation and Translatioff

Today marks the end of the fourth week of this semester. During these five days, we learned, analyzed, and discussed about translations. We learned about some of the problems it faces when it translates to another language, like inaccurately portraying a character through its dialogue. Then, we analyzed some poems, in English, and after that, discussed what would be the best way to translate them into Spanish.

Speaking of translations, I have some thoughts about what should be preserved and the reasons behind that thinking. It is important to keep the general idea behind the message, then you must try to recreate the way the message is said, and finally, it is the least important thing to preserve the exact words that were used, unless it is part of the general idea. The reasons behind this hierarchy of preservation lie within the importance behind the message and feeling it is trying to convey. It is important to keep the way the message is trying to make you feel rather than trying to be as faithful as possible.

One of my translations was about the movie Life of Pi. I was so uncomfortable when I found out what it said in the Spanish version. “Una Aventura Extraordinaria” was the title they chose for the movie, which roughly translates to An Extraordinary Adventure. It just came out of nowhere why they would take away the name of the protagonist in the movie. My take, “La Vida de Pi”, is better since it keeps the name of the protagonist. At the moment of writing this reflexion, I have come up with an even better name that keeps both the protagonist’s name and the Spanish translation: “Pi: Una Aventura Extraordinaria.”

Finally, this week we ended translating some poems into Spanish. At first, it was a bit difficult since we had to find acceptable substitutes to keep the rhyme and rhythm. However, after a bit of time, the words started flowing naturally.

[enlightmentpoetry-and-women-blog]

Hannah More's art, just as anyone's, reflects in a way the values and ethic she valued, as she always intended to teach something,her arts tend to convey a lesson, a will to improve your reflexion and society as a whole. It is more visible in “The sorrows of Yamba”, which is a really purposeful text, as she intends to raise awareness on slavery and to educate people on the condition of slaves. Unlike some intellectuals of the enlightment movement she did not promote science over religion,  she fiercely valued education, she also valued virtue and ethic. In the other poem, “The Bleeding rock”, she highlights how passions represent human weaknesses, Polydore is vain and selfish, and led the nymph to her transphormation, which led to his death because he actually loves her, as well as the nymph love's not being returned leads to her begging for an emotionless form.The passion of both of them led to their destruction.

Both poems have a common aspect of being influenced by faith and religion, and although in neither case the resolution really feels fulfilled, there is for both Yamba and the Nymph turn to thir beliefs for their salvation.

[saxrecords]

//full post here// After a month at Obras Foundation I’ve gathered some thoughts, creations and discoveries I’ve come by along my residency.

My plan was to write and record new music for an upcoming record, and while doing that experimenting around my way of composing to change it. I’ve recorded some material, written more, but also played and performed in different situations, building a soundscape in and around a natural environment, improvising sound illustration to another artist’s poems with different arrangements, as well as painted and played chamber music.

Two thirds through my residency I had an artist talk where I described the composing ideas I was dealing with and trying to develop then.

I started with drawings and paintings I do in between recording takes, mentioning my interest for the organic process of growing, corked trunks being a motive I’ve used for many years and overly present here with Alentejos cork oaks, and linking it to my fascination for some examples of painting on wood existing in Lisbon being one of my anchor points to the city.

(old corked trunk, black ink on paper and marble)

(structure of plants (upper left corner) applied with marble stamp (bottom))

(different distance gives different perspective, ink on paper)

I then described the idea and the process behind my latest release in 2016 which shows different facets. I first went through the background and concept for the project “Cikatri$”, the latest release being a record with a cyclic artwork in several parts to solve in a dynamic puzzle, the music pressed on blended-colored vinyl. The musical content is on the A-side a recall of a band a few weeks into a tour in Southwest USA, and on the B-side an electronic version of it showing a direction I am taking. When the record was released it was first presented as a 3D-audio mix in a special listening session in Stockholm, then in a live performance later on the same day. More information about the project here.

I then talked about my background as a classically trained musician and Tonmeister, and how I deal with my hearing and sensibility in my creation. I’ve been looking at ways to deal with tones more freely despite my hearing since I have perfect pitch, still without handling music styles seriously since I have little interest in them. I described examples of sound recollections I’ve made in that purpose, then the discussion moved on to the well-known associations process in synesthesy.

I talked about musical collaborations I’ve had in Stockholm and suggested collaborations with performances or work in progress to other artists present at Obras at that time, which resulted in the sound illustration of a poem by Norwegian artist Matias Ringheim in two versions (electronic with analog synths, and acoustic with a piano), and a chamber music try with Beate Schnaithmann, a cellist from Switzerland.

The other great subject of this residency for me has been to explore my time, as to consider a routine both in composing as in organizing musical training and for example going through written material. This is a relevant question in my case in regard to my next project from September, where I will be on board a sailing boat for several weeks to compose music using the sound recorded by the scientific team on board for environmental research, modular synths and tools, and various field recording material (more info about this project here)

A less technical, more conceptual reflexion also started then for me from my time at Obras in regard to this upcoming expedition, considering both art and nature in my creation: building a sound scape in a very green and very noisy place known in the region as the “hidden paradise”. For now just a few pictures below about this performance, which might develop into a video- and sound- work that might be presented in Stockholm soon. Stay tuned! /Aurélie

//Artwork pics by Ludger van der Eerden, performance pics by Ludger and Carlos//

Thank you Carolien van der Laan and Ludger van der Eerden at Obras and everyone I've met, artists and friends under my residency, read Obras' May newsletter here

[naive-daydreamer]

The deepness of somethin' that does not exist.

Where to start. Well, things that does not exist are, for example, myths. Stories. Fantasy. These things that are taken in paper, in songs, in drawings, and in TV programs.

Take for example, the Mystery of the Impossible Girl in Doctor Who. I did not watch the series, yet I plan to, but here is what I know: Its the story of a girl that stepped into a portal by choice and broke herself into millions of pieces that did a diaspora around space and time. Every single one of those pieces, for as far as I know, saved the Doctor. Wherever or whenever, the Doctor was there, and Clara was too. And well then, I could have never thought of such story.

It allowed me to understand, in a way, how willing someone can be in order to save someone they love.

And it was romantically dont dare to say otherwise.

This event, thing, does not exist in real life, and thats what makes it deep. Time travels, girls that broke into millions of pieces in order to save one person, a payphone cabin that can travel across space and time. And more.

The beauty it has is that it does not exist. It comes from a part of ourselves that is unknown, and powerful, and that dreams a lot. Because of that very reason, it needs to be free, and takes the form of stories, of songs, of drawings, of TV shows. This things that does not exist allows is to explore the probabilities, to defy the limits, to live beyond universes. And that deepness also allows us to understand what does exist.

Its beautiful, to realize this. To be aware that, even if these stories, creatures, TV shows and else doesn't exist, they got to actually exist, in paper, in music, on a screen.

How else, would have we seen, or hearken, or live, through them?

[naive-daydreamer]

Some thoughts, quotes and just things I had once that I considered are something worth knowing:

Also some of this are scattered on my writings.

When you are a child, the only thing you may have and that never leaves you are dreams. You dream, with reaching the stars, with walking among clouds, with travelling the world. When you grow up, you realize that stars are far away and are way bigger than you. That clouds are just air, and that the world is too big. Those dreams die. And you have to continue.

Sometimes you like loliness not because you truly do, but because when you needed not to be alone, you were, and you had to like it cause there was no choice.

A sword is not a sword without first passing through the blacksmith's hammer. Pain forges you.

"I am nobody, but thats my advantage. I am a blank space that I and only I can fullfil. I may be nobody, but I can make myself anybody. I can be the one that shows them wrong, I can be the one that rattle the world. I can be the one that defies, I can be the one that fights to be better. And just by that, I am someone. Someone that made something, and for that something I may remain. I may be remembered. And considered. And listened. I am nobody, but I can make myself someone. " —Me analizing THE scene (not the possession, the one when Lockwood practically begs Lucy to stay) of Ep 2 "Let go of Me" from Lockwood and Co. It is needed to say It came out at 3:00 am while I was planning to talk to Netflix.

The only dream I ever had (the only dream that I wrote that Esther from my Sandman fanfic has) is that I want to be able to sing "I Lived" by One Republic with all the right of the universe.

If I ever had an encouter with a celebrity I admire, I will not shout, or go crazy, or do something weird. I will just say hello and see what comes after that.

To dream is to defy, and to defy is to dream.

You're not crazy, you just dont manage to be as false as the mayority.

You may be tired, but please, do not give up. One day you'll look back and laugh, realizing that the pain, the tears, the loliness, all those things that made you bleed, had a purpose.

"Love belongs to Desire, and Desire is always cruel". Neil Gaiman, you are wrong. Love is described perfectly on the Bible, on 1 Corinthians 13.

Darkness is interesting, yet dangerous. Be aware of that, always.

You are something to treasure. Your mind, your body, your heart. Do not waste yourself.

Hebrews 11:1

Whatever that comes out of that great and dreamer mind of yours is something worth to know.

Laugh, cry, suffer, fly, dream, love, live. And do not dare to regret any of it.