#mufl

[swordsmachinedaily]

Sawsmachine

Day 25

[soulthom]

- Écoutez, il est temps de poser les choses clairement : voulez-vous dire que vous attendez le contraire de ce que vous ne souhaitez pas de moi parce que malgré tout.., ce que je prends très au sérieux, ou l’inverse ?

- Nous n’attendons rien de vous

- Alors, très chers soyons heureux, dans la haine, la bonne humeur et la joi..

- …lleluia !

NB : il arrive parfois des choses étonnantes, comme rencontrer des gens qui ont l’air de vraiment bonne humeur.

[euphorajeon]

in the sheets | jjk

— pairing: boxer!jk x f. reader

— genre: fluff | college!au, boxer!jk

— word count: 1.1k

— warnings: short-haired, chubby-cheeked, sleepy jk, they're crude ahahah, a bit teasing on jk's end because what is jk without teases (non sexual), basically nothing big it's just jk and oc being fluffy in the morning.

— summary: a sleepy jeongguk in the morning is very soft and whiny, a stark contrast to the usual annoying and full-of-tease jeongguk. (either way, you love him all the same.)

— author's note: i just miss boxer!gguk and what better opportunity to bring him back than this sleepy jk live hahaha. hope you enjoy! :)

masterlist | boxer!gguk masterlist

There’s a norm to mornings you spend at Jeongguk’s house after dating him, one involving his white blankets, his pillow that sometimes you both struggle to share, and his inked arm draped heavily around your waist. Most mornings see you both fighting to keep sleep away from your eyes and denying the warmth of the blankets to get ready for whatever you got planned that day, but on the mornings you have the luxury to stay a bit longer in bed, Jeongguk always makes the most of your time by pressing his lips to yours in slow kisses, pinning you further against the sheets. Often you find yourself panting under him after said slow kisses escalate into something more, his sweaty body on top of you not faring any better.

This morning, that norm is broken as you’re standing beside Jeongguk’s bed watching him hog the pillow and blankets to himself as he puts his arm around the bunched up blankets instead of your waist. His recently-cut hair sits like a nest on top of his head, stray strands curling into his eyelashes. It frames his face way differently compared to his long hair, letting you see the roundness of his cheek pressing into his pillow. His half-open eyes stare blearily at you, squinting to fight the sunlight peeking from behind his blinds.

“You haven’t slept, have you.” It’s not even a question anymore. “Your mom told me you were having a karaoke session and just stopped like thirty minutes ago.”

“I couldn’t sleeeep,” Jeongguk moans, pressing his face into the pillow. “Got tired after boxing, then I slept, woke up at two. Couldn’t fall back asleep so I just picked up the mic.” His voice is mufled by the pillow but somehow you understand him through experience and willpower. Drunk Jeongguk is way worse than sleepy Jeongguk. “What are you doing here at seven anyway?”

You climb into his bed to sit next to his lying down form, leaning against the headboard. “Mom kicked me out,” you sigh.

The way Jeongguk sits up quickly sends you into a fit of giggles, his alarmed eyes jumping around the features on your face in panic worsening it. “Kidding, kidding. Annoying Aunt is coming so mom sends me here to avoid her.” A big yawn interrupts your sentence. “Plus, your mom asked me to check on you and your karaoke-ing ass.”

“I told you I couldn’t sleep,” Jeongguk mumbles around a yawn as well, slumping back into the mattress upon knowing your mom isn’t evil. “Judging from your yawn, you couldn’t either?”

“No, I slept.” Another yawn. “At four.”

Jeongguk snorts. “Yeah, that’s hardly sleeping.” He lifts the blanket without even opening his eyes. “C’mere. Sleep with me.”

The silence you responds him with is obvious, which makes him chuckle while dropping the blanket back down. “Just sleep, babe, I don’t have the energy to fuck you right now.” He purses his lips in thought. “Although, if you want to fuck me, that can be arranged..”

“Jeon Jeongguk.” You swat at his shoulder weakly, having little to no energy either today to scold him your usual way. “Don’t tempt me. Having your dick hard while being sleepy is worse than being blue-balled.”

“Hm.. speaking from experience, are we?” Your boyfriend lets out a small grin. “You’re hot but I don’t think I can even get it up if I want to. I’m really beat.”

“Then you should’ve gone to sleep instead of singing your ass off at the crack of dawn,” you say without any real bite, fingers combing through his hair slowly. Jeongguk lets out a sigh, seemingly enjoying your touch on his scalp.

“Yeah, yeah. Now will you let me cuddle you or not?” he whines, taking your hand away from his hair to press his lips softly on your fingers. Sleepy Jeongguk is one soft and mushy Jeongguk indeed. “Cold without you here.”

“Tempting, but pass,” you say, letting him wedge your hand between his lips and pillow. It lets your fingers graze the smallest of his cheek and you poke it playfully with what tiny room you have to move your fingers. “I promised your mom I’ll eat her pancakes with her.”

Your poking results in an exaggerated pout of your boyfriend’s lips, which lets out the most petulant sound you’ve ever heard come out of this man. “So you choose mom over me.”

He’s petulant, but his puckered lips are cute and tempting all the same, so you don’t resist the urge to lean down and give him a kiss right on his pillowy lips. “Pancakes,” you say after, slowly pulling your hand from his grasp. “Later, Jeon. Go to sleep, I’ll come back after eating.”

Jeongguk lets out a sound between a whine and a hum from deep inside his chest, nuzzling his pillow and letting his hair get even messier on top of his head. This time, you have to fight yourself from reaching out to run your hand through his hair again, to slip the stray strands behind his ear. Instead, you slip off his bed to finally go downstairs to Mrs. Jeon and her awaiting pancakes, but you find yourself stay rooted in place watching the steady rise and fall of Jeongguk’s chest as he slowly slips into slumber.

It’s not every day that you have the opportunity to map his face with your eyes like this—because most of the time he’d wake up earlier than you—so you take your time tracing over his features, from the way his bangs are covering his eyebrows, the ends of it touching his eyelashes, to his big nose that sometimes get red around the bridge from his glasses, to his very round and pinchable cheek, made more prominent by his shorter hair. Your eyes land on the pair of his lips last, now no longer pulled into a pout as soft breaths come out of it. The pair of lips with the piercing that started it all, the thing that got you addicted to having your lips against his, the tiny piece of jewelry that stays cold even when his lips are warm after working out.

Jeon Jeongguk is beautiful.

Your eyes are still stuck on the metal ring when the plush flesh around it spreads into a grin. “You’re staring, aren’t you?”

Caught red-handed, and he doesn’t even need to open his eyes.

“Shut up.” But still, his grin is contagious as you find one creeping onto your face as well. You shake your head to yourself, unable to believe just how much you love this guy. “Go to sleep, Jeon.”

“Mhm. Love you, babe,” he mumbles, then adds: “enjoy the pancakes.”

A chuckle bubbles up from your chest, finally getting your hand on the door to step out.

“Love you too. Sleep tight, baby.”

a/n: i hope you enjoyed this little drabble of sleepy jeongguk~ any feedback here would be very appreciated :) thank you for reading!

[letuce369]

*mufled manic chanting*

[jchampionsgf]

hear me out alright. Ethan is hanging out at reader apartment and reader is on Ethan’s lap taking pictures in-front of a mirror etc etc to send to the group, plot twist off camera reader is actually sitting on Ethan lap w his you know in her and it leds to smut in-front of the mirror.

⁴⁴⁴ DIRTY LITTLE SECRET ethan landry

-- summary: After a heated argument with Ethan, you find yourselves alone and finally drop the pretense of animosity to enjoy some private time together.

warnings: smut, dom!ethan, sub!reader, p in v, mirror sex, lmk if i missed anything 750 words

navigate

𐙚 mdni!! ↓↓ 𐙚༘⋆ೀೀ

"ENOUGH!" MINDY SIGHED, ending the long argument you and Ethan were having for the tenth time that week. It was common knowledge that you and Ethan despised each other. However, between the two of you, there was no hatred just pure passion. you two had been hooking up for a few weeks by now after discovering that all that hate was just a horny feeling acumulated, You both also chose to remain silent to the friend group, continuing to act as enemies in public, part of the reason of that decision was because of the extra fire in the bedroom at night.

"were gonna go grab some pizza in the meantime you two better be somewhat at ease with eachothers presence" she continued. you groaned, trying to hide your excitement of having some alone time with him "and what are we supposed to do?" ethan got up "I don't know. Maybe try not to kill each other for the next hour?" tara closed the door giving you a smirk, you rolled your eyes Once you were alone, the tension in the room shifted. Ethan stepped closer, his voice softening. "You think they suspect anything?" ou shook your head, a small smile playing on your lips. "Not a clue." "Good. Because I don't think I can keep up this act much longer." Ethan's eyes locked onto yours, the intensity of his gaze sending a shiver down your spine. "Then let's make the most of this time," he whispered, his voice low and husky. You entered your bedroom with Ethan following closely behind and shut the door, locking it. "Finally," he murmured, pulling you into his arms.

The tension from the earlier argument seemed to evaporate as you both reveled in the rare moment of privacy. You looked up at him, your heart racing. "We have to be careful. If anyone finds out..." "I know," he interrupted, pressing a finger to your lips. "But right now, it's just us." he smirked. he sat down on the bed motioning you to sit on his lap as you sat down you started to move desperate for friction "wait i got an idea"he unbuttoned his jeans and pulled out his dick. he slid your shorts and panties to the side revealing a glistening sight to him, you sunk down and moaned loudly. "You have your phone?" he breathed heavily. "Yeah," you replied, grabbing your phone from your pocket and opening it to the friend group chat, 'Core Four and a Couple Others.' Ethan took the phone from your hand, opened the camera, and snapped a picture of the two of you together. With a mischievous grin, he captioned it, "Bonding," and hit send.

"Are you crazy?" you whispered, wide-eyed. He chuckled softly. "Relax. They'll just think we're trying to follow Tara's orders." You couldn't help but smile, shaking your head. "You're playing a dangerous game." He pulled you closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "But it's worth it, don't you think?" You nodded, feeling the excitement of your secret intensify. "Absolutely." you started to bounce up and down until he stopped you and pulled your shorts down "look at that pretty pussy" he said motioning you to look in the mirror in front of you both, he started to rub your clit in circular motions "dont fucking look away" he said when your head fell backwards you did as he said "good girl" he praised, "your so fucking hot you know that?" you started to bounce up and down on him "taking my dick so good", "my pretty slut" your moans got louder and louder until he mufled them by inserting two fingers into your mouth "suck on my fingers pretty girl" you groaned, his dirty words being too much making you hornier when you thought you couldn't be more horny. 

"your clenching around me so good, sucking me in" that was your breaking point, you finally came leaving a loud groan. you grabbed his face kissing him heatedly on the lips "your my dirty little secret" he whispered in your ear, you giggled. you two got dressed and left your room with fingers interlocked Your eyes practically bulged out of your head when they landed on the group Chad, mindy, Tara, and Quinn lounging in the living room" "wait" was all you could get out "yep" tara said giving you a humbling smile "when you sent that pic we rushed here" chad confirmed "i guess we know about your 'dirty little secret' now" 

@jchampionsgf on tumblr

a/n: i think i kinda went overboard with this but whatever

[fictonrantsworld]

⛔⛔Spoilers for blood and cheese⛔⛔

*****************************************

I know that I complained how they handled b&c, but nothing prepared me for the mufled shout jaeherys did b4 they cut his head off.

Like he was awake when it happend

I'm serious I had to take a walk for that one,that haunts me more than the cutting sound.

[reashot]

Day 7 of 9 days of Lancaster. Firsts/ Ruby 1st time doing it. (Maybe NSFW)

After the hug...

Returning to the Arc-Cotta house. Ruby slumped down on her bed.

Ruby: I can't believe I just hug Jaune in public like that. What if everyone think that He and I are dating... Ahh!!!!! *mufled scream*

Ruby: No-no. I mean hugging between friend is not unusual, right? Right?

Ruby: Oh who am I kidding I bet everyone is going to teass me especially Nora and Yang. They going to say; "oh look Ruby is dating Vomit Boy." Or something along that line. Ah. Why do I have to hug that blonde dork!

Ruby: But then again, we kinda needed a hug after everything that just happened. And being hugged by Jaune isn't all that bad. Being held by his strong arms, his large chest and feeling the warmth from his body. Ohhhh....

Ruby's body then starts to heat up remembering what happened earlier with the two of them. And soon she finds her hand starts reaching to a place that's even to her she was not supposed to touch.

*moan*

Jaune...

Meanwhile outside the room.

Jaune: *knock, knock* Ruby are you in there?

Ruby: !!!! Eeek. I mean yes I'm in here...

Jaune: I just want to tell you that dinner is served. My sister made her special meatloaf.

Ruby: Y-yeah o-okay I'll be *moan* j-just give a-a few m-minutes.

Jaune: Ruby are you okay? You sounds weird. Can I come in to check up on you?

Ruby: N-no d-don't I'm o-okay just *moan* don't come in...

Jaune: You sure, you don't sound okay?

Ruby: I-I'm sure... Jaune, can I ask you to do something for me?

Jaune: Sure. You can ask me anything.

Ruby: C-can you call me a good *moan* a good girl?

Jaune: Uh, okay. You're a good girl, Ruby.

Ruby: *moan* tell me how much of good girl I am...

Jaune: You are good Girl, such a good girl. You are a very good girl, Ruby.

Ruby: *!!! * Ahh!....

Jaune: Ruby, are you okay?! Hold on I'm coming in.

*opens door*

Ruby: H-hey Jaune... You don't have to come in. I'm coming down with you.

Jaune: Ruby why are your breathing so shallow and why are you sweating like a waterfall. Are you okay? If you're sick I can show you to a good doctor around Argus. *touch her forehead*

Ruby:

*nya!!!* (I'm still sensitive!)

Jaune: Why are you screaming!?

Ruby: *punch Jaune in the gut and run away*

Jaune: *groan* W-wait Ruby what just happened.... *faint*

At Night:

Ruby: (Oh no why did I have to hurt Jaune like that and worse why did I run away afterward instead of explaining myself to him. Oh well I better apologize to him tomorrow. At least I got it out of off my system.

Ruby: Zzzzzz..... !

Oh no It came back...

_____________________________________________

Guess what Ruby was doing? Wrong answer only please.

[theysaidhush]

Can you do Han jisung in a skirt again?

Jisung loves watching your head bob under his skirt (it's so hot pls)

Of course I can, he lives in my mind rent free ugh. I want you to picture blowing offJisung while he's wearing a skirt. (Not proofread I'm too lazy but genuinely sorry)

Since the last time, when you both experienced one of the best orgasm ever, Jisung knew that he had to wear a skirt again. Dress up pretty for you and him. Like, I can just picture him in those high boots and a cute black skirt disappearing under his oversized sweater.

Some context, you were both going shopping and stumbled across a nice shop with plenty of clothes that you both like. Istg dude would pick that pretty skirt, eyes glowing, and then drag you to the restroom, telling the nice lady that it was for you. No need to say it was for him but she doesn't need to know that.

You tried really hard to mufle your laugh at his pouty and embarrassed face as he's slipping off his pants, putting on the beautiful skirt. You would stop laughing immediately, staring at his bare legs as he's doing that anime girl thing, fidgeting and asking you how it looks on him. But he was just being mean, he knew that now you were horny, sooo horny, but you were a shy bean, so he also knew that you would not take action.

Jisung, confidence overflowing with the knowledge that he was a pretty boy, would throw himself at you, grabbing your cheeks as he's kissing you desperately, telling you that you shouldn't hold yourself back, that he was going to be nice and quiet for you, and you snapped. Who wouldn't ? It's Han Jisung in a skirt...damn. You would kiss him back and push him until he's sitting on the small chair in the fitting room and then get on your knees, looking at him with the look. He would nod and take his phone off his coat's pocket and proceed to film you as you slide his boxer down his legs. Jisungie would be so hard that his dick would pock through the skirt, whipping up the light skirt. He would proceed to film you as you lick your lips, your head disappearing under the black skirt a second after. Jisung would definitely find this hot, seeing just your hair as you're bobbing your head up and down, the skirt sliding each time on the back of your head.

Jisung would muffle his groans in his fist, tears welling up at the mere sight you were granting him with. His hand holding the phone would shake like in one of those bad porno video and his hips would thrust into your warm mouth as you whimper at the feeling of his tip hitting the back of your throat. He did not even lasted a few minutes before he filled your mouth with his hot cum, splattering thick rope of your cum down your throat. And you gulp, swallowing all of of it because you obviously can't soil the fitting room that people will use after you. The last thing that would be seen in the video is you opening your mouth wide, showing that you drank all of the cum he gave you.

When you finally left the bathroom you both smiled to the lady who did not suspect a single thing and went to buy the skirt - for you, of course.

[aurevoirmonty]

« La société devient de plus en plus brutale, non seulement violente et délinquante, criminelle, mais à tout moment grossière, agressive, mufle, incivile, à mesure qu’elle est toujours plus idéologiquement et médiatiquement bien-pensante. »

Renaud Camus

[raisongardee]

"La tripe sera toujours à la honte de l'homme, vous n'en ferez jamais un émouvant Credo, un titre de noblesse. Jamais. La tripe c'est toujours une erreur de la porter au pavois, la tripe sera toujours seulement la plus ridicule de nos servitudes, la plus piteuse de nos ordures. On s'en serait très bien passé. La nature a été vache. L'homme vous haïra toujours finalement, pour l'avoir mené par sa tripe, par son plus bas morceau. L'homme veut être considéré, caressé, persécuté, pour son rêve, rien que pour son rêve ! C’est son dada ! Même le plus digestif, le plus bâffreux, le plus poubelleux des hommes est toujours plein de prétentions mystiques. Toutes les dialectiques sophistiqueries matérialistes ne sont que tout autant de gaffes grossières, apologies tarabiscotées de la merde, très maladroites. Rien de bandocheur. Rien qui délivre, qui allègre, rien qui fasse danser l'homme. Vous ne verrez jamais que les êtres de pire bassesse, les voués, les maniaques intestinaux, les mufles essentiels, les hargneux boulimiques, les éperdus digestifs, les pleins de ripailles, les fronts écrasés, les bas de plafond, s'éprendre de tous ces programmes utilitaires forcenés, même travestis "humanitaires". Rabelais s'est trompé. La tripe ne mène pas le monde, elle le perd. Maudite soit la tripe ! La France crève de ne penser qu'à sa tripe. Gageure stupide d'attendre la panacée, la civilisation rédemptrice des pires hantés du coecum, des plus prometteurs recordmans du plus gros étron. C'est folie ! La charogne la plus exaltée, la plus juteuse, la plus ardente en pourriture, la plus copieuse, ne peut faire naître malgré tout que des larves."

Louis-Ferdinand Céline, L’école des cadavres, 1938.

[lupitovi]

J’ai vu le soleil bas, taché d’horreurs mystiques, Illuminant de longs figements violets, Pareils à des acteurs de drames très antiques Les flots roulant au loin leurs frissons de volets !

J’ai rêvé la nuit verte aux neiges éblouies, Baisers montant aux yeux des mers avec lenteurs, La circulation des sèves inouïes, Et l’éveil jaune et bleu des phosphores chanteurs !

J’ai suivi, des mois pleins, pareille aux vacheries Hystériques, la houle à l’assaut des récifs, Sans songer que les pieds lumineux des Maries Pussent forcer le mufle aux Océans poussifs !

— Arthur Rimbaud - Le bateau ivre (copie manuscrite de Paul Verlaine)

[gerceval]

Le Choix - chapitre 10

Une fic hebdomadaire dont vous pouvez choisir la suite en votant chapitre après chapitre !

[Commencez depuis le chapitre 1]

Lancelot était un homme avec un plan. Il avait toujours eu un plan, même s'il ne se l'était pas toujours avoué, et même si ce plan avait parfois pris une importance moindre à son esprit, suivant les aléas de l'existence. Mais ce matin là, Lancelot avait un plan simple, clair, et précis (bon, peut-être plus simple que précis), qu'il comptait bien suivre jusqu'à nouvel ordre. Il avait toujours su qu'il saurait diriger le pays mieux que quiconque. Même... même mieux qu'Arthur. Il avait eu suffisamment honte pendant suffisamment longtemps de ce genre de pensées. Il en avait marre d'avoir honte. Il le savait. Il savait qu'il avait tout ce qu'il fallait avoir pour faire un bon souverain, qu'il était parfaitement capable de diriger des hommes ; qu'il avait la droiture, l'intégrité, le courage et la noblesse nécessaires. Il savait qu'il valait mieux que les trois quarts des clampins du pays. Voilà, c'était dit. Il avait tout. Tout, sauf le nom d'Arthur Pendragon.

Eh bien à présent, il pouvait avoir cela aussi. Il en avait au moins le visage.

Il n'y avait pas des milliers de solutions. Il tirerait parti le mieux possible de la situation en exerçant ses compétences de meneur de troupes. En même temps, il s'arrangerait pour que les admirateurs d'Arthur se rendent compte que leur bien-aimé souverain n'avait pas que des qualités. Il construirait le désamour du peuple pour les pratiques démagogiques de leur souverain. Quant à Guenièvre, elle avait des inclinations pour Lancelot, ce dernier le savait, et il était indispensable à son bonheur qu'elle s'aperçoive à quel point Arthur la traitait mal. En somme, il ferait en sorte qu'Arthur cesse de se tirer d'affaire aussi facilement après s'être comporté comme un mufle avec tout le monde.

Quand le sortilège prendrait fin, Lancelot saurait parfaitement gouverner, et connaîtrait toutes les ficelles du trône. Et Arthur ne serait pas aussi populaire qu'auparavant, lui laissant ainsi grandes ouvertes la porte de la salle du trône et celle de la chambre de Guenièvre.

Le petit pincement de culpabilité qui l'habitait était impossible à ignorer. Il ne comptait d'ailleurs pas l'ignorer. Il n'était pas là pour se mentir. Ce petit pincement, cette prémonition qu'il n'était pas en train de faire quelque chose de bien, était là pour lui rappeler cette vérité selon laquelle il vivait sa vie depuis toujours : la fin justifiait les moyens. L'honneur d'un chevalier n'était pas sali si ce dernier ne se laissait pas guider par de vils instincts ou par une vision du monde étriquée, mais plutôt par des desseins plus grands, plus ambitieux, qui visaient à la gloire du royaume et au bonheur de l'aimée.

Enfin confortable dans les chaussures d'Arthur, il commença par un court passage par la chambre royale. Après tout, c'était sa chambre à présent et jusqu’à la levée du sortilège. Il était temps d'agir et de faire en sorte que les choses aillent enfin dans la bonne direction. Il commencerait par vérifier jusqu'où le corps d'Arthur pouvait l'emmener. Il ne pouvait qu'espérer qu'Arthur n'avait pas osé se promener avec Excalibur à la ceinture tant qu'il avait l'apparence de Lancelot. Il frémissait d'impatience à l'idée de la tenir entre ses mains et de savoir enfin quelle sensation l'Épée des rois procurait à son porteur.

Mais quand il poussa la porte de la chambre, le cœur battant à l'idée d'embrasser du regard à la fois Excalibur et Guenièvre, les deux choses qui peuplaient ses nuits depuis tant d'années, la déception et la honte revinrent de plein fouet.

Il se vit lui-même – ou plutôt son corps – de dos, Excalibur à la main.

L'Épée flamboyait de mille feux.

S'il ne lui restait pas une toute dernière miette de sang froid, il eût pu se dire qu'elle brillait même encore plus fort que d'habitude.

Arthur avait eu la même idée que lui, et avait voulu lui aussi vérifier l'allégeance de l'Épée, et celle-ci n'avait pas changé. Le tableau qui se dressait devant lui était exactement le tableau idéal et impossible qui le hantait, la situation qui ne pourrait jamais se réaliser. L’Épée brillait pour Arthur et pour personne d’autre, peu importaient les enveloppes charnelles, et il se sentit idiot d’en avoir douté ne serait-ce que pour un seul instant.

Il se força à se sortir de sa stupéfaction honteuse pour refermer la porte de la chambre et repartir sans avoir été remarqué. Qu’à cela ne tienne. L’image d’un Arthur sans son Épée serait d’autant plus facile à saboter aux yeux du peuple, et il s’en donnerait à cœur joie, à commencer par la réunion de la Table Ronde de l’après-midi même.

Ce n’est qu’au milieu de l’escalier qu’il se rendit compte : il n’avait même pas pris la peine de regarder si Guenièvre était dans la chambre.

[Votez ici pour ce qui va se passer au chapitre suivant] [lisez le chapitre suivant ici !]

[tournevole]

Viens, et qu’en toi soient rachetées toutes les morts, consolées toutes les pertes. Donne-nous l’espérance. Et si la vie est trop basse pour toi, envole-toi, échappe-toi de ces contrées. Promets-nous un autre au-delà que la poussière. Mais ne renais pas sous quelque forme que j’ignore. Ne me condamne pas à te chercher dans le réseau, l’orbe, le mufle,le bec et l’épi, à sonder l’œil blond des bêtes ou celui obtus des hommes, ne te dissimule pas dans quelque enfant que je n’aurai pas le temps de connaître femme. Reviens-moi en Eurydice, fille des feuilles, sœur de la nymphe et du cerf. Tous t’aimaient, ton père comme le surgeon d’une espèce nouvelle, aussi coriace que le soleil, tes frères comme la fin de la chasse, la senteur tourbeuse des clairières après l’averse, la fatigue bénéfique d’avoir couru longtemps sur des sabots minces et francs, tes sœurs comme une part d’elles-mêmes, parcelle de l’âme unique qui se tisse sans césure entre toutes les nymphes, qu’elles émanent des grottes, des bois, des rivières ou des mers, et même des marais fangeux et soufreux du Tartare, de la neige éternelle au sommet de l’Olympe ou de la pluie errante et des vents voyageurs, une seule âme impalpable de l’un à l’autre corps où ta mort ouvre le trou par où tout se défait et toutes meurent. Si ce n’est pour mon amour, trop récent pour durer, trop neuf pour t’y fier, reviens pour le leur, qui t’a toujours accompagnée. Tiens la promesse de ta naissance. Ils y ont cru.

Sonnets à Orphée de Rilke

[parisies]

Gardiens d’immeuble depuis des siècles,

Même les lions sont fatigués.

Le mufle cherche l’air,

Le regard est triste et perdu.

Que leur crinière est basse !

Que leur poil est terne

Des poussières de la ville…

Et pourtant,

Pour eux, pas de retraite.

Même les lions sont fatigués.

[infinitesofnought]

Comme je descendais des Fleuves impassibles, Je ne me sentis plus guidé par les haleurs : Des Peaux-Rouges criards les avaient pris pour cibles Les ayant cloués nus aux poteaux de couleurs. J'étais insoucieux de tous les équipages, Porteur de blés flamands ou de cotons anglais. Quand avec mes haleurs ont fini ces tapages Les Fleuves m'ont laissé descendre où je voulais. Dans les clapotements furieux des marées Moi l'autre hiver plus sourd que les cerveaux d'enfants, Je courus ! Et les Péninsules démarrées N'ont pas subi tohu-bohus plus triomphants. La tempête a béni mes éveils maritimes. Plus léger qu'un bouchon j'ai dansé sur les flots Qu'on appelle rouleurs éternels de victimes, Dix nuits, sans regretter l'oeil niais des falots ! Plus douce qu'aux enfants la chair des pommes sures, L'eau verte pénétra ma coque de sapin Et des taches de vins bleus et des vomissures Me lava, dispersant gouvernail et grappin Et dès lors, je me suis baigné dans le Poème De la Mer, infusé d'astres, et lactescent, Dévorant les azurs verts ; où, flottaison blême Et ravie, un noyé pensif parfois descend ; Où, teignant tout à coup les bleuités, délires Et rythmes lents sous les rutilements du jour, Plus fortes que l'alcool, plus vastes que nos lyres, Fermentent les rousseurs amères de l'amour ! Je sais les cieux crevant en éclairs, et les trombes Et les ressacs et les courants : Je sais le soir, L'aube exaltée ainsi qu'un peuple de colombes, Et j'ai vu quelque fois ce que l'homme a cru voir ! J'ai vu le soleil bas, taché d'horreurs mystiques, Illuminant de longs figements violets, Pareils à des acteurs de drames très-antiques Les flots roulant au loin leurs frissons de volets ! J'ai rêvé la nuit verte aux neiges éblouies, Baiser montant aux yeux des mers avec lenteurs, La circulation des sèves inouïes, Et l'éveil jaune et bleu des phosphores chanteurs ! J'ai suivi, des mois pleins, pareille aux vacheries Hystériques, la houle à l'assaut des récifs, Sans songer que les pieds lumineux des Maries Pussent forcer le mufle aux Océans poussifs ! J'ai heurté, savez-vous, d'incroyables Florides Mêlant aux fleurs des yeux de panthères à peaux D'hommes ! Des arcs-en-ciel tendus comme des brides Sous l'horizon des mers, à de glauques troupeaux ! J'ai vu fermenter les marais énormes, nasses Où pourrit dans les joncs tout un Léviathan ! Des écroulement d'eau au milieu des bonaces, Et les lointains vers les gouffres cataractant ! Glaciers, soleils d'argent, flots nacreux, cieux de braises ! Échouages hideux au fond des golfes bruns Où les serpents géants dévorés de punaises Choient, des arbres tordus, avec de noirs parfums ! J'aurais voulu montrer aux enfants ces dorades Du flot bleu, ces poissons d'or, ces poissons chantants. - Des écumes de fleurs ont bercé mes dérades Et d'ineffables vents m'ont ailé par instants. Parfois, martyr lassé des pôles et des zones, La mer dont le sanglot faisait mon roulis doux Montait vers moi ses fleurs d'ombre aux ventouses jaunes Et je restais, ainsi qu'une femme à genoux... Presque île, balottant sur mes bords les querelles Et les fientes d'oiseaux clabaudeurs aux yeux blonds Et je voguais, lorsqu'à travers mes liens frêles Des noyés descendaient dormir, à reculons ! Or moi, bateau perdu sous les cheveux des anses, Jeté par l'ouragan dans l'éther sans oiseau, Moi dont les Monitors et les voiliers des Hanses N'auraient pas repêché la carcasse ivre d'eau ; Libre, fumant, monté de brumes violettes, Moi qui trouais le ciel rougeoyant comme un mur Qui porte, confiture exquise aux bons poètes, Des lichens de soleil et des morves d'azur, Qui courais, taché de lunules électriques, Planche folle, escorté des hippocampes noirs, Quand les juillets faisaient crouler à coups de triques Les cieux ultramarins aux ardents entonnoirs ; Moi qui tremblais, sentant geindre à cinquante lieues Le rut des Béhémots et les Maelstroms épais, Fileur éternel des immobilités bleues, Je regrette l'Europe aux anciens parapets !

J'ai vu des archipels sidéraux ! et des îles Dont les cieux délirants sont ouverts au vogueur : - Est-ce en ces nuits sans fond que tu dors et t'exiles, Million d'oiseaux d'or, ô future Vigueur ? -

Mais, vrai, j'ai trop pleuré ! Les Aubes sont navrantes. Toute lune est atroce et tout soleil amer : L'âcre amour m'a gonflé de torpeurs enivrantes. Ô que ma quille éclate ! Ô que j'aille à la mer !

Si je désire une eau d'Europe, c'est la flache Noire et froide où vers le crépuscule embaumé Un enfant accroupi plein de tristesses, lâche Un bateau frêle comme un papillon de mai.

Je ne puis plus, baigné de vos langueurs, ô lames, Enlever leur sillage aux porteurs de cotons, Ni traverser l'orgueil des drapeaux et des flammes, Ni nager sous les yeux horribles des pontons.

– Arthur Rimbaud, "Le Bateau ivre"

[yssring]

ehe... thagt wa funy.... ok bey bye........*leave*

...... (mufled) kablowy....<-(sound of anihilaton od tha wold)