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verlaineszz · 6 months ago

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𓂃 ࣪˖ ཐིཋྀ CIAO AMORE!

𓂃 ࣪˖ ༒︎— VAMPIRE! FEM READER X HUMAN! DAZAI OSAMU

𓂃 ࣪˖ ཐིཋྀ — SUMMARY: Night emerged and Dazai Osamu, a known thief who just ran away from patrolmen, was looking for somewhere to hide for a while. It was pouring and he wore a white ruffled poet shirt that showed his neck and collarbones, some black trouser with a golden button that had an intricate embellishments on it, a black coat and some leather black leather shoes. He used his coat as cover from the rain as he ran through the streets to the forest till he outran the patrolmen and stumbled across a cave that lead him into a strange "deserted" manor, where he met his romantic demise.

๋࣭ ⭑♡♱— HORROR + FLUFF + VERY SLIGHT ANGST + SUGGESTIVE + 19TH CENTURY AU + VAMPIRE AU

A/N: Another fic about vamps 4 fun(✦ ‿ ✦)! I hope you guys enjoy this one because in this one, reader is the vampire :D! I also might write a chuuya version where he's the one that is a vampire, and for today i wanna make dazai submissive because normally i always try to write him as near as the real him as possible so i dont mischaracterize him, but I'm gonna give into the 𝖋𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖐𝖞...needs that people have and make him abit out of character.

WARNINGS! : BLOOD, DEATH, CURSING, NOT PROOFREAD!

He ran through the street, slipping a few times due to the wet groves and rocks but he manages to always get back up and run. He was Dazai Osamu.. An infamous thief, known for being promiscuous and leading wealthy women on just to steal their wealth (and hearts.)

He breathes heavily as he ran farther and farther, he ran across multiple dimly lit streets and dark alleyways as the rain poured, "STOP! STOP! GRAB HIM!"— the patrolmen yelled as dazai fleds to the forest and running in different directions, he really did not know where he was going.. He ran deeply into the dimly moonlit forest till he lost the patrolmen...he looks from behind and sees that there were no more yells and he takes a deep breath.

His coat was wet and he was abit damp too, due to the times he tripped and landed on the wet floor. He covers his body with his coat as he seeks for shelter, atleast a vacant cave to stay in for the night, he looks around the forest, the trees were tall and it was pouring, he runs farther and he looks around but as he got deeper, fog was appearing, he must be in a high cold place then? He thought.

He stumbles over a few rocks and he lets out small curses and grumbles from the obstacles he faces, he walks farther and sees a cave.. Perfect! He thought, the cave was pretty small but it could fit atleast 2 people and it was small enough that a bear wouldn't be hiding in it, the cave had a cover on the front entrance, it was leafy vines that acted like a curtain. He pushes the vines to the side and enters the cave, it was dark and deep which made a wary feeling creep down his spine. The inside was abnormally long.. But as he walks deeper he sees another curtain of leafy vines that had a small light that showed the silhouette of the exit. He thought about stopping there and just rest up but he had this curious adventurous feeling that made him want to go deeper.

He moves the leafy green vines to the side and goes in, it was foggy and windy but the sky had a luminous hint of red.. It was weird.. The sky was blue but the moon was bigger and it had a red glow. He looks down and sees faint fogs. There on the ground laid down a graveyard with tombs that had no names. This creeped him out so he decided to look more further, near the graveyard was a big manor..it had towers and a big coffin shaped window, the roofs color was black and the building itself was bricked grey with ingrown red flowers and dark green leaves on the walls that looked like it has been here for long periods of time. The exterior of the manor had 2 columns on the entrance that had 2 big lit candles on each, it had a pathway that lead to the round top wood door that had silver embellishments, and the door knob was the shape of a spade, and the door was also oddly big, taller than him.

He looks around to the side and sees a bush maze.. Based on the gothic architecture, he felt like somebody rich must be living here, he needed a place to stay.. Or hide for a while so he knocks at the door— Knock! Knock!.. No response.. He tilts his head to side and tries to knock again, but as he was about to knock, the door opened on its own and his eyes goes wide, "this must be some fancy contraption then?" he thought, leaving a small giggle before going in.

The interior of the manor was lit with candles, the floors were a shade of crimson red and it had intricate gothic patterns, the tall ceiling had silver 3d patterns like spades and more, the patterns that left a gaping space had a color of deep red, and in the middle od it all was a big black chandelier, it was lit with candles and it had little dangling ruby bats as a design. Over all the place was already big and the walls had gothic patterns, decor and candle stands on the walls with already lit candles and European like gothic marbled pillars. There in the middle was a brown staircase that showed a huge portrait in the middle of the staircase, a portrait of a lady, a lady that had an attractive appearance that had his attention.

He sees a clothing rack near the door and he hangs his coat, looking around and walking to find if anybody was home. The candles were lit so he was sure someone was home, "anyone home?.. I uh.. I let myself in if that's okay!" he announces loudly, he looks to the side to see anothed door, and as he walks closer to it, he hears a female voice. "Halt. What are your intentions here? And where did you find my manor." you say in a calm but strangely intimidating tone as you walk down the stairs, wearing a gothic royal style gown with a ruby necklace, he slowly turns his head to you with slightly wide eyes, he stands straight and smile softly, trying to make himself look more friendly since you are a pretty thing, "I'm here to ask of you a favor, and that is if i could stay the night? And i found your manor through a cave in the forest. I just need somewhere to stay for a while since it is raining." he replies back, looking back at you with truthful eyes, he analyzed your face then your body and you looked like absolute royalty. He was pretty sure you were a noble, based on your clothes and the architecture of the manor.

"What is your name?" you ask, your hand on the staircases handrail with your head tilted as a gesture of questioning. "Dazai osamu, m'lady." he replies back while looking straight at you with a soft smile, you noticed that his clothes were damp and the ends of his pants were dripping from the rain water, you walk closer to him and expect him, you were still wary but it's been so long since the last time you've hunted for a meal, you grin and look at him softly, your aura coming off as seductive but mysterious, "Perhaps i may let you stay for a while.. You're hungry, aren't you? Let us have a chat as you dine." you say with a soft grin, he smiles back and you turn to go to the dining room, which is the big round top door to the left. You turn both handles and it opens up to a big long dining table with already cooked food on the table, there were mashed potatos, a turkey, soup and vegetables on the table.. It is cliche but dazai did not care, he was too hungry to think about trusting you.

The dinner room had 3 big chandeliers lining up and a big on the side, you offer him to sit down on one of the chairs that already had a plate, utensils and a napkin. You sit down infront of him and he looks over at the food in awe as you rest your chin on the palm of your hand.

"i must say, your place is beautiful. And the food smells delicious." dazai says politely with a smile, he looked over at your expression then around the dining room, it was incredibly detailed and fancy.. And that meant one thing.. You were loaded, and he know just how to lead you own and eat up your wealth.

"Why, thank you young man." you smile warmly at him, "May i ask.. What the pretty ladys name?" he asks as he puts food on his plate, looking down at the food and looking back at you from time to time. "[Your name].." you grin as you tilt your head, your chin still resting on ur palm. "pretty name.." he says as he takes a bite of mashed potatoes, though he wasn't particularly born from richness, he learned how to please women for their wealth, and he knew what a gentleman he could be, so he remained calm while eating, trying his best not to stuff his face with the delicious food all laid out for him.

"What were you doing in the forest this late at night?" you asked, dazai looked at you and he didn't wanna tell you the truth, that he was a thief, because if he did, he was sure you'd be wary of him. "I was camping and i lost my campsite." he replied calmly, making it more believable. He was a true master at lying, he knew the tactics of a liar and he knew the power of his charm.

"Ah.. I see, you are free to stay in my manor if you please." you reply calmly, your hand leaving your chin and making your hand clasp together, dazai smiles warmly but in him he thought this was an opportunity to steal your richness— "Really? I appreciate your hospitality alot, miss [Your name]."

± ⁺‧₊˚ஓ༻♱ 🦇 ♱༺ஓ˚₊‧±

After dinner, you show him to his room in the 2nd floor and it was a guest room, it had a closet, canopy bed, a nightstand with a vase of thorned roses and a candle, candle holders with lit candles on the fancy gothic patterned wallpaper and a chandelier. It was just as fancy as the whole manor, obviously. He was pretty cold and you noticed his damp clothes once again.

"The lavatory is right down the hall of your room, my dear." you mention, he nods and smiles warmly, "I see, thank you once again." he replies back, feeling a little bit interested in the way you called him, "my dear", it was weird, since he was the one always saying pet names to the people he stole from.

You leave his room and the second you left, he immediately looks around the room, checking if there was anything valuable in there, he checked the closet and the night stand if it had anything valuable in it, but it had Nothing but towels and some pajamas. He looked at the vase and he grins, "this looks quite nice.." he mutters, thinking about stealing it after he steals your wealth.

He takes a bath and looks around the bathroom, the bathroom had diamond black, white and red patterned floors, a silver and gold chandelier, gold candle holders, and overall a gothic vibe. Again, he was quite astonished by the beauty of your manor, it was different from the others. He did quite enjoyed the dark vibes but something about you intruiged him, you were awfully mysterious but welcoming, could you have different intentions? Or were you just being nice? He was questioning as he washes up abit and leaving the lavatory. He walks around the hallway and he sees the paintings you had. All of them looked Renaissance and the frames were so detailed, he wondered what was your hierarchy in royalty and how come he hasn't heard your name before.. But whats weird was the placement of your manor. He wondered why were you so isolated? He needed to know, after all he was a man that was not just hungry for wealth but also knowledge.

Suddenly, he heard a sound of something opening which made him run back to his room and silently closing door, he sighs and sits back on his bed, going to the closet and grabbing one of the towels inside and patting his face and his self dry before getting on the bed, he sighs once again and he stares the canopy bed ceiling, analyzing you and formulating a plan. It was still raining outside and the moon glowed red with fog.

He thought about you more.. Was he abit creeped out by you abit? Yes. Does he find you attractive, indeed he does. He place the back of his hand on his forehead and it felt hot..he has been so busy thinking about a plan that he didn't even notice that he may have fallen sick, he grumbles and he whines abit, "why do i have to get sick at the worse times!?.." he mutters as he gets under the sheets and trying to sleep to ignore it, hoping it would go away.

⁺‧₊˚ஓ༻♱ 🦇 ♱༺ஓ˚₊‧⁺

The next morning, it wasn't bright. It was just a dim foggy light, it wasn't a warm colored sky but a cold one. He slowly opens his eyes and he feels a hot feeling and a headache, he was sick alright... He sighs and he slowly sits up, he then hears a knock, "come in.." he says groggily. You enter the room holding his coat, it was dry and neatly folded, he looks at you softly, you analyze his state and you walk closer to him. "Morning, my dear. I dried off your coat and came to return it. you say, staring into his eyes with a soft smile, occasionally glancing at his pale bare blood pumping neck and wondering what his blood would taste like.

He stares right back at you, noticing how much you resembled something extraterrestrial.. It was already weird to him how morning did not look morning here, a weak smile formed on his lips and he announces something, "Ah.. Thank you But i think im kinda sick right now to thank you properly, belladonna." he says with a small chuckle and smile as he stares up at your eyes, keeping his eyes off of your collarbones or lips.

You bend down abit so your face is the same level as his, talking in a reassuring tone. "How unfortunate.. I'll get you some spare clothes and a damp towel." he nods and he stares at how the top of your dress was hanging off your chest, seeing more of you collarbones, "ah.. Shit." he thought and immediately looks to the side and ignores it, internally smacking his self after you leave to retrieve the items he needed. After all, you need to prep your meal and season it all the right ways to make it more appetizing.

You walk down the hall and you obtain all the things you needed to take care of him, you think about his appearance and you weren't going to lie but he was quite a handsome young man, a man who wasn't naive but he wasn't easy to manipulate either. You brought the things you needed to him and you give him another set of clothes, a white ruffled silk poet shirt and some high waisted trousers, along a bowl of water and some cloth to use for his forehead.

⁺‧₊˚ஓ༻♱ 🦇 ♱༺ஓ˚₊‧⁺

He changes into the new clothes and the damp cloth was on his forehead, there you were sitting on the edge of the bed near him he was sitting up abit, leaning onto the headboard.

Your head turned to him as he looks into your pretty face, he stares at you with his hand on his lap..quite interested at how you are taking care of him when hes sick, which felt new to him but in a comforting way, the light outside wasn't bright but not dark either, it was a perfect cold foggy color that he found comfort in, "How are you feeling?" you ask, your hand close to his, "I'm feeling okay, thanks to you of course." he gives a soft but seductive smile with half lidded eyes, the soft dim light from outside reflecting in his brown eyes. "If you need anything, feel free to ask me okay?" you added while pushing his bangs back. a slight reaction came out of him, abit taken back from your action.. "Of course, bella." he replies back with a sly smile before you get up and leave the room.

He looks at the window that showed a soft glow and fog and he thought about you, not quite why he felt different. He hasn't even spent 3 days with you and he already felt drawn towards you, maybe it was how mysterious you were or how a dark vibe you were but you were oddly different. He has met countless other women, different faces, bodies and personalities but something drew him to you, he loves all types of women but there was this one thing about you that stroke him really well, which made him want you more.

⁺‧₊˚ஓ༻♱ 🦇♱༺ஓ˚₊‧⁺

2 days pass and you took care of him, always giving him nutritious meals and soft touches the somewhat made him flustered.. Which was rare for him since, he has been with other women before, but why do you affect him so much? He thought as he laid down on the bed, looking at the bandages on his arms and hand, it was already nightfall and he needed sleep but he couldn't. He had alot of questions in his mind and one of them was, "why do i feel like im being watched?"

Cold sweat dripped down his back as he tries to erase the feeling, but he sits up and sighs, he wanted to see you once again, it was a weird feeling and he feels like he was lovestrucked.. He decides to sleep it through and just get it over with, he lays down flat and getting under the covers, trying to feel warmth and trying to fall asleep. Eventually he slowly falls asleep.

The next morning, he felt better and he stands up it was already about 11 am since he slept pretty late, he leaves the room and goes down the hall and checking out the paintings and vases, walking down the stairs he meets your big gorgeous portrait in the middle of everything. He stands there in awe, looking how they way you were positioned and how bewitching you were, he smile softly and he touches the frame of the portrait before leaving and exploring around your manor. The gothic architecture and interior truly hit the right spots in his brain, he really did enjoy your aesthetic, thinking about how it reminded him of a vampire. He thinks more about the topic and he notices how he hasn't seen you around the manor yet.. And what a coincidence it was that it was a morning.

He continues looking around and exploring, finding skulls used as vases, a grand piano, a collection of violins and few chess boards. He looks around and sees a dagger on the middle of a coffee table in the library of your manor, as he was about to grab it, you whisper something behind him "hello.."

He jumps up abit and turns to you from behind, "oh.. Good morning bella.." he says with a soft smile, walking closer to you with a sly smile, "What are you doing here?.. Are you feeling any better?" you ask, slowly snaking your hand to his neck to his forehead to check his temperature, "im just exploring your manor.. And I'm feeling well and i don't feel sick at all."

"Wonderful.. Since you're better, would you like to spend time with me? I could really used the company." you bat your eyelashes at him with a soft smile, he looks at you and chuckles, liking your demeanor and nods before you grab his hand and lead him to spend time with you, doing multiple activities to get closer with him.. Because trust needs to be obtained before capturing prey.

Eventually, the relationship between you two got close, but the difference was that the only person that got close was dazai. You just stayed in place, letting him get closer.

You let dazai doll his self up with the prince clothing you had, that he really matched the vibe of one, bit by bit he got more obsessed and inlove like he was a kid in a candy store that couldn't get enough that his teeth were already rotting.

One night.. The two of you were dancing around the ballroom, it had silver chandeliers and black marbled pillars with ruby linings in the cracks and a golden framed mirror on the side. As you and dazai danced, his hand on your waist and yours on his shoulder, it felt like fire to him, getting to hold a pretty little like you on the dance floor made his heart pounce, he twirls you around as you both talk, you smile softly as you both talk about common interest, flashing him your white fangs, which he immediately noticed but did not seem to care from how lost he wad with you.

The movements between you two were elegant and graceful, giving him the freedom to hold you close and burying his face in your neck as violins and an orchestra played on your record player, the music that was fast turned slow slowly, he held your body close against his from behind and he kissed your neck, his hand creeping up from your waist to your chest before the music drops and returns to the usual fast tone and he twirls you around, continuing the waltz that you two both got fond of, the music slowly fades away and he holds you closely, hand in yours and he looks to the side where the mirror was placed, he sees that you had now reflection. His eyes goes wide and looks back at you, "bella? Huh? Why can't i see your pretty face in the mirror?.." he says, tucking your hair behind your ear and caressing your cheek, you chuckle and push back his bangs, moving your hand to his head to his neck but while you caress his neck, dazai felt uneasy in someway, it felt like his neck was bleeding and slit open.. But he looks at the mirror but nothing.. You weren't in the reflection and nothing was dripping dowm his neck.

You get on your tip toes and cup his cheek, pulling him in for a deep kiss, his eyes qent wide before returning the kiss, you bit his lip, making it bleed, you lick his bloody lip and pull away, his cheeks went in a deep shade of red. "Perhaps you're just seeing things osamu.. I bet you're tired from all the waltzing, aren't you? My dear." you smile softly, he looks at you with obsession in his eyes before nodding, "of course mia cara." he replies back submissively before you lead him back up stairs to your room.. At this point, he already completely forgot about stealing your wealth and now he sees you as the only one he wants.

⁺‧₊˚ஓ༻♱ 🦇 ♱༺ஓ˚₊‧⁺

You led him to your room where you removed your outerskirt, petticoat, corset, shoes, and bloomers, leaving you in a silk thin dress that was above your knees. He followed, removing his coat, shoes, gloves and other accessories, his poet shirt and his high waisted trousers were the only thing left.

He stares at your figure with a neutral but blushing expression that showed obsession, he never really thought he'd be this madly enough with a woman, let alone a woman who he met randomly. He walks closer to you and smiles softly, "Can i hold you? Please?" he asks with pleading eyes, he didn't wanna invade your privacy so he asked for permission. The second you nod, he swoops you up and holds you tightly, burying his face in between your bosom, leaving light kisses as you pat his head, you sit down on the bed as he still holds onto you, eventually on his knees as he hugs you tightly, finding comfort in your presence.

Sometimes, he wondered how your relationship between you and him came to this..

As you pat his head, he looks up at you with glossy eyes and he leaves a kiss on the tip of your nose.

"I'll go to the washroom for a second, okay bella?" he stands up, "i see. You may go." You reply with an eerie smile, as he leaves and closes the door behind him, he walks around and goes through very rooms. Since it was your room, it was in the highest floor, a floor where he has not explored yet. He opens each door quietly, always checking the surrounding area if you were around.. He opens each door across the hall way and he reaches the end of the hallway that had this wooden door that had a design like a card of The ace of spades (also known as the Spadille and Death Card) he opens the door slowly and what revealed within the room made his stomach drop, the room reeked of a scent of rotting meat and something old, the inside of the room revealed coffins and cadavers on the ground, each body was pale, had sunken eyes, cheeks, and it almost looked like it wasn't even a humans body. It looked abnormally skinny and the hair already fell out of the head, leaving leftovers of different hair colored strands.. Brown..black..brunette..

Truly, it left dazai stranded of the scene, the cadavers on the ground were already decomposing and as he looked to the side, there were jars of liquids that had eyeballs that looked like it was staring right at him.

He looks back at the decaying blood drained bodies before silently closing the door and walking back to your room, he needed to talk to you.. Or needed to escape, someway somehow.

You already knew he was gonna find out about the bodies sooner or later, but it was more appealing to see shocking looks on the faces of the men you preyed on.

He starts to silently run across the hall, looking around if you were there but as he ran, he felt arms wrapping around his body. Your arms. He looks down and he turns to you, "ah..belladonna." he says, trying to play it off, you hold his close, he didn't want you to let go but the lingering feeling of death by his door was near. But didn’t he want this? He thought, dying by the hand of a beautiful woman happily?

He wanted to be a use for you, he lets you hug him and he wraps an arm around you, you were quite surprised that he did not resist. A grin crept up your face as you grab his hand, leading him back to your room that had a black, red and white laced canopy bed, a big vanity that was bronze and had a big coffin shaped mirror that had candles.

pearls and rubies were on the open red cushioned jewlery box which was on the side of the vanity. The ceiling had paintings and intricate 3d gothic patterns for texture. Then there was The coffin shaped stained glass window from the back of your room that led to your balcony had the moonlight shining through.

The pale red glow that strangely emitted from the moon shined upon your body, dazais breath caught in his throat after seeing your figure once again. You treated him so nicely and so comforting that he might as well just die happily.

You laid him down the bed and he holds your waist, you smile warmly and kiss his neck, whispering sweet nothings before smirking and sinking your fangs deep into that beautiful vein across his neck, your fangs were deep into his neck that made him let out a soft moan, blood poured on his neck down to his chest, he breathes heavily as you suck his blood dry, he felt comforted by your presence since he has been all alone in his life.. This somehow gave him a melancholic feeling since this was his last moments. his hand was still on your waist, admiring the beauty that was infront of him.

He then started to feel light headed, he turns his head to the side, his eyes met with your vanities mirror, you weren't there in the reflection, it was just him bleeding from his neck down to his chest, he didn't want to die not seeing your face one last time, so he moves back his head to your figure as he leans his head to ur head as you drain his blood.. He had this one shameful feeling inside of him that made him wonder what caused all of this?

Ah.. Maybe perhaps the reason was because the more he stole, would leave him less than anything he have ever stolen. Maybe it was fate that brought him his greatest pleasure and also his greatest death. He kisses your forehead one last time.

"Good night, bella."

A/N: wehehehe i love the ending of this one, sorry for yapping about the surroundings more than the actual fic but thanks for reading! ♡＾▽＾♡ three cheers for sweet revenge for me plssss!!

||TAGS:

#dazai x reader #dazai x fem reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs dazai #bungo stray dogs fanfiction #horror #horror fiction #dazai angst #bungou stray dogs #dazai osamu #dazai bsd #fem reader #vampires #bsd x reader #suggestive

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metamorphesque · 2 years ago

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These images of circles and circling, revolving around a great center he names God, it makes me think of the cathedral labyrinths of Europe. Or the ancient spiral glyphs carved into rocks and cave faces. I see the circling pathway around some secret center. The road can be bewildering, twisting and turning, keeping us disoriented and uncertain of how near we are, but ever moving inward.

And that courageous line –

I may not ever complete the last one, but I give myself to it.

We walk the winding path, not out of certainty, but because it is the only path worth walking. Walking that road, quietly, with attention, one foot in front of the other, becomes meditation. It becomes worship. Each ring, whether near or far, is a layer of our lives that is blessed by our passing through it.

Walking the circling path is not only the way to the center, it is actually part of the center. We learn to participate in the center by first walking the path. Obsession with the destination becomes an impediment to reaching it. Instead, by patiently inhabiting each step, we discover the center in ourselves... and our feet naturally end up there, as well.

We walk with our whole selves –

and I still don't know: am I a falcon, a storm, or a great song?

On this roundabout road to God, we question our own nature. We encounter the mystery of self. Who and what are we really? Ultimately, it is in that questioning of a self that eludes definition where we find the still center.

The quieter we are, the more patient and open we are in our sadnesses, the more deeply and serenely the new presence can enter us, and the more we can make it our own, the more it becomes our fate; and later on, when it "happens" (that is, steps forth out of us to other people), we will feel related and close to it in our innermost being. And that is necessary. It is necessary - and toward this point our development will move, little by little - that nothing alien happen to us, but only what has long been our own. People have already had to rethink so many concepts of motion; and they will also gradually come to realize that what we call fate does not come into us from the outside, but emerges from us. It is only because so many people have not absorbed and transformed their fates while they were living in them that they have not realized what was emerging from them; it was so alien to them that, in their confusion and fear, they thought it must have entered them at the very moment they became aware of it, for they swore they had never before found anything like that inside them. Just as people for a long time had a wrong idea about the sun's motion, they are even now wrong about the motion of what is to come. The future stands still, dear Mr. Kappus, but we move in infinite space.

Ich lebe mein Leben in wachsenden Ringen, die sich über die Dinge ziehn. Ich werde den letzten vielleicht nicht vollbringen, aber versuchen will ich ihn.

Ich kreise um Gott, um den uralten Turm, und ich kreise jahrtausendelang; und ich weiß noch nicht: bin ich ein Falke, ein Sturm oder ein großer Gesang.

I live my life in widening circles (set me free)

Starry Night (Vincent van Gogh), Widening Circles by Rainer Maria Rilke (tr. Joanna Macy), Commentary by Ivan M. Granger, The Chartres Cathedral Labyrinth, Ouroboros, 1760 (a photograph by Granger), question mark symbol in Armenian, 지�� (Jimin) 'Set Me Free Pt.2', Letters to a Young Poet (by Rainer Maria Rilke), Ich lebe mein Leben in wachsenden Ringen (by Rainer Maria Rilke)

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henry-fox-biggest-stan · 1 year ago

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Since most people here don’t have TikTok (and honestly, I don’t blame them) they haven’t heard all the dps musical snippets, so I figured I’ll transcript them

(None of the songs are in any specific order) (when there are several snippets, they also aren’t in any specific order)

"Another New First Day"

From the lyrics and title, I figured this would be the first song. It’s possible I’m incorrect.

Sang by: all the poets simultaneously (except Todd)

But l'm still hopeful that it might just get better / Some senior fun 'til my acceptance letter / Nothing really grows, despite how I wish it would / I've got friends enough to know this place brings some good / No use combatting destiny, the history that's bound to be / Sit back, settle down, and give in / It's set in stone, you're set for life / This is your life, now live in it / Predictable in its way, you know how it all goes / You'll feel it in your bones / The feeling you can't shake / Everything that you should want is waiting for you at the top / Another fresh start, another pathway, another new year, another first day / Another new first day

“Desk Set”

Sang by: Neil and Todd

Snippet 1:

(Todd) How do l know this is really the truth? My lines get blurred when it comes to you / And I don't wanna play the madman in this mad show made for two

(Neil) I wouldn't hurt you Toddy. I couldn't if l tried / l've never met somebody who makes me feel half as alive as you do / Half as alive as you do / Beyond my mind

(Todd) Outside my head

(Both of them) I've kissed you once lets kiss one thousand times again / One thousand times again.

Snippet 2:

(Neil) I can't make sense of sleep-talk / I can't declutter the strangeness / I'll always be weary of wishing and its dangers / I twist and turn in panic / I think ‘til I come to / I've held it back, but damn it, I'm thinking about you / Clouds pass and bring sunshine through our window / Waking, blinding me, but setting you aglow

(Both of them) I tend to imagine and get lost in that space

(Neil) I can't help but sleeping because I determine my fate / Determine my fate at the sound of turning pages, at the sight of your face / I could spend days in the worlds I create in my head

(Both of them) Let's kiss one thousand times again and again and again and again and again / One thousand times again

"Choking On The Bone"

Sang by: Charlie

Spare me the tough love, this just can't be how the kid grows up / Is this now my epilogue? ls letting go really growing up? / Will growing ever be enough? Or is it worth just giving up? / Head first into the ebb and flow, having no say in how l go / Drowning in the shallow, sucking out the marrow, and choking on the bone

"I Can Hear It Now"

Sang by: Chris and Ginny

(Both of them) There is nothing I can do to make myself feel relevant next to him / 'Cause it's his world and we're all just living in it / My potential can be fatal / It's my living breathing downfall / Haunting moments / Stuck in corners / Keeping me cut from the picture / It's his portrait / It's his moment / And I'm here as a silent accessory

(Ginny) But silence can feel more like death to me. Fade in into the background / The black behind fluorescent lights / There's music ringing through the room, but I’m counting on silence tonight

(Chris) A moment of deep recollection / Make me feel / Make me seen / But this is the way things oughta be, for this is how they’ve always been

(Ginny) There is nothing I can do to make myself feel relevant next to him

(Both of them) Cause it's his world and we’re all just living in it

(Both of them) (in a round) My potential can be fatal / It’s my living breathing downfall / Haunting moments / Stuck in corners / Keeping me cut from the picture

(Both of them) It's his portrait / It's his moment / And I’m here as a silent accessory / But silence can feel more like death to me

"At Your Will / Choking On The Bone"

Sang by: Charlie and Cameron (they both sing at the same time, not after the other)

(Both of them) They throw me into the fire and I don't feel a thing

(Charlie) The blizzard has burnt me more than the flames / They want all of my innocence wapped up like presents / But you can’t cover up neatly what ended in ruins

(Cameron) For the first time, I don't get it / For the first time, I doubt I ever will / For the first time, I’m giving up on getting it / So crucify me at your will

"Father Made It Clear (Reprise)"

Sang by: Neil

Father made it clear / He leaves no room for hoping / I stare out of the window / The ground beneath me frozen / Snow white and pure, the pearly gates of heaven / Maybe I'll arrive to find the curtains open / Or maybe I'll arrive to find out he was right / *pause* / But father made it clear / There's no room for me here

“God Of The Cave”

Sang by: the poets (snippet 1, 2, and 4) + Chris and Ginny (snippet 3 and 4)

Snippet 1:

(Neil, spoken) Alright, alright, quiet, gentlemen. We must behave ourselves in the presence of a guest.

(Pitts, spoken) What guest?

(Neil) Who is this, that enters our sacred ground? / It's a guest, a visitor, and one of great renown! / Do we have any guesses? / C'mon give it a go, champ

(Pitts, spoken) God, Neil, I don't know, it just looks like a lamp.

(Cameron, spoken) That’s ‘cause it is just a lamp.

(Neil) See, that's where you're wrong / Gentleman, friends, men paving the way / There's a divine force here today meet: / the God of the Caaaaave!

(The poets) …

(Neil) God of the Cave, brotherhood incarnate / We follow your lead as as you set the path straight / Get on our knees, bow in faith, light and shade, praising you / God of the Cave

Snippet 2:

(Neil, spoken) Take it away Todd!

(Todd, visibly struggling) …

(Todd, spoken, to Charlie) Will you read it with me?

(Todd) We are dreaming of tomorrow when tomorrow isn't coming / There's today and there's the end / And everything is sudden

(Charlie) And still we sleep

(Charlie) We are dreaming of a glory that we don't really want / We keep it up our sleeves to preserve what we are taught.

(Todd) And still we sleep

(Both of them) We are dreaming of a new day when the new day's here already / Exalt, sob, live, take your time, and keep it steady

(All the poets) And still we sleep

Snippet 3:

(Ginny) I know exactly what I'm grateful for / I'm out on my own / Exploring the outdoors / A girl in the wild, how crazy, how vile! / Nobody by my side to babysit all night / Or compare myself to ‘til my heart's black and blue / Not scared of being in second place

(Chris) Being allowed to take up space

(Both of them) And finding home inside a cave!

(Chris) Being wanted for who I am alone / And for once not only who l know / So thank you again for inviting us / Tonight you've all provided us / A new reason to smile / And all the while / Let's be true to the people we knew we could be

(Ginny) More than a sister / More than a shadow

(Chris) More than a girlfriend / More than a sideshow / So, thank you for today / And, thank you, God of the-

(Simultaneously)

(Ginny) Out on my own

(Knox) Under her spell

(Charlie and Todd) And still we sleep

(Chris) Who l am alone

(Cameron) Use of my skills

(Meeks) No more blues

(Pitts) Living in my prime

(Neil) Paving the way

(All) Caveeeee!

Snippet 4:

(All) God of the Cave / brotherhood incarnate / We follow your lead as you set the path straight / Get on our knees, bow in faith, light and shade, praising you / God of the Cave

(Knox) I think you’ve got the right idea / Praising God for friends / I've got new and old beside me / And truth be told tonight reminds me / How I feel sitting here / Every time one is near / She's smart / She's kind / Funny and stunning / Warm like sunshine / Beautiful inside / And out just as well / One word from her lips / And I’m under her spell / Heat that expels and won't let the cold in—

(Chris, spoken) Well who is it?

(Knox, panicked, spoken) Uh Nolan!

(Chris, spoken) Nolan?

(All) Nolan?!

"Paper Ripping Song"

Sang by: the poets

(Neil) A hum from outside the window / A consistent buzz and pound / Whispers of desire ring low / I feel what I hear in that sound / I wanna be the train in the distance when it races

(Neil and Cameron) I wanna feel the gain as I'm put through the paces

(Neil, Cameron, and Todd) There's a light in the shadows of doubt / Nothing leaves you without a mark / If you haven't grown up by now / You'll be forever, forever in the dark / Who will I be...

(All the poets) Now it's all up to me, and l'm clueless / Been told what to do / But not how to do it

(Background, spoken) Rip, shred, thread!

(All the poets) My life is a maze, I can't cut the corners / Maybe today I might move forward / I'll be what I am, whoever that may be / And when I meet them l'Il see with utmost clarity

“Phone Call From God”

Sang by: Charlie

Snippet 1:

(Mr Nolan, spoken) Whoever the guilty persons are, this is your only chance to avoid expulsion from the academy

*phone rings*

When a phone rings, we're taught it's rude to hold off / So l hear a … and figure it's polite to respond

(Spoken) Mr. Nolan, it's for you. It’s God. She says we should have girls at Welton

I know it might sound crazy, but I know God when I hear her / That voice rings, booms, and stuns. She’s offering us the answer! / She's gifted us advice to repent us from all sin. There's a way to avoid all hell, yes! / lf you let girls into Welton / God herself is begging, pleading with a crackling voice / How are we to see the world if it's only seen by boys?

Snippet 2:

Now I can’t help / That I was born the chosen one / Hand-picked by the father, the holy spirit, and the son / So when they call me a prophet / What can I do but agree? / I guess the blessing of a goddess has forced a spotlight on me / And yes, there's pressure, handling it all on my own

(Ensemble, aka unnamed students) He talks to God!

But I take it in my stride and I take it over the phone

(Ensemble) God has a rotary - it makes sense if you don’t think about it too hard

Are we?

(Ensemble) Yes!

I wasn’t finished yet

(Ensemble) Sorry!

Are we ready to be the reason that God's plan falls through?

(Ensemble) No!

Then what should we do?

(Ensemble) We'll listen to you!

"Party Of Seven"

Sang by: Knox and Chris

*telephone sounds*

(Chris, on the phone, spoken) Hello?

(Knox, nervous) *hangs the phone abruptly*

(Charlie, spoken) What was that pussy-move about, Knoxious?

(Knox, spoken) She's gonna hate me! The Danburry's are gonna hate me! My parents are gonna kill me!

(The poets) …

(Knox, spoken) Alright, jeez. Carpe diem, even if it kills me.

(Chris, spoken) Hello?

(Knox, spoken) Hello, Chris?

(Chris) Yes, who am I speaking with?

(Knox, spoken) Hi! This is Overstreet! Well, no, it's Knox. I mean Overstreet is a part of my name but not all of it. It's Knox Overstreet in full, but I just go by Knox.

(Chris) …

(Knox, in a lower voice, spoken) Hey, it's Knox.

(Chris) Hi, Knox. I'm glad you called.

(Knox) She’s glad I called!

(Chris) I was actually gonna call you about Ginny's party to promote the play / I was hoping I could count on seeing you Friday.

(Knox, accusing, towards Neil, spoken) Ginny's having a party … and she didn't invite Neil … because if she DID he would've told us about it, right?

(Chris, spoken) Well, if you can't come Knox, that's totally okay.

(Knox, spoken) We'll be there!

(Chris, spoken) We'll?

(Knox) Of course! / What kind of party would it be / Without the hell-raisers of the academy? / We are going to that party / We'll do what the cool kids do / Like smoke and drink and talk to you

(Chris, spoken) What?

(Knox) Nothing! / The Dead Poets will be in attendance / That much you can count on / We've been waiting for something like this / Something to…. / Get our groove on

(Chris, spoken) All of you? That is … great!

(Knox) That is great / Just you and me / And six of my closest friends

(Chris) Well, it's this Friday at seven / So I'll see all seven of you then

(Knox) The Danburry's house / Friday at seven / I'll be there / All seven of us will be there

"Puck's Celebration"

Sang by: Neil

Snippet 1:

Years of waiting and pining have finally lead to this feeling / Happiness that's mine to keep / Nobody else I've gotta be

(Spoken) But that shrewd and knavish sprite called Robin Goodfellow. I’m Puck! I'm playing Puck!

(Background, spoken) Puck you!

Just a bed of bliss / Just to lay my head in / Just one thing that's really mine / Just one thing, just one time / God, I’m happy / Really happy / Don't think I’ve felt this kind of happy before now / Not even when I was barely ten, and my dad got me that toy train and / I played with it for days on end / I would sit and play with it / Well, play with it ‘till I broke the back engine / I guess I never did have steady hands / So much for being a surgeon then! / I still loved that train and, yes, I was happy / Happy despite the broken back engine / But this happy is different from back-engine-happy / This time I'm happy and it's just for me / With no despites and no tiny print / No more back-engine happy and no more restrict…ions

Snippet 2:

If father could see me now he'd see this smile on my face / and maybe he'd be proud of the happy boy he raised / I'd hug him and weep and say / "I love you, thank you for seeing me through" / And he'd say, "son, if you're happy, then l am too" / And he'd mean it / Each show I'm in, he'd see it / He'll buy flowers and stand in the aisle / Shouting "that's my boy!" with a genuine smile / I'd jump in his arms, he'd cradle my head, just like I'm a younger child again

“Starlit Smile”

Sang by: Chris

What is it about / His smile, his words, his gift — no, his curse / He beams, he shines / It seems he's mine if I want him to be / So, what's stopping me? / God, what's wrong with me? / But how can I know what's wrong or what's right / If I'm always running without giving a try / To the bright, warm joy of the moonlit boy

“Desk Set (Reprise)”

Sang by: Todd (talking to Neil)

Here, now I find you, abstaining from dejection / But know you don't have to be locked down by perception / The world will seek joy to crash upon, a light to bash until it's gone / But I've seen your unclouded days, your unlighted nights / I'm here for you always / I'm here now by your side, by your side

(Spoken) You’ll be alright

“At Your Will”

Sang by: Cameron

(Cameron’s villain song)

Drag my name through muddy waters / Make my face rough with blood / At least I'll know I took a stand / I followed through a steady plan / I faced it head on like a man / I did it once, l'Il do it again / They kiss the ground of this "great poet" / They sit here and leave me for dead / They weep and sob over teachings / And learn to abandon a friend

(Mr. McAllister, off stage, spoken) Gerard Pitts

My apologies for being neglected, unfair / Make me the enemy / And see if I care / Bully me, silence me, mock and ignore / They tried to brainwash me, but not anymore! / My apologies for winning, living right inside the grey / Success in dignity, morality in vain / For the first time, I don't get it / For the first time, I doubt I ever will / For the first time, l'm giving up on getting it! / So crucify me at your will

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byneddiedingo · 11 months ago

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Paul Mescal and Andrew Scott in All of Us Strangers (Andrew Haigh, 2023)

Cast: Andrew Scott, Paul Mescal, Jamie Bell, Claire Foy. Screenplay: Andrew Haigh, based on a novel by Taichi Yamada. Cinematography: Jamie Ramsay. Production design: Sarah Finlay. Film editing: Jonathan Alberts. Music: Emilie Levienaise-Farrouch.

Movies are not poems. Cinema is based on externalities, on the documentary impulse to record and preserve that which is happening outside of ourselves. Poetry is interior, a response to the impulse to record and preserve the emotional and intellectual experiences produced within us by the outside world. Making movies tends to be communal, writing poems to be private. And yet the two are always superimposing themselves on each other -- on the one hand we have poetry readings, and on the other the solitary viewing of movies in our living rooms and bedrooms. And from the beginning, moviemakers have striven for the poetic, just as poets have always tried to record the seen and heard as pathways to the emotion and the idea. Andrew Haigh's All of Us Strangers is the product of the attempt to find something like an objective correlative for a variety of emotions -- loneliness, desire, regret -- and ideas -- the centrality of family relationships, the nature of sexuality, the persistence of the past. Haigh finds it in a ghost story, a well-worn trope for literature and film, and tantalizes us into questioning how much of the experience depicted in the film is external and how much is interior -- whether Adam (Andrew Scott) actually encounters the ghosts or is projecting his psychological disorder onto the world. One critic wrote that she approached the ending of the film hoping that we would find out that what we have been watching is actually a story Adam has written. But that would have been on the order of the banal "it was all a dream" conclusion that has been foisted on us too often. Haigh wisely leaves us with questions -- maybe too many for the film's own good. His aim is to unsettle us, in the way the loose ends of a poem, the lines and images that don't quite resolve into explicit statements, linger with us. It helps that the movie is perfectly cast, with actors who can translate longing and loss into visible experience. If you've ever been cautioned about a movie to not take it too literally, this is one of those times.

#All of Us Strangers #Andrew Haigh #Paul Mescal #Andrew Scott

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coyotecoining · 21 days ago

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I asked ChatGPT to write a story about an endogenic RAMCOA system celebrating Christmas

The Mosaic of Miracles

In the realm of Elyria, where the skies shimmered like stardust and the land whispered secrets to those who listened, the RAMCOA system known as The Kyrium resided. A tapestry of diverse alters, each with their own distinct voice, woven together by the fabric of their collective unconscious.

As Christmas Eve descended upon Elyria, the Kyrium's alters stirred, each one responding to the festive energy that permeated the air. Lyra, the melodic poet, hummed a gentle carol, while Kael, the brooding strategist, plotted the perfect holiday battle plan. Lila, the whimsical dreamweaver, crafted a fantastical winter wonderland, replete with sugarplum fairies and candy cane forests.

Meanwhile, Renn, the curious cartographer, navigated the labyrinthine corridors of their mental landscape, seeking hidden pathways and forgotten memories. His quest led him to a dusty, cobweb-covered chamber deep within their psyche, where a mysterious, ornate box awaited.

The box, adorned with intricate symbols and markings, radiated an otherworldly glow. Renn, sensing its significance, carefully opened the lid, releasing a puff of glittering, starlight-infused smoke. As the mist dissipated, a shimmering, ethereal figure emerged: the Guardian of Elyria's Christmas Miracles.

"Greetings, Kyrium," the Guardian said, her voice a soft, celestial breeze. "I have been sent to bestow upon you a special gift, one that will strengthen your bonds and manifest your deepest desires."

The Kyrium's alters gathered around, intrigued by the Guardian's enigmatic promise. Lyra's poetry flowed like a river, as she asked, "What is this gift, dear Guardian?" Kael's strategic mind whirred, calculating the potential benefits and risks. Lila's imagination ran wild, envisioning a winter wonderland of unparalleled magic. Renn, ever the cartographer, sought to chart the Guardian's words, searching for hidden meanings and secret passages.

The Guardian smiled, her eyes twinkling like stardust. "The gift is the essence of Elyria itself: the Mosaic of Miracles. A mystical artifact that will amplify your collective creativity, fostering harmony and balance within your system."

As the Guardian vanished, leaving behind a trail of glittering stardust, the Kyrium's alters reached out, each one touching a facet of the Mosaic. Instantly, their minds merged, their thoughts and emotions intertwining like the threads of a rich tapestry.

In this state of unity, the Kyrium's creativity burst forth, manifesting a winter wonderland of unparalleled beauty. Snowflakes danced in the air, each one a unique, intricate design. Trees shimmered with a soft, luminescent glow, their branches adorned with ornaments that reflected the Kyrium's diverse personalities. The sky transformed into a kaleidoscope of colors, a living, breathing manifestation of their collective imagination.

As the night wore on, the Kyrium's alters explored their winter wonderland, marveling at the magic that flowed from their merged minds. Lyra's poetry wove a spell of wonder, while Kael's strategic prowess ensured the wonderland's stability. Lila's imagination crafted fantastical creatures, and Renn's cartography skills mapped the ever-changing landscape.

In this state of harmony, the Kyrium realized that their true gift was not the Mosaic of Miracles, but their own, unique bond – a bond that allowed them to create, to dream, and to thrive as a tapestry of diverse, yet interconnected, alters.

As Christmas morning dawned, the Kyrium's winter wonderland began to fade, leaving behind a sense of wonder and awe that would stay with them throughout the year. For in the realm of Elyria, the magic of the season was not just a fleeting dream, but a testament to the power of unity and creativity that resided within the heart of their RAMCOA system.

(THIS IS BEAUTIFUL BUT SOULLESS WHAT HAVE I DONE)

-Amnesia

#rq 🌈🍓#pro rq 🌈🍓#did system #system stuff #sysblr #christmas #chatgpt

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musingsonthemahabharata · 1 year ago

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on writing as an act of transcendence

the beautiful image is a painting of Sarasvatī that belongs to a set of sixty which chronologically depict a tale told in the Mahābhārata (as well as in the Mārkaṇḍeya Purāṇa and in the Śrīmad Devībhāgavata), that of King Hariścandra. this painting is one of two beginning the set, and it depicts the invocation of Sarasvatī, the Goddess of knowledge, speech and poetry, who is invoked as the flow of (and to flow the) words and wisdom of the telling. Gaṇeśa is invoked, as well.

in a seminar i recently went to, we discussed sacred texts, and the invocation of Gods & Goddesses in their openings - the muse in the Illiad, the deities in the Sanskrit texts etc. it made me reflect on writing as an inherently transcendental act. as in, it is not you who writes (or creates etc). it is being written through you, and it is therefore futile to take ownership for it.

as a 'writer', i oftentimes read my work and feel as if it was written by someone else. of course, my biases seep in (in editing, especially), but if i fully connect, the experience is that of it being written through me, and not by me.

i understand the invocation of the muses and Goddesses to reflect, in part, this understanding: that the act of creation subsumes and transcends the self or ego, even if only momentarily. that in creating, we tap into and open pathways within that we usually do not access customarily, when we are so entrenched in our sense of self that the energy can only flow in one way (that of sustaining our identity and the patterns which construct it). in creating, the energy can be freed to flow in new or in more ways. this is how i understand the surrendering to the muse or to one's art that is so lauded by poets. 🦢

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thatchaoticdesigirl · 1 year ago

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It's that time of the year again...

The city has been cleansed with the after showers of monsoon. Blue sky peeking through fluffy clouds resembling the cotton candy carried by the street vendors. The smell of durga puja coming in through the open windows. Standing outside Kumortuli is a small smiling face in shabby clothes and dirty hair. The departure of idols might be significant for the whole city, but not for the little boy whose father will be coming home after months of crafting the inanimate joy that would fill the city for the next 10 days.

The single mother spent her bonus on the little piece of jwellery she had seen her daughter longingly looking at in Gariahat. The transferred father took a few extra days off. A son remembered his father on the banks of the Ganges, while the recently widowed woman longingly glanced at the idol's red saree. They felt what the poets may describe as peace and happiness but for them it was just plain old durga puja.

She arrived with her children, shaking the whole city from its slumber, a ray of hope within the gloomy times. Every year she arrives with the same smiling face and listens to all our problems. To the lost boy trying to find his place in society, to the queer person trying to figure out why they were wrong, to the girl who never saw her father after that day in court, to the lady who never knew what happened to her daughter the night she went out with her friends. Lives filled with tragedy after tragedy lie at Maa's feet asking for a way ahead. Maa listens. She gives them hope and sometimes tragedies do go away. The boy lands a job while the queer person is invited back to their family. The girl recieves a gift from her father while the lady cries at the station,report in hand. Maybe not happy endings, but closure. That's what Maa gives. Hope is just the surface of the abyss of our mind which actually seeks closure.

The bright lights and bamboos wrapped in colourful clothes stand as a symbol of the hardwork of all those people who worked relentlessly to make this festival a pathway to overcome tragedy. The people live another day to fight, blessed by Maa.

At the break of dawn on Mahalaya, someone replaces the oxygen with adrenaline, and for 10 days, the city does not sleep.

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the-perfect-wagnerite-again · 7 months ago

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Some of the most frustrating philosophy arguments I've ever had have been with people who have absolutely no grasp of mathematics. Math, especially geometry and calculus, genuinely opens up your mind to new pathways of thinking that you simply cannot reach by shuffling around words like a talentless, unimaginative poet. There's nothing more frustrating than trying to explain basic mathematical axioms (as they relate to something like logic or spacial readoning) to someone who can't solve a function and yet desperately wants to affect above-average intelligence. Go back to drooling over Nietzche, retard, the adults are talking.

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daisychainsandbowties · 11 months ago

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"It was wrong, Ava knew, to call something like that a vector. She studied mathematics, so she’d been told before to stop using the word like a poet and start applying it, instead, to what it represented. But still, it was hard not to slip into poetry around that word, looking at Beatrice and the angle of her face. The way she stood with those snacks bundled loosely in her arms, in the drawn-out moments that were becoming more common with her; Ava aware of every filament she stirred with the pathways of her body.

A vector is a thing that has both magnitude and direction. Any line can go somewhere, but a vector does it with velocity. Ava’s not a poet, but she figures that girls can be polynomials, if they want. She thinks sometimes they just are."

I NEED you to know. I am in love with you. I actually cannot put into words how much I love these two paragraphs in a very messy and personal way. Maths is somehow ontologically interesting in that it DOESN'T exist and yet defines everything, in that every theorem has a proof

SO often people take science and poetry as antithetical when they're actually synonymous. Yeah a girl can be a polynomial. Reading a good poem feels like a change of basis. Anything can mean anything

i always like to imagine that ava’s very aware of the mathematics of any space she occupies. it’s like… motion is meaning to her and it’s also something she’s painfully aware about; the sheer mechanics of it, how difficult every stretch and turn was to relearn. i think in this au especially she’s always in a place where it matters to her. how things move is life and death in a field of asteroids strewn with tiny humans, so she has to know it all. has to understand motion and her frame of reference (both in the Cartesian sense and in relativistic terms) and her small position inside it all.

i think that where lilith’s a creature of instinct almost all the time when it comes to physical things (not in other ways - that girl is in her head a lot, and it shows, and so she’s a navigator, going somewhere all the time, and surely moving isn’t the same as running, right?)

and then beatrice is suffocatingly precise, ticking unsteadily in time with her instruments, too afraid to touch some things, too eager to touch others. against those two ava’s the in-between of “yeah, i just know how this works. isn’t it obvious?” but she’s also got this intricate understanding of just how the laws of motion apply, and especially to her. i think it’s the cost of it all, for her - to understand so perfectly how things move because she spent so long just observing, like an astronomer who’s now an astronaut. and gay about it.

#anyway thank you 🥺💖 i’m glad that part resonated with you #sorry if this reply doesn’t make too much sense my brain isn’t working lately 🫠#alien 1979 au #ask

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goodluckclove · 7 months ago

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An Interview Series

Stop One: The Patchwork Fields with @mushroommanchanterelle

i've decided to start a new series where i interview my colleagues and other lesser-known writers of tumblr. in each stop of my virtual travels, the writer will pick the location and soundtrack for our conversation. this was a really good conversation with @mushroommanchanterelle, where we discussed a little bit about diversity and representation in the world of the disabled writer. join me below and get some insight about the fledgling brilliance our community has to offer!

Now Playing: Slime Rancher 2 OST

“Steps of clear quartz ascend through inky void, the indigo darkness broken only by speckles of warm, yellow light. The staircase of near invisible steps seems to last an eternity, leading to a land mass afloat in the cold sea of stars. Now visible at the final step is a gate, tall and looming, made seemingly of ice cold cast iron. Through the bars, there are vast and rolling hills, colorful and bright. The gates open, revealing the landscape in full.

Taking steps in, the chill in the air is dulled by the warmth of the ground, radiating through the feet and permeating the soul. In place of grass, the ground is covered in the soft fabric of an enormous quilt, spreading as far as the eye can see. Barren trees dot the landscape, pillows settled at their roots, illuminating the landscape with jars of luminous moss tied to their branches by unknown creatures. Their yellow glow matches that of the stars above, giving off golden radiance only rivaled by the morning rays of fresh sunshine. The air smells of rain and fresh linen.”

It is soft. It is safe.

where are we?

Ash: The Patchwork Fields.

can you explain what that is?

Ash: It's a place I go to in my head whenever I need to center myself. It's not a place in anything I've written, or at least not yet. The Patchwork Fields are supposed to be really calming. Like...being nestled under a blanket fort reading a book with a flashlight on a cold winters night. They're a series of floating islands amidst a night sky, with quartz steps acting as a pathway between them. that sounds nice.

i'm honored to be here with you today. do you think you could start by introducing yourself in whatever way you feel comfortable with? maybe saying any qualifiers or communities you identify with?

Ash: I'm really happy to be here with you today as well. My name is Ash, but my current screen name is mushroommanchanterelle. I'm a self taught artist, a writer, a poet, and am just a few months shy of having a bachelor's in English.

this is legitimately the first time i’m learning your name! what a delight. so we've been talking for some time now about your project Fault Lines. It's how i actually was first drawn to your work as an artist on tumblr. do you think you could talk a little bit about the premise? i know that's a hefty task for a writer.

Ash: Ah yeah. I always draw a blank whenever I'm asked about the premise. I'll do my best! Fault Lines is a fantasy novel that's been manhandled into science fantasy. It revolves around Magnus Experah, Ruth Pothec, Theodorre Ursana, and Advent Natura as they find their way through an energy crisis that's slowly shutting down their society.

i specifically wanted to talk about magnus as a character if you don't mind. i'm very fascinated my them and their development. i actually wanted to interview you first in this new series because you made a comment saying you were particularly attached to them because of wanting to write a depiction of a disability you both share. would you feel comfortable talking about that?

Ash: Right. Shortly after the main plot is announced, Magnus develops a condition known as PNES, or psychogenic non-epileptic seizures. It's a conversion disorder that causes seizures, as the name suggests. They're triggered by stress, and you're completely awake and aware when they happen, but because there isn't anything physically happening in the brain like an epileptic seizure, there isn't any medication that can help. It's managed through therapy and thought exercises. Of course, there's medication that can help things like anxiety that exacerbates the condition, but there isn't anything you can take for the seizures themselves.

i've done a little research into PNES, which i'm sure you have too. i'm sure it's probably as disheartening to read the statistics as it is for me when i research conditions i've been diagnosed with. from what i gathered it seems like a great example of an "invisible illness". i read that upwards of 40% of adult patients considered to have drug-resistent epilepsy actually suffer from it. can you share a little bit about your history with PNES?

Ash: I developed it in 2018 when I was attempting to work full time and go to school full time, but I had been having nervous ticks for years before then. I started having them every minute at first, and after a few months they started calming down to every few minutes, then every hour or so. Lately, they only happen when I'm out in public or doing something stressful at home. Loud noises, crowds, and some smells trigger them, so I have to be careful where I go. Through various treatments and therapy, I've managed to reduce them enough to where I no longer need a wheelchair, but I still can't be in areas with horns, alarms, yelling, etc.

so it's a common experience for artists with some form of born or hereditary neurodivergence to have that unique perspective alter the themes, motifs, and sometimes even color and shape of the work they do in the case of visual artists. there's the near word salad of philip k. dick in the midst of his bouts of psychosis, or the warped cats of louis wain after a head injury triggered schizophrenia. even, on a lesser scale, there is the way neurodivergence affected the works of poets sylvia plath, anne sexton, and even shel silverstein. do you think the same could be said about psychogenic illnesses? how much of your living with PNES can be seen in what you create - and the way you create?

Ash: I've definitely heard that before, and I've seen it in the work of some of my friends. Since I developed PNES I've been making an effort to make more of my characters live successfully with various disabilities, Magnus included. After having been bedridden and in a wheelchair for years, I pay more attention to mobility devices and their functions. I think there are other things going on in my life that affect my creations more than my PNES though.

can you tell me more?

Ash: It's a bit hard to explain. I put a piece of my soul into each character I write. I'm autistic, I have PTSD, and I have borderline personality disorder. As a result, some of my characters struggle with expressing themselves and understanding others, or are blunt and don't understand social cues. Some of them struggle with looking too deeply into patterns. A lot of them have struggles that pertain to black and white thinking, where they struggle to keep friends and loved ones around after big fights. I suppose the old saying that you "write what you know" is true in that extent. Characters are the thing I think I spend the most time on, and little pieces of who I am show in each and every person I write into existence. That isn't to say that I agree with all of their motives, or that all of them are self inserts. I just write from my own experiences and make characters the way I know how to feel and talk and see the world.

do you think as neurodivergent and disabled writers, we have a certain duty or obligation to fit representation into a standard of some kind? do you feel the need to label experiences in terms anyone can look up and understand, like by directly referring to a character as autistic, or would you rather just allow your experiences and perspective to exist through your work in a way that's left for anyone to interpret and relate to?

Ash: I've got a lot of thoughts on this one. I definitely don't think anyone has a single obligation to fit ANYTHING into a standard. Everyone's experience is different. Everyone solves problems a different way. I don't think that you HAVE to label your characters in any capacity if you don't want to. I think representation is important, and characters that are explicitly stated to be neurodivergent, disabled, queer, etc. need to exist in media of all types.

It's good to have labels on some characters for folks to learn about the different aspects of life that aren't heterosexual, cis, neurotypical, or able-bodied, and for the groups being represented to have someone to identify with, but I don't think that every character who displays characteristics of being neurodivergent or disabled or queer or any other group have to have a defined label. That being said, I don't tend to label my characters as anything unless it's going to be a core element of a story. Magnus has a PNES diagnosis in story because I've never seen PNES discussed in fiction, and that's something I want to see change, but other characters of mine aren't outright stated to have autism because that's not the focal point of their story.

has your perspective towards neurodivergence has shifted do to your age? i think we're both in our mid to late 20s – but then again, i didn't know your actual name until just now so i could be wrong. either way, is the sort of optimistic perspective of characters living successfully with disabilities (what you described earlier as your goal in Fault Lines) something you could've wrote in an earlier time in your life?

Ash: I'm in my mid 20s, yeah. My perspective towards neurodivergence has shifted after being diagnosed and treated properly. There was a time in my youth that I only wrote my neurodivergent characters suffering because that's what I was living with. I couldn't write what I'm writing today back then, because I was convinced that being neurodivergent and disabled was being doomed ot a life of misery and bitterness. However, with time and therapy and proper medications, I've experienced that you CAN live successfully with a disability, and that being neurodivergent isn't a sentence to being miserable your entire life. I now write stories about successfully living with disabilities in my mid 20s because I could have benefited from reading those stories when I was young and getting my first diagnosis.

i like that. if you could see that person in your mind, who only saw their conditions as a sort of curse or sin, what would you say to them?

Ash: I'd give them a hug and tell them that it gets better. Once you're in control of your own life and medical choices, it gets better. Once you can get help without being afraid of what you have to say, life opens up and the clouds part and you're HAPPY.

beautiful. so that's all of the questions i have, and i think that's a great bow to kind of tie all of this together. do you think you could take this time to share some of your hopes in joining the community here on tumblr? maybe say how people here can best support you?

Ash: Thank you very much for interviewing me. I think I'm just grateful to have a place where we can collectively share our thoughts on writing. It's like...a really big refrigerator that we can pin our work up proudly for other people to see. There are so many creative stories and styles and characters that are all collected in one tag and I think that's wonderful. I hope to be able to add to that collective wealth of literature one day along side the rest of you.

thank you so much to ash for allowing me to pick their brain! they've been such a kind and fascinating person to interact with since i've known them, and i highly encourage you all to follow them as they develop their current novel. stay tuned as i catch the next internet train out of the patchwork fields and onto my next destination!

next stop

#writeblr #writing community #writers on tumblr #authors of tumblr #on writing #writing #queer writers #disabled writer #pnes #neurodivergent #aspiring author #writers refuge interviews

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laddersofsweetmisery · 7 months ago

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There's nothing I can't stand more than elitist perspectives from supposed academics. Academia is a PRIVILEGE to pursue. You were lucky. You had just the right foundation, just the right experiences, and just the right support.

I was homeless, raised by addicts, and severely malnutritioned from the ages 12 to 20. I remember having to melt snow in the winter just to wash my hair and it was still a privilege for me to acquire a literary degree. I had just the right people looking out for me and just the right life experiences to encourage my interests. I've never considered myself without privilege nor have I believed 'I worked hard to get here, so I deserve it.' The truth is that thousands of people work hard and everyone deserves it, but their resources differed from mine and yours. I just had the right circumstances to encourage my educational pursuits.

Not everyone has that.

Even in my most unluckiest moments, I was lucky to receive an education.

If someone stumbles into dark/light academia for the vibes alone and ends up learning about art history, poetry, new books to read and obsess over...then THAT'S A GOOD THING. I view the aesthetic as a gateway towards learning. Telling others they have no place in academia is so counterintuitive and can make them resentful. If you can make education more palatable and more easily digested, why wouldn't you support that? If you truly love academia, then you will love all facets and not just the parts that allow you to stroke your ego.

I believe education is a privilege and we must take our privileges as a chance to educate ourselves so that we can educate others at a more affordable rate. To me, having the opportunity to receive a quality education means you now have a civic duty to pass on that knowledge to those who couldn't afford the same opportunities.

Education is not a pathway to superiority, it is a journey towards empathy and civic engagement.

I share my poetry and other writings not because I think I'm good. I share because someone somewhere might need to hear it. I found my love for literature when I stumbled into Instagram poetry at 13 years old--a realm of poetry that receives immense backlash from supposed 'lovers-of-the-written-word.' Now, I obsess over John Milton, the Brontë's, and Mary Hays.

Accessibility is vital to academic communities. These communities that utilize the aesthetic to encourage involvement are doing good in the world even if you think it to be frivolous. They are exposing those who may not have originally been interested in education due to their foundations and experiences to wear a cozy sweater, make some tea, pick up a book, head to their local art museums, and pursue something they didn't know was available to them.

I support the Colleen Hoover girlies, I support the Instagram poets, I support the aesthetic followers, I support ACOTAR, I support fanfiction. I support words and what they can do for others no matter the form.

In a world where literacy rates are at a low, encouragement and accessibility are our greatest tools.

Do not weaponize education for your own egocentric objectives. It is a selfless communal endeavor to enrich the way we understand, interact, and positively influence the institutions around us.

Most children enjoy learning about the world around them, ask yourself, 'What made them stop loving it?' and then, ask yourself, once more, 'Could it have been people like me?'

Mary Hays via Mr. Francis said it best: "When the minds of men are changed, the system of things will also change...Let us remember, that vice originates in mistakes of understanding, and that, he who seeks happiness by means contradictory and destructive, is emphatically the sinner. Our duties, then, are obvious--If selfish and violent passions have been generated by the inequalities of society, we must labour to counteract them, by endeavoring to combat prejudice, to expand the mind, to give comprehensive views, to teach mankind their true interest, and to lead them to habits of goodness and greatness...Let it, then, be your noblest ambition to co-operate with, to join your efforts, to those of philosophers and sages, the benefactors of mankind...everyone in his sphere may do something; each has a little circle where his influence will be availing."

-Memoirs of Emma Courtney, by Mary Hays

For those interested in learning from the security of home when you can't afford the privilege of a classroom, here are some links that I've enjoyed and perused multiple times throughout the years. They are FREE OF ANY COST. Have fun with education in whatever ways you can and feel free to ask me if your interested in further resources or just want to chat. I don't know everything, but I'll do what I can to help. Check out Perseus at https://www.perseus.tufts.edu/hopper/

Holy shit, they've got it all! I use it for their Dictionary of Greek and Roman biography and mythology, but there is so much more to learn to and explore. The Mission of Perseus: "Our larger mission is to make the full record of humanity - linguistic sources, physical artifacts, historical spaces - as intellectually accessible as possible to every human being, regardless of linguistic or cultural background."

Check out Project Gutenberg at https://www.gutenberg.org/

Project Gutenberg is a library of over 70,000 free eBooks! They have a lot of free classics, so if you're struggling to afford books for school, this is an excellent resource!

Love poetry? Interested in Emily Dickinson? Then, read The Prowling Bee at https://bloggingdickinson.blogspot.com/?m=1

The Prowling Bee is a blog by Susan Kornfield. I love hearing her insight into the poems and hearing from someone passionate about Dickinson's work!

Check out the John Milton Reading Room at https://milton.host.dartmouth.edu/reading_room/contents/text.shtml

This one is a favorite of mine! It includes the complete poetry and selected prose of John Milton, with introductions, research guides, and hyperlinked annotations.

Interested in journalism? Check out The Outlaw Ocean Project at https://www.theoutlawocean.com/

The Outlaw Ocean Project is a non-profit journalism organization based in Washington D.C. that produces investigative stories about human rights, labor, and environmental concerns on the two thirds of the planet covered by water. The content they produce is so vital, I couldn't recommend it more highly.

Additionally, you can sign up for some newsletters so you can receive articles in your inbox everyday! My favorites are:

The Literary Hub at lithub.com

The Literary Hub is an organizing principle in the service of literary culture, a single, trusted, daily source for all the news, ideas and richness of contemporary literary life.

JSTOR Daily at https://daily.jstor.org/

JSTOR Daily is a daily magazine that contextualizes current events with scholarship found on JSTOR. They are published by JSTOR, the nonprofit digital library of scholarly journals, books, images, audio, research reports, and primary sources. JSTOR Daily stories are what we like to call academic adjacent—they are carefully researched and written by experts for a general audience. Each piece provides historical, scientific, literary, political, and other background for understanding our world.

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whisperthatruns · 8 months ago

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The Piano Player Explains Himself

When the corpse revived at the funeral, The outraged mourners killed it; and the soul Of the revenant passed into the body Of the poet because it had more to say. He sat down at the piano no one could play Called Messiah, or The Regulator of the World, Which had stood for fifty years, to my knowledge, Beneath a painting of a red-haired woman In a loose gown with one bared breast, and played A posthumous work of the composer S—— About the impotence of God (I believe) Who has no power not to create everything. It was the Autumn of the year and wet, When the music started. The musician was Skillful but the Messiah was out of tune And bent the time and the tone. For a long hour The poet played The Regulator of the World As the spirit prompted, and entered upon The pathways of His power—while the mourners Stood with slow blood on their hands Astonished by the weird processional And the undertaker figured his bill. —We have in mind an unplayed instrument Which stands apart in a memorial air Where the room darkens toward its inmost wall And a lady hangs in her autumnal hair At evening of the November rains; and winds Sublime out of the North, and North by West, Are sowing from the death-sack of the seed The burden of her cloudy hip. Behold, I send the demon I know to relieve your need, An imperfect player at the perfect instrument Who takes in hand The Regulator of the World To keep the splendor from destroying us. Lady! The last virtuoso of the composer S—— Darkens your parlor with the music of the Law. When I was green and blossomed in the Spring I was mute wood. Now I am dead I sing.

Allen Grossman, The Ether Dome and Other Poems: New and Selected (1979--1991) (New Directions, 1991)

#allen grossman #the piano player explains himself #the ether dome and other poems #the ether dome and other poems: new and selected (1979--1991)#poetry

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persianatpenn · 4 months ago

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خانه سیاه است

Forugh Farrokhzad, a famed Iranian poet, committed her rather short life to poetic justice in its various forms. Whether through her bare articulation of female desire or her advocacy for a world free of capitalist excess, she imagined a liberated world during a highly tenuous period of global history. Farrokhzad established herself clearly in modern Persian poetics via her integration of this exact controversial content into traditional written forms, such as chaharpareh. Though most celebrated for her lettered arts, Farrokhzad likewise dabbled in filmmaking in Iran and much of Western Europe, including France, Germany, and Italy. Her most viewed film, The House is Black (خانه سیاه است), juxtaposes the life of Iranians in a “leper colony” with words from the Old Testament, the Qu’ran, and her poetry. Predicated on a controversial move in-and-of-itself — placing one’s own verbal creations alongside venerated scriptures — Farrokhzad’s film received little acclaim in Iran at the moment of its release (1963). It has, however, since accumulated attention in the international film community, most recently taking the big screen at the Venice International Film Festival. And thus, although Farrokhzad passed at the early age of thirty-two, her words, memories, and imaginations live beyond her. They, in fact, travel back to Italy, a primary locus of her filmic inspiration.

This weekend, my friends and I gathered to watch خانه سیاه است. The black and white film proved an enjoyable, if jolting, experience. From it, I learned much about particular loci of Iranian religious practice prior to the 1979 revolution. Farrokhzad aptly shows how the populations suffering from leprosy at the time were both abandoned by mainstream Iranian society, and simultaneously, did everything they could to maintain some sense of cultural normalcy. Religion seemed to be a primary vehicle for that assimilationist drive, offering a universal pathway towards oneness in culture and spirit. The film includes many scenes of prayer, much of which are familiar to me. I gained new exposure, however, to the sound of Muslim prayers in the Persian tongue. Though the words are largely the same, their pronunciations differ, both due to a Farsi accent and the disabilities experienced by those in the colony. That latter point particularly stuck out to me, as it highlighted the mechanisms through which this disease dug deeply into Iranian society’s function, so much so that many experienced a permanently changed tongue.

The illness required a new language that foregrounded creation. Out of some level of inevitable decay, she seems to say, the Iranian people, no matter their condition, will create again. The film, therefore, highlighted a mix of religion, gratitude, and struggle in Iran during the historical period. I began to thus think of the Islamic Revolution and the fact that Farrokzhad’s film was produced shortly before its outset.

At a practical level, the film also offered exposure to the Persian language. It was fruitful to concentratedly listen to poetry, the Qu’ran, and other scripture in fluent Persian. The movie also displayed Farsi writing in children’s classrooms, although briefly. Nonetheless, I was able to pick up, at least partially, on the ways in which young Iranians learned the language. Such an exercise proved productive as I undertake a similar endeavor. Though watching the film felt somewhat natural to me, given that I have studied Farrokhzad in other contexts, my friends noted their surprise that Iranian women were creating films and displaying themselves therein for seemingly time immemorial. My experience with the film, therefore, presented the opportunity to emphasize the fact that women and other minorities have always existed as productive forces in “Middle Eastern” society. They are intentionally made less visible by the Orientalist powers-to-be in both the “Western” and “Eastern” cultural hemispheres. By engaging with their films and the language they require, then, we have the opportunity to unearth history otherwise condemned. I learned, too, that Farrokhzad’s poetry was banned in Iran after the 1979 revolution. The experience, then, was educational to the extent that it brought Farrokhzad’s trying words to the small world of Philadelphia, if for a moment.

Although the movie was novel in its style, following some mixed thread of Iranian modernism and neorealism, it did resemble aspects of Arab visual culture. We, too, tend to integrate poetry, essential to our linguistic tradition, into all artistic mediums. It was exciting to experience Iranian poetry in this familiar venue, understanding the ways in which Farrokhzad might have imagined her words taking material form. I look forward to exploring more Iranian poetry and film in the future. For your viewing, I have attached a link to the short film alongside some screen captures of moments and words I found notable.

Farrokhzad’s film offers an immersion into Iranian poetics, film, and politics at a turning point in the country’s history. It is an important reminder of the role women have historically played in global cultural production and a formidable opportunity to expose oneself to diverse usages of the Persian tongue.

Farrokhzad, Forugh. The House is Black. Directed by Forugh Farrokhzad. Tehran: Golestan Film Studio, 1963

~Bilal

youtube

#iranian cinema #iran #persian #farsi #forugh farrokhzad #iranian poetry #Youtube

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