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artdaily7 · 4 years ago

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Albert Bierstadt 1871-1873 Sierra Nevada, oil on canvas, Reynolda House Museum of American Art

The Defeat Of Youth by Aldous Huxley I. UNDER THE TREES. There had been phantoms, pale-remembered shapes Of this and this occasion, sisterly In their resemblances, each effigy Crowned with the same bright hair above the nape's White rounded firmness, and each body alert With such swift loveliness, that very rest Seemed a poised movement: ... phantoms that impressed But a faint influence and could bless or hurt No more than dreams. And these ghost things were she; For formless still, without identity, Not one she seemed, not clear, but many and dim. One face among the legions of the street, Indifferent mystery, she was for him Something still uncreated, incomplete. II. Bright windy sunshine and the shadow of cloud Quicken the heavy summer to new birth Of life and motion on the drowsing earth; The huge elms stir, till all the air is loud With their awakening from the muffled sleep Of long hot days. And on the wavering line That marks the alternate ebb of shade and shine, Under the trees, a little group is deep In laughing talk. The shadow as it flows Across them dims the lustre of a rose, Quenches the bright clear gold of hair, the green Of a girl's dress, and life seems faint. The light Swings back, and in the rose a fire is seen, Gold hair's aflame and green grows emerald bright. III. She leans, and there is laughter in the face She turns towards him; and it seems a door Suddenly opened on some desolate place With a burst of light and music. What before Was hidden shines in loveliness revealed. Now first he sees her beautiful, and knows That he must love her; and the doom is sealed Of all his happiness and all the woes That shall be born of pregnant years hereafter. The swift poise of a head, a flutter of laughter— And love flows in on him, its vastness pent Within his narrow life: the pain it brings, Boundless; for love is infinite discontent With the poor lonely life of transient things. IV. Men see their god, an immanence divine, Smile through the curve of flesh or moulded clay, In bare ploughed lands that go sloping away To meet the sky in one clean exquisite line. Out of the short-seen dawns of ecstasy They draw new beauty, whence new thoughts are born And in their turn conceive, as grains of corn Germ and create new life and endlessly Shall live creating. Out of earthly seeds Springs the aerial flower. One spirit proceeds Through change, the same in body and in soul— The spirit of life and love that triumphs still In its slow struggle towards some far-off goal Through lust and death and the bitterness of will. V. One spirit it is that stirs the fathomless deep Of human minds, that shakes the elms in storm, That sings in passionate music, or on warm Still evenings bosoms forth the tufted sleep Of thistle-seeds that wait a travelling wind. One spirit shapes the subtle rhythms of thought And the long thundering seas; the soul is wrought Of one stuff with the body—matter and mind Woven together in so close a mesh That flowers may blossom into a song, that flesh May strangely teach the loveliest holiest things To watching spirits. Truth is brought to birth Not in some vacant heaven: its beauty springs From the dear bosom of material earth. VI. IN THE HAY-LOFT. The darkness in the loft is sweet and warm With the stored hay ... darkness intensified By one bright shaft that enters through the wide Tall doors from under fringes of a storm Which makes the doomed sun brighter. On the hay, Perched mountain-high they sit, and silently Watch the motes dance and look at the dark sky And mark how heartbreakingly far away And yet how close and clear the distance seems, While all at hand is cloud—brightness of dreams Unrealisable, yet seen so clear, So only just beyond the dark. They wait, Scarce knowing what they wait for, half in fear; Expectance draws the curtain from their fate. VII. The silence of the storm weighs heavily On their strained spirits: sometimes one will say Some trivial thing as though to ward away Mysterious powers, that imminently lie In wait, with the strong exorcising grace Of everyday's futility. Desire Becomes upon a sudden a crystal fire, Defined and hard:—If he could kiss her face, Could kiss her hair! As if by chance, her hand Brushes on his ... Ah, can she understand? Or is she pedestalled above the touch Of his desire? He wonders: dare he seek From her that little, that infinitely much? And suddenly she kissed him on the cheek. VIII. MOUNTAINS. A stronger gust catches the cloud and twists A spindle of rifted darkness through its heart, A gash in the damp grey, which, thrust apart, Reveals black depths a moment. Then the mists Shut down again; a white uneasy sea Heaves round the climbers and beneath their feet. He strains on upwards through the wind and sleet, Poised, or swift moving, or laboriously Lifting his weight. And if he should let go, What would he find down there, down there below The curtain of the mist? What would he find Beyond the dim and stifling now and here, Beneath the unsettled turmoil of his mind? Oh, there were nameless depths: he shrank with fear. IX. The hills more glorious in their coat of snow Rise all around him, in the valleys run Bright streams, and there are lakes that catch the sun, And sunlit fields of emerald far below That seem alive with inward light. In smoke The far horizons fade; and there is peace On everything, a sense of blessed release From wilful strife. Like some prophetic cloak The spirit of the mountains has descended On all the world, and its unrest is ended. Even the sea, glimpsed far away, seems still, Hushed to a silver peace its storm and strife. Mountains of vision, calm above fate and will, You hold the promise of the freer life. X. IN THE LITTLE ROOM. London unfurls its incense-coloured dusk Before the panes, rich but a while ago With the charred gold and the red ember-glow Of dying sunset. Houses quit the husk Of secrecy, which, through the day, returns A blank to all enquiry: but at nights The cheerfulness of fire and lamp invites The darkness inward, curious of what burns With such a coloured life when all is dead— The daylight world outside, with overhead White clouds, and where we walk, the blaze Of wet and sunlit streets, shops and the stream Of glittering traffic—all that the nights erase, Colour and speed, surviving but in dream. XI. Outside the dusk, but in the little room All is alive with light, which brightly glints On curving cup or the stiff folds of chintz, Evoking its own whiteness. Shadows loom, Bulging and black, upon the walls, where hang Rich coloured plates of beauties that appeal Less to the sense of sight than to the feel, So moistly satin are their breasts. A pang, Almost of pain, runs through him when he sees Hanging, a homeless marvel, next to these, The silken breastplate of a mandarin, Centuries dead, which he had given her. Exquisite miracle, when men could spin Jay's wing and belly of the kingfisher! XII. In silence and as though expectantly She crouches at his feet, while he caresses His light-drawn fingers with the touch of tresses Sleeked round her head, close-banded lustrously, Save where at nape and temple the smooth brown Sleaves out into a pale transparent mist Of hair and tangled light. So to exist, Poised 'twixt the deep of thought where spirits drown Life in a void impalpable nothingness, And, on the other side, the pain and stress Of clamorous action and the gnawing fire Of will, focal upon a point of earth—even thus To sit, eternally without desire And yet self-known, were happiness for us. XIII. She turns her head and in a flash of laughter Looks up at him: and helplessly he feels That life has circled with returning wheels Back to a starting-point. Before and after Merge in this instant, momently the same: For it was thus she leaned and laughing turned When, manifest, the spirit of beauty burned In her young body with an inward flame, And first he knew and loved her. In full tide Life halts within him, suddenly stupefied. Sight blackness, lightning-struck; but blindly tender He draws her up to meet him, and she lies Close folded by his arms in glad surrender, Smiling, and with drooped head and half closed eyes. XIV. 'I give you all; would that I might give more.' He sees the colour dawn across her cheeks And die again to white; marks as she speaks The trembling of her lips, as though she bore Some sudden pain and hardly mastered it. Within his arms he feels her shuddering, Piteously trembling like some wild wood-thing Caught unawares. Compassion infinite Mounts up within him. Thus to hold and keep And comfort her distressed, lull her to sleep And gently kiss her brow and hair and eyes Seems love perfected—templed high and white Against the calm of golden autumn skies, And shining quenchlessly with vestal light. XV. But passion ambushed by the aerial shrine Comes forth to dance, a hoofed obscenity, His satyr's dance, with laughter in his eye, And cruelty along the scarlet line Of his bright smiling mouth. All uncontrolled, Love's rebel servant, he delights to beat The maddening quick dry rhythm of goatish feet Even in the sanctuary, and makes bold To mime himself the godhead of the place. He turns in terror from her trance-calmed face, From the white-lidded languor of her eyes, From lips that passion never shook before, But glad in the promise of her sacrifice: 'I give you all; would that I might give more.' XVI. He is afraid, seeing her lie so still, So utterly his own; afraid lest she Should open wide her eyes and let him see The passionate conquest of her virgin will Shine there in triumph, starry-bright with tears. He thrusts her from him: face and hair and breast, Hands he had touched, lips that his lips had pressed, Seem things deadly to be desired. He fears Lest she should body forth in palpable shame Those dreams and longings that his blood, aflame Through the hot dark of summer nights, had dreamed And longed. Must all his love, then, turn to this? Was lust the end of what so pure had seemed? He must escape, ah God! her touch, her kiss. XVII. IN THE PARK. Laughing, 'To-night,' I said to him, 'the Park Has turned the garden of a symbolist. Those old great trees that rise above the mist, Gold with the light of evening, and the dark Still water, where the dying sun evokes An echoed glory—here I recognize Those ancient gardens mirrored by the eyes Of poets that hate the world of common folks, Like you and me and that thin pious crowd, Which yonder sings its hymns, so humbly proud Of holiness. The garden of escape Lies here; a small green world, and still the bride Of quietness, although an imminent rape Roars ceaselessly about on every side.' XVIII. I had forgotten what I had lightly said, And without speech, without a thought I went, Steeped in that golden quiet, all content To drink the transient beauty as it sped Out of eternal darkness into time To light and burn and know itself a fire; Yet doomed—ah, fate of the fulfilled desire!— To fade, a meteor, paying for the crime Of living glorious in the denser air Of our material earth. A strange despair, An agony, yet strangely, subtly sweet And tender as an unpassionate caress, Filled me ... Oh laughter! youth's conceit Grown almost conscious of youth's feebleness! XIX. He spoke abrupt across my dream: 'Dear Garden, A stranger to your magic peace, I stand Beyond your walls, lost in a fevered land Of stones and fire. Would that the gods would harden My soul against its torment, or would blind Those yearning glimpses of a life at rest In perfect beauty—glimpses at the best Through unpassed bars. And here, without, the wind Of scattering passion blows: and women pass Glitter-eyed down putrid alleys where the glass Of some grimed window suddenly parades— Ah, sickening heart-beat of desire!—the grace Of bare and milk-warm flesh: the vision fades, And at the pane shows a blind tortured face.' XX. SELF-TORMENT. The days pass by, empty of thought and will: His thought grows stagnant at its very springs, With every channel on the world of things Dammed up, and thus, by its long standing still, Poisons itself and sickens to decay. All his high love for her, his fair desire, Loses its light; and a dull rancorous fire, Burning darkness and bitterness that prey Upon his heart are left. His spirit burns Sometimes with hatred, or the hatred turns To a fierce lust for her, more cruel than hate, Till he is weary wrestling with its force: And evermore she haunts him, early and late, As pitilessly as an old remorse. XXI. Streets and the solitude of country places Were once his friends. But as a man born blind, Opening his eyes from lovely dreams, might find The world a desert and men's larval faces So hateful, he would wish to seek again The darkness and his old chimeric sight Of beauties inward—so, that fresh delight, Vision of bright fields and angelic men, That love which made him all the world, is gone. Hating and hated now, he stands alone, An island-point, measureless gulfs apart From other lives, from the old happiness Of being more than self, when heart to heart Gave all, yet grew the greater, not the less. XXII. THE QUARRY IN THE WOOD. Swiftly deliberate, he seeks the place. A small wind stirs, the copse is bright in the sun: Like quicksilver the shine and shadow run Across the leaves. A bramble whips his face, The tears spring fast, and through the rainbow mist He sees a world that wavers like the flame Of a blown candle. Tears of pain and shame, And lips that once had laughed and sung and kissed Trembling in the passion of his sobbing breath! The world a candle shuddering to its death, And life a darkness, blind and utterly void Of any love or goodness: all deceit, This friendship and this God: all shams destroyed, And truth seen now. Earth fails beneath his feet.

#Albert Bierstadt #Sierra Nevada #Bierstadt #Art #Poetry #Fine Arts #Poems #Painting #Landscape #The Defeat Of Youth #Aldous Huxley #Huxley

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sasorikigai · 4 years ago

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“I’m sorry…I can’t keep going.” (( uilleam to satoshi or scorpion uvu ))

Angst - Death/Dying || @drecmcrcfters || accepting

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 || He used to be able to never rush an emotion, at least as the General of the Shirai Ryu, soon to take on the honorable title of the Grandmaster. For everything in life has its rhythm, and it is the pauses and silences, his introspective reflection that always have spoken the truth even amidst his strife and struggles. In some parallel world, where life is not chaotic and Harumi and Satoshi become his bedrock and calm, Hanzo Hasashi’s life treats them right; no more darkness searing him ablaze in blackening conflagration, the voracious wolf inside him howling out deepest darkest thoughts from inside.

In the narrowing spectrum of his universe, a pitch-black room might as well be an infinite space; a total absence of light wherein his eyes start to play tricks on his mind. He closes his eyes, he opens them, then closes back down again. The only way to tell the difference is through the sensation of his eyelids shut. Scorpion once was comfortable in his damned existence in this void for eternality of his wretched unlife, but Hanzo Hasashi’s indomitable spirits will always collide, against the graves of celestial phantoms, against the echoes of tormented and suffering as the epiphany of their irreversible destiny will eternally haunt his resurrected being.

How he continues to dance through his own labyrinth of emotions and struggles, hoping he will find his way out relatively unscathed, lest the oozing blemishes and reopened scar over the aureate and copper kintsugi lines of his heart continue to widen, fissure, creating volatile surface full of crevasses and deep valleys. And how Hanzo Hasashi had witnessed hope manifesting itself as feathers, scattering away towards everywhere and anywhere, and sometimes, it’s serrated claws digging deeper and deeper into his bleeding heart, macerating, twisting, and pulping the life out of him down to the last ounce.

Hanzo Hasashi has learned to be fragile beneath his austere and gruff exterior, as his sensitivities strip back the iron resolve and seemingly impenetrable steeliness to the tender flesh beneath. Etched disappointment becomes evermore lucid, and yet, he ought to know already - as Satoshi’s biological father, it was bound that he take the responsibilities to raise an adolescent about to become a young adult, as Hanzo Hasashi too, continues his grueling trials and journey towards his healing and betterment. “As much as I wish to probe and pry the details out of you, Uilleam - you have done more than enough for both of us. For that, I am utterly grateful. Perhaps someday.... I can reciprocate your gracious kindness you have bestowed,” perhaps the essence of tragedy was meant to divert their courses, for the guiding light of his purification and anchor would have to be rebuilt on his own. “But may I ask what is the occasion, so that I can help in anyway I can?” ▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 ||

#✗ the ineffable testimony of spawned hellfire (scorpion)#✗ seeking reconciliation with his own humanity (iii)#(relationships; uilleam)#(relationships; satoshi)#drecmcrcfters

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welovelofi · 4 years ago

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Tales Of Murder And Dust: Fragile Absolutes. We Feature, We Love.

https://open.spotify.com/album/6DMVg3nHhAadARNNw1dfpl?si=iuFBfCgKQhGEiYq-M2alqw

Århus based, Tales Of Murder And Dust are freshly out with their 3rd full-length LP, Fragile Absolutes. It’s the result of a long gestation and steady evolution of both the line-up and context of the group.

“It’s been the most difficult process we’ve ever had” is bandied around like a mantra in the organization. Why though? Tomad seems to have at times in their 12-year career, everything going for them in spades, but if you pull up specific moments of dormancy – a heck of a lot of forces working against them. Like plate tectonics or glacial migration – slow building pressures ripping them apart that the human sensory array could only detect with seemingly topographic charts.

After 2016’s “The Flow In Between” saw the band signing to English neo-psych magnate, Fuzzclub Records, they parted ways with founding member Kristoffer Vilsgaard, who shared lead vocal and songwriting duties with Christian Sinding Soendergaard. Vilsgaard left the operation amicably and still remains active in their now extensive ‘extended family’. Around the same time, TOMAD saw a drastic line-up shift in virtually every position except drums. Fellow ZRN (formerly Zeroine, a ‘side’ collab between Ess Beck and Soendergaard) and real-life partner, Ess Beck moved in on keys and auxiliary guitar, Rasmus Aaen Jensen entered on bass, and the slimmer, leaner line-up headed to USA for their very chaotic inaugural tour – plagued by missed connections, transportation break-downs and hellish drive times.

“It was our first time in the states, and instead of being able to soak it all in, we got into a van and drove 35 hours straight to a gig” remarks Jakob Korsgaard (drums). “I kinda feel like it doesn’t even count, that tour – it was just so chaotic at times”.

The Flow In Between sold well internationally for them, and the EU bookings were steady, yet it seemed always to this writer that it was getting increasingly difficult to see them here in Aarhus or let-alone find their records in one of the many physical shops. In fact, I ordered my copy of “Fuzz Club Sessions” from England (the 2018 Ltd edition live-in-studio EP, first to feature the re-vamped TOMAD line-up), and it took weeks to get here (You can fly direct from AAR to Stanstead though for less than the price of a beer and be wheels down in 1.5 hours). Something was rotten somewhere.

The difference between The Flow In Between and Fragile Absolutes is significant in almost every way. All plusses though if you’ve gotten this far. WHEN one was able to catch TOMAD in this constellation between records, I always had the feeling there was something über-special about their sound. It was like something was gestating, brewing…fermenting even. ZRN seemingly would cycle through a period as well, ESS and Christian seemed to dichotomize the sound picture. TOMAD at times would be more punky or gothic, while ZRN would move into territory that was more ambient, improvisatory and even post-modernist ‘classical’. It seemed like the two groups had a significant impact on each other – which makes sense with the personnel being partly the same, but yet able to morph under a different moniker and (for lack of a better term) ‘power dynamic shift’. At any rate – TOMAD was evolving and peeling away from the “Psych” or “Shoegaze” pigeonholes that seemed to be applied by the lesser astute of my colleagues over the decade.

With the departure Of Vilsgaard as co-lead, That left Soendergaard in full creative control of the group. This is one of the important dynamic shifts that lead to the content and feel of “Fragile Absolutes”. Far from being a 3-legged cat however – Soendergaards growth as an atmospheric composer and arranger in a more widescreen cinematic format was amplified. With the departure of Vilsgaard, also left the final leanings of TOMAD being justifiably a “Psych” outfit. The darker hues of something weightier and more substantial began covering the band like strangler vines around the once verdant trees of the woods.

“Fragile Absolutes” was recorded in several different locations – initial basic tracking began a few years ago in Aarhus’s Tapetown studios. Tapetown’s penchant for recording “Alternative” and “Indie” genres served as a template for a slightly more bombastic base coat to several of the numbers. For whatever reason, TOMAD decided to complete the recording in various settings where they could hack away at it. A cabin on the west coast of Jutland is mentioned (the closest thing Denmark has to an artic desert), and various bits and pieces here and there. I’m sure all of this adds to the mystery surrounding the record, but the end result and finished ‘product’ is a record that is produced by the band with an air of achieving perfection in whatever it is they first set out to do.

Knowing the genesis and long gestation of the record – I see this as a re-birth for the band. They might not notice it. A heap of things in the band’s own personal life have also necessitated the change. Some members became parents themselves, geographical and logistical strife caused periods of inactivity and even as I write, a global pandemic has altered the way the band has to plan live bookings. I hate to say something as pedestrian as: “you gotta roll with the punches”, but this record existing at all, let alone being the masterpiece that I truly deem it to be, is no small feat.

The Review

In my 2016 review of “The Flow In Between” I ended up calling it “Probably the greatest record to come out of Jutland”. Before we get going on the breakdown – I’ll have to amend that bold statement from 4 years ago and relegate “TFIB” to “Probably the best record to come out of Jutland as of 2015”. Fragile Absolutes has frogged its way into #1 for me. Shucks – I’m even going to have to one-up myself here. It’s my favorite Danish album, ever. There’s a LOT of great albums out of my adopted home country too. Laban 4 comes to mind….

“Fragile Absolutes” kicks off with the wallop of the monastic meets Viking cinema “Distances”. It’s evident that they are picking up in context where some of “The Flow In Between” leaves off (see: “Sisters”). There’s a heavier texture of orchestration underneath which basically weaves it way through the record. There are shimmering jangly bits layered with piano, synths and whatever the hell else they used bathed in subtle sustained feedback. This continues into the slightly dirgy title track “Fragile Absolutes”. The monotonic guitar lines giving way to almost plainsong layered choirs underpinned by some subtle tinkling on the ivories and a chugging and building rhythm section that leads into orchestral stabs at a climax and finally a resolution.

“Crippled Figurines” treads on more familiar territory in a sense. The Percussion is sidelined, instead being inferred by a gently strummed acoustic guitar set in counterpoint by the ever- present drone and simple right-handed synth melody, comfortingly recalling something that wouldn’t be out of place on a late 80s Depeche Mode album. All this mood is closer in reality to say, an early Fever Ray track rather than a gothic synth-pop piece and retaining the best integral bits of each.

With “Flawed Beliefs” we’re back to the structure of the opening gambit of the record – the ever-present drone met by delicate flights of neatly layered butterfly kisses from unidentified hands. “Flawed Beliefs” builds again upon a simple but effective passage, subtly and organically changing shape to a cacophony of doom until disappearing.

“Wear Your Skin” again pairs the dulcet tones of fluttering sprinkles of what sounds like hammer dulcimer with a tightly layered cauldron of foreboding flares in the lower register. You wouldn’t be wrong for hearing traces of Cocteau Twins or even “Pornography”-era Cure, hence why some folks can’t resist attaching a “Goth” accreditation to TOMAD on this album cycle. I’m not sure Goth is such a dirty word anymore – I’ve dabbled myself and in these Isolation times – I don’t think anyone should blame me. “Deconstructed and Dissolved” follows this mood perfectly, plunging the listener further down the k-hole of the world in flames while simultaneously being frozen in the wasteland that our collective esoterism has created.

“Entropy” and “Consoling Words” again bring us back to the now familiar overall vibe of the record. Infinite layers of aurally pleasing yet disturbing symphonic drones paired with a slowly plodding and ever-present funeral march of backbone.

You’d be forgiven for being lulled into a sense of not knowing where the album begins or ends at this point in the record – but the whole affair is masterfully shuttered with the somewhat surprisingly delicate and bare “Remnants” – where for the first time, a simple piano and vocal are to the fore of the mix. There is something heartbreakingly haunting about Soendergaard’s vocals on the closing number – finally pushed into the theoretical spotlight, yet still fragile and nearly incomprehensible. It’s a perfect ending to the constant wash of dark matter and symphonic pummeling of the previous 8 tracks.

“Fragile Absolutes” as a whole, is damaging in its epic-ness. I know “epic” is thrown around a lot in somewhat ironic terms by suited frat boys on TV, but I honestly can’t think of another term for what this LP puts you through. From the invocational wallop of the opening numbers and the adagios and lulls of the moodier tracks, it’s quite an emotional roller coaster. Everyone I know who has heard any of these tracks all drop references to “Soundtrack”, “Nordic” and “Dark”. I’m happy to agree, even if I can’t offer up a pigeonhole of a mini-sub sub- genre to attach to it. The remnants of Shoegaze and Neo-Psych are still evident, these are the kind of bands that TOMAD will always be billed with – but “Fragile Absolutes” is their most powerful and complete work to date. While the bulk of the writing may be Christian Soendergaard’s singular vision now, What the rest of the band add to the mix is staggeringly appropriate and serve the material with a reverence and aplomb that is rarely found in a band that have been through this massive of a personnel shift since their last record. My only wish on several of the songs is that there were more dynamic builds and decrescendos – adding to the romantic and cinematic appeal of some of the “louder” cuts on the LP. This only means that it can evolve and grow live in my book – and for my dollar, I can’t wait to see what TOMAD can do in full flight with this material and line-up at a proper concert whenever that is possible. That will have to occur in 2021 though. Thanks Corona virus.

Words - Bobby McBride

Order Vinyl/CD direct from band: https://talesofmurderanddust.bandcamp.com/

Follow FB: https://www.facebook.com/talesonline/

Follow Insta: @talesofmurderanddust

#music reviews #newmusic #underground #indie #noise #vinyl #talesofmurderanddust #aarhus #tapetown #fuzzclub #2020 #denmark #shoegaze #doom #psych #goth

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yuri-or-death · 7 years ago

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“Mnemosyne” Fiction|Smut

Moodboard by @48gmoodboards

Characters: Matsui Jurina (Mnemosyne), Matsui Rena (Lethe); Kojima Haruna (Persephone); Oshima Yuko (Hades)

Summary: Time moves forward. The mind forgets but the heart remembers.

Author’s note: This is my take on the Lethe x Mnemosyne prompt suggested by @rukakikuchi. She made Part 1 and I made Part 2 with some tweaks from her. I’m not a hardcore wmatsui shipper like before but they are still very precious. I hope you guys enjoy this. It was an “emotionally draining but totally worth it writing experience”.

P.S. An anon asked me for a smut so so so long ago, but it is only now that I succumbed to it. You guys, this is my first smut so do forgive me if it falls short.

WARNING: Smut!

XXXXXXXXXX

Hours pass

The weeks turn into months

And I’m still alone

Wondering when I’ll see you

Still I watch the hourglass

The symbol of our love

When we were so sure

Our love would be everlasting

(The S.O.S. Band - “Sands of Time”)

~*~*~*~

They cannot kill me even if they wish it with all their heart. They cannot destroy me even if I am the last of the ancient immortals.

I am nostalgia; I am melancholy; I am yearning; I am desire.

I am the forbidden knowledge of the world.

I am Mnemosyne.

Time flows like an endless river reaching the large expanse of the open sea. Without end or beginning. It trickles without pause; without caution—with selfish inevitability. Time heeds no one’s bidding. It grants no one’s request. It only moves forward despite the unquenchable thirst in our hearts to remain as we are or as we once were.

Pale feet slowly paced to and fro; the clinking of chains echoed in the vast labyrinth. The shadows shifted with each movement, it was almost as if they were dancing. Faint light came from the fissure on the ceiling, without it, everything would have been consumed by the void.

An entity, a young woman lifted her face to meet the soft glow of moonlight. A chain around her neck glistened. Beyond her prison was an endless night with a thousand stars, shimmering galaxies, comets darting across space and yet she could never fully see their true splendor.

“How long…how many more eons?” She whispered. The woman’s blueish lips were chapped; her ashen face devoid of life was still tragically beautiful. She reached out to the light as if willing to grasp it in her slender fingers.

“Guardian of Time, Keeper of Memories.” A voice from nowhere and yet from everywhere rang inside the chamber. “I’ve come to bargain with you.”

The pallid young woman moved away from the light, retreating to the safety of her veil of darkness. “I have nothing left to give or take.”

“Why do you let this prison hold you? You who has lingered in this realm before us, you who has seen the passage of eons?”

The Guardian closed her eyes. True, she was the personification of eternity itself. True, she was more powerful than these gods—old and new. But she has grown weary and apathetic of the affairs of deities and mortals alike. “Nothing is worth destroying, just as nothing is worth saving.”

The voice laughed. “I will break your chains, Mnemosyne, but you must make them remember who we are.”

The passage of time had made humans forget the deities they once worshiped and without faith, the gods fade away. “Those mortals have forsaken you gods, your powers wane, your altars disregarded, your odes unsung. Tell me now, what use will I have for your promise of freedom?”

“Because deep within you heart you wish for freedom, a chance to see her again. And I can give you that, for I am Hades and the underworld belongs to me.”

“You cannot trifle with human souls, the one I loved has long passed on.” Mnemosyne has resigned herself to waste away in this dungeon. Without the light of her life, everything is for naught.

“I can…and I will.” The walls of the dark chamber started to collapse as the earth rumbled and shifted. The fracture in the ceiling grew and grew until it caved. For the first time in a thousand years, Mnemosyne was bathed in moonlight.

“I will bring back the mortal so dear to you and you must keep your end of the bargain.” Hades materialized before her but only in smoke and shrouds of shadow.

“I am the Guardian of Time, Keeper of Memories. I listen to no god.”

“But you listen to your heart.”

Mnemosyne’s eyes widen, she was unmistakably stirred by Hades’ words. The longing within her burned like a thousand suns, consuming her soul.

“Well then,” She lifted her hands; soft light glowed from her fingertips. A chalice with golden liquid was formed in her grasp: the nektar of nostalgia from the very river of memory itself. “You have a deal.”

~*~*~*~

Year 755 A.D.

Once in every century, I am permitted to walk the earth for forty days and forty nights. Every cycle, I renew the bonds of time and memory within the roots of the tree of life. I drench it with the nektar from my river so that the knowledge from the past, the present, and the future continue to flow. More than anything, it is a moment of freedom to wander away from my prison—my most coveted chance to see the one I love.

The mistress of the river of forgetfulness was busy picking indigo flowers scattered about the riverside. She delicately laced them into bracelets.

“Excuse me,” A silken voice interrupted her crafting work. She turned back only to see a young maiden, who perhaps recently entered adulthood. “I seemed to have lost my way.”

“I see…you are a new dweller here.” The mistress smiled as she reached for the girl’s hand to fasten the flower bracelet around the latter’s wrist.

“Who are you and where am I?” The girl wore deep purple robes that were reminiscent to clothing from the Eastern empires. Her hair was the color of an ebony crow while her facial features were dignified and quite sharp.

“I have been called by many names, but I like Rena the best.” Said the mistress, her pure white dress almost glistened. “This is the River of Lethe, your passage to the afterlife.”

“So I am dead.” It was more of a statement than a question from the young girl whose mannerisms seemed older than her age. “I guess those assassination attempts finally bore fruit.”

“Perhaps.” Rena tried to change the flow of the conversation; usually souls of the newly deceased become unstable at the first instance of learning their demise. “You are wearing a rather lavish kimono, your fine garbs tell me that you may be royalty.”

“I come from the land of the crimson sun. Yet my rank bears no importance here.” The newcomer scoffed, stretching her arms so that the yards of fabric flowed more smoothly. “I detest wearing these troublesome draperies more than anything in my life.”

“You find the nuances of nobility rather distasteful?” Rena observed the girl whose funeral garbs seemed to endlessly annoy her. Her whole ensemble spoke nothing but pedigree. Clearly, she was buried with the rites fit for a princess, but her actions and the manner of speaking betrayed her distaste concerning her status.

“I find everything about it repulsive. After all, I am a warrior not a princess.” The girl started to rip her clothes in the attempt to ease her movement. “My name is Jurina.”

“Welcome to the gaol of souls, Jurina. For forty days and forty nights you are to linger in my abode before you may pass over.”

“Why?”

Rena raised an eyebrow at Jurina’s blunt response. “Why? Why what?”

“Why must souls stay here in your upkeep?”

“To reflect about their lives, their hopes and their anguish. So that they may make a choice on whether or not they wish to be reborn or to remain in peaceful slumber.” Rena explained, the steady rhythm of rushing water seemed to complement her voice. “This is the river of Lethe. When the time is right, it will erase all attachments to your previous life.”

“Then in the meantime, I suppose we should get acquainted Milady of the River?” Jurina asked impishly, holding out her hand, which was decorated with the flower wristlet from Rena.

The mistress of Lethe shook it in response. “You will forget me, nevertheless.”

~*~*~*~

Year 1608 A.D.

The era of literature and the arts has flourished once again after centuries of strife and darkness. They call it the Renaissance. Humans have found solace in creativity and innovation. I continue to drench the roots of the earth with the nektar from the river of memory.

Today, my 366th cycle has arrived.

“Rena, what lies beyond this river?” The girl, decked in layers of red fabric and fur, beside her queried. Her clothing had distinct golden embroidery similar to the Tudor’s floral emblems. Her overall appearance gave an impression of opulence and yet Rena knew she was not of aristocracy. The girl’s garbs were a bit too plain for a blueblood; save for the majestic Union Rose that embellished the chest area of her tunic.

Rena followed the girl’s line of sight. It seemed the young girl was captivated by the vision of Lethe flowing infinitely where the horizon and the body of water coalesce.

“I have not seen the river’s end myself. But I am told, that the river of forgetfulness pours itself to the river of Mnemosyne.” The mistress of the river Lethe turned to observe her companion’s expression. “Does it bother you, Jurina?”

“Mnemosyne?” Jurina’s eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly, as if in deep thought. “Who is she?”

“She’s the Keeper of Memories. A being far older than the gods themselves.” Rena knew tales about her, whispers from wind and chatters from other souls. Yet no one has seen her since she was imprisoned in the depths of the earth. “The Great Overseer of the Underworld created me at her request. I have always wanted to meet her.”

Jurina studied Rena’s face meticulously, as if trying to make sense of something. “Then go on and meet her,” was the girl’s simple reply. As if all the mysteries of the world were mere child’s play. “This realm is so vast and you cage yourself in a small patch of land. Are you not curious at all?”

“You would not know how much it burns me so.” Melancholy glazed Rena’s eyes. There was a sliver of yearning as she spoke. “But you see, I cannot leave. My existence is tied to the River of Lethe, if the link is severed, then I too shall disappear.”

“I see.” Jurina gave a slight nod, as if suddenly understanding the weight of Rena’s predicament. “You remind me of myself.”

“That’s rather…peculiar. What was your life before you came here?”

“I was a thespian, an actor, some would call. I performed for the Sovereign of England. Oh! It was an interesting time to be alive.” Jurina’s eyes sparkled with so much vivacity at the recollection. Fond memories of the grand opera and their glorious performances seemed to replay in her mind. “But similar to you, my maiden fair, I could not forsake the Queen��s Court. For I was born a slave—sold off from my home across the ocean,”

“To live without freedom.” Rena completed the sentence; her wistful gaze fell to her hands that had been weaving indigo flowers into bracelets before their conversation drew on. She shook the thought away. “Tell me then Jurina, what was your favorite play?”

Jurina drew an honest smile. She stood tall, dusted her robes and cleared her throat.

“Cure her of that.

Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased,

Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow,

Raze out the written troubles of the brain?”

The young girl started her lines, all emotion brimming from her eyes. Her voice echoed with conviction as the words fell from her lips one by one. She motioned to reach for Rena who was sitting on the grass with lips agape. Jurina’s slender fingers touched the older girl’s chest, as if wanting to feel the rhythm of her heart.

“And with some sweet oblivious antidote

Cleanse the stuffed bosom of that perilous stuff

Which weighs upon the heart?”

Rena watched the thespian in awe, slightly bewildered how her newfound friend could suddenly shift her persona in an instant.

Jurina bowed, signifying the end of her performance. “That was from Shakespeare’s Macbeth.”

The mistress of the river took some more seconds to contemplate, the pilot light of empathy gleamed in her eyes. “Your protagonist…wanted to erase the memories that brought pain to a woman dear to him?”

“He did. He wanted an antidote for her despair, a way for her to forget.” Jurina expounded, as she brought herself down to Rena’s seated form once again. “I understand Macbeth’s feelings somehow.” She held Rena’s gaze intensely. “Because memories are painful things.”

There was so much anguish in Jurina’s last phrase that Rena swore she felt as if a knife had plunged itself into her heart. What pain does her memories hold, for this bright, strong soul to show such a despondent expression?

“Do you wish for me to erase them now? If it hurts you so… then I—” Rena was interrupted mid sentence when the brazen girl locked her in a tight embrace.

“We have some days left. Please don’t take away my time with you just yet.”

Rena’s eyes softened, she ran her fingers through Jurina’s ebony hair in the attempt to comfort her. “Seven days, Jurina.”

~*~*~*~

Year 1968 A.D.

The clinking of chains echoed in the abyss, as if slithering like serpents. A figure of a woman was shackled to the floor and ceiling, her neck, hands and feet were bound with titanium cuffs. One by one they were undone.

“I’ve come to awaken you, dear Mnemosyne.”

Mnemosyne’s eyes shot open at the sound of her name, a gust of wind so strong filled the chamber as her power surged. “Good morning, Persephone.” She smiled dangerously.

The one called Persephone, Queen of the Underworld, brought her hands up to touch Mnemosyne’s face as if easing her discordant emotions. “I do not understand why you do this; you tire yourself, you hurt yourself,” She stroked the other’s cheeks fondly. “Over and over again.”

The ancient being strode towards the Gates of Nevermore, a portal that opened every hundred years. “It is my only happiness.”

I shape the existence of the world.

I have saved them from their empty shells.

Memento Vivere; Memento Mori [remember to live; remember that all must die].

Thus the next cycle begins.

Jurina lay asleep at the side of the river, her head rested on the lap of the deity whose robes were all white. In contrast, Jurina wore a worn out camouflage uniform provided for the soldiers during the Cold War. Her hair was tied up in a messy ponytail, the crest of valor and other honorary badges glistened on her chest.

The mistress of Lethe fumbled with the locks of hair sprawled out on her lap like a black sunburst. She was humming a tune while contentedly watching over her companion.

Jurina awoke when Rena slightly stirred from her seating position. The soldier looked up sleepily at the lady of the river, seeing her smile.

“Ah, did I wake you?”

“I didn’t even realize I drifted off.” Jurina said, rubbing her eyes while sitting up. “It’s so calm and quiet here, that I became so relaxed and…” If she concentrated deeper, she swore she could still hear the sound of landmines exploding and a flurry of bullets which seemed to echo without end.

“I don’t blame you. Considering your final moments were in the heat of a battle.”

“Yes… it’s hard to catch your breath during a war,” Jurina let out a dry chuckle. “The Battle of Saigon wasn’t the prettiest.” She attempted to smoothen her unruly tresses but its untamed appeal remained. No matter what angle one looked, the young girl emanated an air of gallantry.

“Oh, it was the Vietnam War?” Rena tucked stray strands of hair behind Jurina’s ear. “Look at you, and they say chivalry is dead.” She teased.

“Hah! Was that a pun or a compliment?” The soldier grinned from ear to ear. She circled her arms around Rena’s waist.

“Can I tell you something strange?” Rena queried.

“Go on, anything.”

“There’s this burning familiarity inside me that says we’ve been like ‘this’ before; that I know you like the back of my hand.” Rena couldn’t put a name on the emotion she was feeling. Just that, there was this hanging shadow on her mind that kept her from recalling something.

“You say souls are reborn? Perhaps we have met a number of times and fell in love a number more. Quite romantic don’t you think, to fall in love with the same soul over and over again?”

“But then, shouldn’t I remember you?” The mistress of Lethe resolved.

As if the gears finally clicked in, the cogs and wheels started revolving; all too suddenly, the weight of their impending separation worried Jurina.

“I wish our time could be frozen. I wish I never have to leave.” Jurina whispered, her hot breath tingled Rena’s ear.

The river deity broke from the embrace, instead she laced their fingers together. “Don’t be too sad, the memories we share will find its way to the river of Mnemosyne—where all remains eternal.”

“I’ve heard legends about her..this Mnemosyne.”

“Fascinating that her name is known even in the mortal realm. Mnemosyne’s existence is an enigma even to us dwellers of the Underworld.” Rena broke their contact and proceeded to walk towards the river’s edge. Her gaze followed the water’s current until it fused with the horizon. “Tell me these legends. I would like to know what the humans say about her.”

“From what I know, she is as old as time itself. Being the Keeper of Memories, she holds knowledge of everything in existence, she knows of all myths ever born and of entire legacies of the mortal world. She is the Eternal Memory.”

“Eternal Memory? That’s definitely something I’ve never heard of…”

“I’ve read it in books. The Eternal Memory of past, present, and future. Like the forbidden fruit of Eden, she knows of both good and evil.”

“From the way you speak of her, she sounds more powerful than any God.”

“Infinitus memoriae, Mnemosyne,” Jurina then spoke. “That is what they called her. In memoria mundi (the memory of the world).“

“Latin?” “Yes.” Rena chuckled. “I’m surprised. It’s such an old language, mortals rarely ever use it anymore.” “I held a particular interest in learning it…things that are dead, things that are forgotten, I feel as if there is so much hidden depth in them.”

“You really are quite peculiar.” Rena released a heavy sigh. “Do you want to know what this realm speaks of the Keeper of Memories?” Now it was her turn to tell a tale.

Jurina nodded.

“They say she fell in love with a mortal, that she did everything within her power to stop the flow of time so that her beloved would not receive the kiss of death.” There was immeasurable sadness in Rena’s eyes as she recounted the story, like it was something close to her.

“Her transgression angered the gods so much that she was imprisoned for attempting to freeze time. Her beloved died nevertheless, and was cursed to never be reborn again. While Mnemosyne was left to waste away in the void.” The two women locked gazes, unspoken words wove themselves in each other’s heart.

There was a pregnant pause before Jurina broke the silence. “I think I know what happens next.”

“The gods realized that without Mnemosyne’s presence, the knowledge of the earth would eventually crumble. Her river, after all, was the consciousness of the universe. So they broke her bonds and struck a bargain,” Rena continued. “She meets the one she loves every hundred years in exchange for her vow of duty.”

“Like star-crossed lovers?” asked the soldier.

“Yes, like the sun and the moon; destined to dance together but never touch.”

“Like us.” Jurina whispered.

Rena turned to the soldier abruptly, quite surprised. Love? Was she allowed to feel that? Was her undead heart capable of such emotion? Did she have the luxury to give it to a passing soul? This girl would leave her soon enough.

“I see,” Jurina understood the river deity’s astonished reaction. “You do not love me.”

Rena shook her head, reaching for Jurina’s hand to stroke her wrist rather affectionately. “You are very precious to me.”

Jurina cupped Rena’s face, leaning in to close the distance between them. But before their lips connected, she desisted. “Forgive me…”

Their foreheads touched; hot breaths intermingled.

Rena closed her eyes, relishing the feeling of intimacy. Oh how she wished Jurina’s 40th day would never arrive. “Tomorrow, you must pass on.” But she could not keep the girl’s spirit here.

Jurina broke from Rena’s hold, she turned her back and knelt before the River of Lethe, dipping her fingers in its cool water. She did not want Rena to see the drops of tears she could not suppress. “I was just practicing how to say goodbye to you.”

~*~*~*~

Year 1997 A.D.

“Rouse her; invoke her name; call her to repair this at once!”

“Olympus would not approve of this, it has only been twenty-nine years since she returned to slumber, it is too soon.”

“Olympus be damned! Would you rather the consciousness of the universe crumble? These humans have placed too much strain on the Tree of Life, their impurities have corrupted it’s roots.” The world tree has shown signs of decay, and its corruption grew dire every passing hour.

“But my love, she insisted–”

“She will rise when she is needed, Persephone. There is no argument here.” Hades, the god of the Underworld commanded Mnemosyne’s awakening as soon as possible. “Tell Mnemosyne to purify it, lest the balance be tipped. Even us would not escape chaos then.”

I no longer remember how many lifetimes I’ve lived, all are but mere echoes of memories.

To see her once more, even for a moment, thus I would not dare break this routine.

In the river of Lethe, no memories remain.

In the river of Lethe, all things are peaceful;

In the river of Lethe, there is comfortable silence;

But not tonight–

The sound of clothes rustling, ragged breathing and bodies melding skin to skin filled the air.

Rena moaned as the woman lying below her traced deft fingers down her spine. “Ju..ri..na..” The name escaped her lips like a prayer. “No more…please,” She rested her forehead on the crook of her partner’s neck, taking a moment to breathe after their passionate exertion.

Once she recollected her bearing, the river deity locked gazes with the young mortal. “Let me?” Her voice was surprisingly leveled.

The sudden shift in who held the reins aroused Jurina. “Oh, is it my turn now?” She grinned mischievously.

“You’re quite skilled at this.” Rena vainly tried to hide her embarrassment but her blushing cheeks easily gave her away. “I hope I could be of service.” She began leaving a trail of feathery kisses on Jurina’s neck and nape, eager to provide an equally satisfying congress in exchange for what she had just experienced.

The human beneath Rena had a captivating presence, that she was sure of. But without her robes, she was nothing but pristine. Rena could endlessly wonder how a mere mortal commanded such deference. Except there were things to be done; a lovely maiden to claim and time was of the essence. “Tell me, if you dislike it.” She whispered hotly, a thread of saliva between her lips and Jurina’s ear.

“I am yours.” Jurina acquiesced, the scent of flowers filled her senses each time Rena drew close. Desire pooled at the pit of her stomach, Rena’s touch seemed to burn her skin. She let out a startled gasp at the sudden intrusion between her thighs. All her senses engrossed on the slender fingers plunging into her core with a rhythm in sync to their beating hearts.

Jurina stifled a moan, her toes curling as she desperately grasped on the robes beneath her that served as their cradle against the grass. Her free hand grabbed Rena’s arm. Passion, obfuscation: the fine line between sentience and carnal desire seemed to cave within her.

“Haaah..” The mortal released a deep sigh. “Hngghhh….” She writhed under the mistress of Lethe.

Rena kissed her forehead, her ministrations grew more erratic, more eager; plunge and then withdraw–it was a waltz between lovers.

“What a wonderful expression you have.” Rena prodded as she admired her own masterpiece. She separated her index and middle finger, stretching Jurina’s inner walls. Her thumb rubbed the bulb of nerve in Jurina’s core, multiplying the shocks of pleasure that ravaged the young woman’s body.

Jurina’s eyes were glazed with lust, her lips agape as she struggled to catch her breath.

“I love you.” Jurina asserted, the heat of desire enveloped her like a feverish dream. Her chest rose and fell rapidly as Rena continued to do what she wished with her body.

For a moment, a split of a second, the mistress of lethe was at a loss how to respond. Can love exists in this ephemeral encounter? Can love remain when no memories are left?

Love her?

A small part of Rena wished the young woman was just delirious. Slowly, she felt Jurina tense up beneath. Her walls constricting around Rena’s digits. Soon, she would find release.

“As I do.” Rena whispered, soft enough that it was barely audible to untrained ears. “You are everything to me.” Her fingers thrusted inside Jurina deeper and faster each time. The vision of her lover writhing and moaning by her hand aroused Rena as well.

Jurina’s mind was an unholy mess. The young woman was completely overcome by pleasure, throwing all caution to the wind. The one thing concrete was the feeling of Rena’s touch. She gripped Rena’s hips firmly as she rode the tremors of her own high, her body trembled in indulgence.

The mistress of Lethe locked Jurina in a tight embrace, coaxing her to relax.

“When the sun rises, my 40th day will have arrived.” Jurina labored to speak despite the waves of pleasure almost blacking out her mind.

“Hush…leave everything for tomorrow. Tonight, only you and I exist.”

In one swift movement, Rena disentangled herself from the panting girl. Before Jurina could even recollect herself, the deity had already pulled on her ankles, spreading her legs apart.

Rena’s hand slowly trailed its way to Jurina’s knee, the feathery sensation was electric. She buried her face between the mortal’s thighs, earning an uncharacteristic yelp that Jurina herself was unaware she could make.

Then Rena’s tongue slipped inside the crevice, hot liquid still leaking from the young woman’s previous release. One hand held Jurina’s leg in place while the other stroked her abdomen, fingernails grazing the silken skin.

“S-stop…I’m still–” Jurina said breathlessly, she ran her fingers through Rena’s hair, lightly clawing on the deity’s scalp. She swore she was going to lose her mind.

Each parting is like a knife wedged on my chest, once withdrawn, the pain is only secondary to the loneliness I feel.

Why is this pain perpetual and my wound incurable?

You are my everything,

No matter how many times I must endure this inconsolable anguish.

The mistress of Lethe prepares for her ward’s final voyage. She laces the indigo flower wristlet on the young woman’s left hand.

Jurina’s body lay motionless beside the river’s edge. Her eyes were closed as if in deep slumber. The river of forgetfulness has taken her memories, the final ritual will be complete.

“May your next life be more blessed than the one you left behind. May your spirit remain steadfast and untamed.”

She gave Jurina a bittersweet kiss on the lips.“I love you.” Rena whispered her parting words to her beloved, fixing the girl’s hands so that they were crossed atop her chest. Gently, ever so gently, Rena pushed Jurina’s body towards the river, letting the current carry her mortal vessel, a promise of new life at the other end.

The mistress of Lethe rose to her feet, her grip on her white dress grew firm as she watched the river carry Jurina towards a place she could never reach. “May we meet again.” She turned her back when the girl’s body was far beyond her sight.

In a split of a second, a moment’s breath, the invisible thread that connected two souls was broken. Rena gasped, as if a part of her soul just left her body.

All traces of Jurina was gone. No recollection– not her voice, her face, her scent, not even her name.

Rena blinked once, twice. Teardrops threatened to fall from her eyes, “What’s this? I’m crying?” She wiped the dampness on her cheeks. Bewildered, Rena spun to look at Lethe, its current flowed for always.

There was a void in her heart the could not be filled and her mind couldn’t grasp where her loneliness came from. “Why do I feel so sad?” She could no longer stop the tears from falling.

~*~*~*~

Jurina’s body finally drifted to the river of memory. In contrast to Lethe, the waters in the river of Mnemosyne lay perfectly still under the blanket of eternal night. Undisturbed like a mirror reflecting the stars. Instead of her mortal body disintegrating into spirit particles, the vessel that held Jurina’s soul glowed.

Jurina opened her eyes then slowly rose. She walked on water as if it was the steadiest pathway. When she finally reached the bank an apparition-like figure greeted her.

“Jurina? What’s with that name?” Hades’ gaze was incisive. The Overseer of the Underworld did not understand the Titan’s devotion. Just watching it unfold was tiresome to say the least.

“It means ‘Pearl’– something born from tears. The mortal I loved came from the East, she gave me that name.”

“How long will you play this farce, Mnemosyne?”

The ancient one did not care to respond this time. She merely made her way to where the chains that must bind her lay waiting.

“Are you not spent? Every cycle, every time you have to pretend to be some mortal seeking safe passage. You start from nothing and when love has finally blossomed in her heart, she forgets you.” Hades droned on like a crone. In spite of it, Mnemosyne knew the deity meant no harm, only concern for her seemingly self-destructive decisions.

The Keeper of Memories stood above the pile of chains, upon contact with her skin they seemed to come to life, slithering across her body like pythons. “A second, a minute, an hour, a day with her though fleeting is better than living without her at all.” The chains wound on her body glowed brightly, it was only then that one would notice that it was actually connected to the river itself.

Hades’ lips opened to speak, but the deity decided against the thought of arguing altogether. “Do what you will; our bargain stands regardless. It is not my position to tell you how to spend your freedom.”

“You have my thanks.” Mnemosyne smiled faintly, closing her eyes as the shackles upon her neck, hands and feet reforged themselves. “Good night.”

The Titan’s body grew limp. There was a soft hiss of metal, a slight movement of steel before everything lay still.

Mistress of Lethe, Goddess of the Oblivion;

Rena, my beloved;

A thousand lifetimes may pass,

And though the threads of destiny continue to falter and break,

You have my heart.

For eternity.

FIN.

#matsui rena #matsui jurina #wmatsui #akb48 #ske48 #jurirena #fanfiction #fiction #moodboard #smut #christ my hand slipped #forgive me

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skrub-ttrpg · 8 years ago

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The Aspects as in Skrub

here is the complete explanation of what Homestuck’s Aspects mean in the tabletop Game Skrub, ripped straight from the rulebook. if these seem interesting to you, and youve ever felt the desrie to play through Sburb with your friends, come check this game out!

7.2.2 The Aspects

Painting metaphors have been used before, so I will continue with that. Aspects are the media of the painting, and each aspect is like a different color (as compared to the Classes which are like different painting techniques).

But truthfully, that's an oversimplification. The Aspects are a metaphysical system, in of themselves they are Abstract concepts. This means they are the fundamental structure of the universe, and that they are not directly physical. You can not simply walk about and find ‘Breath’, you can only find things that represent Breath. More specifically, aspects are the Metaphysics of a Story. They are the sum of the fundamental concepts that make up a story. Each of the aspects opposes another, which means their purposes compare and contrast each other.

But how do abstract concepts make a story?

Through the use of Symbols. [Rose’s apple speech that symbols hold all the power]. A symbol is something that represents something else, it’s meaning manifest. Symbols can be as simple as a physical object like a pumpkin, and action like a kiss, an emotion like anger, a game mechanic like ~ath, or more complex things I call themes, like Love. A Symbol is the means to the Aspect’s end. But, interestingly enough, since they are only a means to an end that is perceived and thus subjective, a Symbol in its performance may produce multiple ends, it might unintentionally represent many aspects. This is why most people have such a hard time differentiating the aspects in the story, because they are looking at things that are being used multiple ways. It is better to look at aspects in what they are trying to accomplish rather than what they are.

This guide is organized like this;

The binary between the next two aspects

The Number; I have associated on a d12, the Aspect itself and its Trait

The Meta; what the aspect at its metaphysical core

Themes: complex concepts that don’t have specific mechanics to express them, and exist in general in the story, but still are used to support the aspects

Interaction: direct actions of the aspects, often what has to be done in order for the powers to take place

Objects: what physical objects are direct symbols

Strife Component: the in-combat representation

Status: what Emotions support them

Ultimate: the ultimate status of each aspect, and the greatest physical symbol in the Medium

Talents: talents that can be used to support the aspects

Space & Time, the basic building blocks of a story. [Screenshots of Calliope explaining space like the pages of a book, time is the turning of them]

12, Space, Imagination

Meta: the Setting.

Space is where everything takes place. The here, the there, and what's there. Its the set of the play, the buildings and props and the colors painted on everything. Anywhere that is Anywhere is Space (if you're nowhere, its void)

Themes: Creation, art, possibility, beginnings, Location. Space without time is the beginning of everything, its looking at the stage and all the props before the start of the show, nothing has had time to do anything yet, it is the setup, infinite potential of all the thing that could happen to it before whatever does happen happens. Pure space without time is simple being without action, change, cause or effect.

Interaction: moving from place to place, touch, setpeice movements.

Objects: art supplies, any physical location, plants

Strife Component: the Chess board that represents where everything is

Status: Weird, Lonely, creative

Ultimate: Noblebright, (space is omnipresent, but either Skaia or Bilious Slick could work)

Talents: Art, Dream, Science, Cartography, Fashion

1 Time, Pulchritude

Meta: the Plot

Or more specifically just the chronology of the plot, the fact that event occur one after another, and that they continue to keep occuring. Not why they occur, or the specifics of what occurs, or how they relate, just that they do.

Themes: storytelling, Destruction, music, eventuality, endings, progression. There is a later section called Timelines (itll be at the end of the pdf, cause its a mess) that explains the horribly convoluted hell that is Timetravel in this game.

Interaction: letting time go by, playing music

Objects:instruments, clocks, metronomes

Strife Component: timing in combat, turn order, Actions

Status: aloof, entropic,

Ultimate: Grimdark

Talents: rhythm, fashion, nonchalance, dance, roast

Breath & Blood, [ i dont know how to describe the relationship between Direction and Investment]

9 Breath Adroitness

Meta: Story Direction

Breath is the why to Times when. Breath is moving to what's next, where you are going, what you are doing. New, unexpected events that are introduced that push the story towards a conclusion.

Themes: the mail, flying, goals, motivation, freedom, being let loose, not tied down, New Things

Interaction: anything touching the air or wind, moving around, breathing

Strife Component: Movement, Initiative, Absconding Strife

Status: flighty, confident

Ultimate: [free? Off the Railroad], The White Queen

Talents: ride, prank, rant, nonchalance, cartography, lift

4 Blood Vim

Meta: Investment

Do you give a shit about what's happening? Blood is if and how much you care about the story and characters. Your connection to it, your bond.

Themes: Relationships, Drama, Intensity, Family, Duty, Class Structure

Interaction: contact/ submersion in a liquid, especially with blood, bleeding, grappling and holding on

Objects: blood and other liquids, Rings,

Strife Component: Teams and Leaders, Being stuck in Strife

Status: <>,<3,<3<, c3<, angry, burdened

Ultimate: Stuck. The Black Queen.

Talents: Grip, Ship, Rant,

Light & Void; Relevance

8 Light, Sagacity

Meta: Importance

Even though there a literally trillions of bits of information streaming at you at every second, you only focus on a few sparse details. This concept is utilized very visually in stage shows, you can hardly look at everything on the stage, instead, our eyes tend to be led by a tool, the spotlight. This is the role of Light, it's the way the story signifies what is important, be it objects, locations, actions, or even the players themselves.

Themes: Luck. Fortune. Agency, Sobriety. Knowledge. Attention.

Interaction: anything illuminated, in the light of some object, but especially in the light of Skaia

Strife Component: Focus, Crit Success, revealed areas

Status: Lucky(unlucky), conscious, illuminated, Smug

Ultimate: Enlightenment. Skaia.

Talents: Snark, Judgement, Wiles, Gumshoery

5 Void, Adroitness

Meta: Unimportance

If light is what is under the spotlight on a stage, then Void is what is everywhere else. Void is where you aren't supposed to look, it allows the stage crew to move around the set, because if you can't see (or hear or perceive the event in some way) it's like it doesn't even happen. But thus goes deeper than just light and shadows, it's about attention. The street magician doesn't use magic, he keeps your attention one place, and in the void that creates he performs his magic and switches the cards around.

Themes:

Objects:

Interaction: any space where light is dim or nonexistent, especially in direct shadows

Strife Component: negative Focus, Critical Failure, Non Action, hidden areas

Status: Shy, unconscious, (lack of a status afflictment)

Ultimate: Nirvana. The Noble Circle of Horrorterrors.

Talents: Creep, Ride, Prank, Nonchalance, Lie

Hope & Rage; the suspension of disbelief

11 Hope, Pluck

Meta: Suspension of Disbelief

Hope is accepting something as believable. It is saying yes, this fits, this is explainable and justifiable in the setting and tone it is present in. Hope never needs to provide an explanation why, the answer is that when you believe in magic, anything is possible!

Themes: Belief in Magic, Romantic Crushes, Imagination, Shonen Heroism, Idealised Sexuality/bodies

Interaction: in dreams

Objects: globes, white stuff, phallic symbols

Strife Component: Dealing Damage, amount and note

Status: Hopeful, ( <3 and <3< but only when they are unrequited)

Ultimate: Magical. The White King.

Talents: Pester, Dream, Ship

2 Rage Vim

Meta: Contrivance

Breaking the suspension of disbelief. Rage is the realization that no, it doesn't fit, there is no believable explanation. It is complete and utter bullshit. Things that simply do not work, that are utterly impossible and unforgivable. And Rage is the reaction against this, screaming out that something is unacceptable, or reveling in the fact that it doesn't have to work, that its simply absurd and there is no changing that.

Themes: Disillusionment, Absurdity, Reality, Real human sex/bodies

Interaction: in nightmares, when things are in pain

Objects: clowns, game Glitches,

Strife Component: Deafness Resonance, Taking Damage, Response Actions

Status: Angry(calm), Afraid, Entropic

Ultimate: Berserk. The Black King

Talents: Rant, Lift, Lie, Science, Hack

Life & Doom; Tone

10 Life Pulchritude

Meta: Light Tone

Life is about having fun! Doing silly things, remembering to laugh, doing things that excite you, not always following the silly rules we make for ourselves. Rewarding yourself to a slice of pie, the sweetest pie called life.

Themes: Fun, Enjoyment. Endulgence. Growth. Power and the will to obtain it. The power to not have worry about the rules, to laugh without fear of retaliation, the power to afford sugar. The kind of power a monarch feels as they stare down upon the ants that are their subjects. The power to enforce their will upon the world.

Imagine an eagle as it swoops down to pull trout from its watery home. Imagine the strength it must feel, the rush of excitement as it swoops down from the sky, the power it feels knowing no other birds can compete, and the satisfaction it feels with the fish meat in its stomach. That is raw, unadulterated Life.

Objects: Organic structures, food, eating utensils

Interaction: consuming something, making a Joke

Strife Component: Vigor, Refill, Vitality Gel

Status: Sweet, Sour, Excited

Ultimate: Trickster. Prospit

Talents: Roast, Wiles, Fashion, Prank,

3 Doom, Sagacity

Meta: Heavy tone

Doom is Serious business, quite literally. It is the gravity of the situation, the weight that says right now is really not the time to be making a joke.

Themes: Rules. Law and Order. Structure. Should and shouldn't or Morality. Karma. Limitations. Sacrifice. Punishments. If Life is splurging and eating the entire ice-cream cake, then Doom is eating nothing but unsweetened, bland food for a diet.

When Life is the predator, Doom is the prey.

Interaction: Dying. Following the rules. Suffering from an Ailment

Objects: Dead things,

Strife Component:Despair, Decay, Ailments, ~ath,

Status: Bitter, Salty, Afraid, Paranoid, Ailments

Ultimate: Doomed. Derse.

Talents: Snark, Gumshoery, Hack, Judgement, Grip

Mind & Heart; the Self

7 Mind, Imagination

Meta: Choices.

What the player gets to decide for themselves.

Themes: Free Will, Pure rational Insight, Politics

Interaction: words, ideas, and concepts read or heard, anything that causes a thought

Objects: clothing, Coins, Synapses, Hats

Strife Component: Strife Techniques

Status: Confused, Pretending(Mind cheats by making any feeling a Mind status, but only if the player is pretending to feel it)

Ultimate: Fake. Denizens.

Talents: Lie, Cartography, Dance, nonchalance, Judgement

6 Heart Pluck

Meta: The person playing the game

Heart is the Ultimate Self, which is literally the person playing the game. Heart represents thing’s character, what they are regardless of choice. The character traits that make up “you”. The things that you were born with.

Themes: Capabilities/Talent, Preferences/Taste, true Love, True Friendship, Desire, Intuition

Interaction: touching, especially a kiss, direct eye contact

Objects: Shoes, player symbols and color, Hats

Strife Component: the players inherent stats, Talents, Weapon Quirks

Status: (heart cheats as well by making any feeling a heart status, but only if the player is honestly feeling it), <>,<3,<3<, c3<

Ultimate: Real. Denizens.

Talents: Pester, Ship, Lie, Dance, Dream

#Aspects #homestuck #homestuck rpg

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jesseneufeld · 5 years ago

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6 Signs of an Unhealthy Gut, 7 Likely Causes & the Best Foods for Gut Health

When the ancient Greek father of medicine, Hippocrates, said “All disease begins in the gut,” he was probably right. Poor gut health has been linked to a broad range of diseases and health conditions, from depression to diabetes, cancer to obesity, and autism to autoimmune disease. Search the medical literature and you’ll probably find links between the gut and any illness you can imagine.

So—all the world’s health issues solved, right? Not exactly.

Gut health is one of those topics that gets more complicated the deeper you go. The more you read about gut bacteria, the less you realize you know and the less you realize anyone knows, even the researchers. It’s infinite onions, all the way down. The layers never stop, and exposing them eventually makes you want to cry. (Speaking of which, onions are actually a very good food for gut health).

All that said, the scientific community is honing in on the signs and symptoms of an unhealthy gut. We know how to heal an unhealthy gut, or at least improve gut health. An incredible amount of research has determined the best foods for gut health, and we know the worst foods for gut health. We understand that gut health comes down to supporting healthy gut bacteria and avoiding leaky gut. Top-down micromanagement might not work yet, but big-picture, bottom-up intervention does.

Gut Inflammation: Signs of an Unhealthy Gut

Some of the signs are obvious. Others are more pernicious. Not all of these will apply to someone with unhealthy gut bacteria or leaky gut, but some will.

Chronic Constipation, Bloating, and/or Diarrhea

Everyone gets a little constipated now and then. We’ve all had the runs, and we’ve all felt bloated after a particularly large meal. As long as these conditions are acute—as long as they’re brief and transient—they don’t indicate any serious gut inflammation. It’s when constipation or diarrhea or bloating endure and become chronic conditions that you should pay close attention. Chronic constipation, bloating, and diarrhea are signs of an unhealthy gut biome.

Obesity or Overweight

Although the connection hasn’t been established as causal, there is a consistent and significant association between obesity/overweight and poor gut health. If you are obese, you very likely have room to improve the health and function of your gut.

Food Intolerances and Allergies

If the integrity of your gut is compromised due to excessive gut inflammation or missing gut bacteria, undigested components of the foods we eat can slip past the intestinal barrier and into our bodies where they trigger an allergic reaction. This appears to be a necessary step in the development of a food allergy, and a 2011 review concluded that an overly leaky gut facilitates this transportation and leads to the inducement of allergy.

Depression and Anxiety

Researchers have long puzzled over observations that mental health conditions like depression and anxiety often present with common gastrointestinal complaints like constipation and diarrhea. It’s not just circumstantial: gut bacteria produce large amounts of neurotransmitters like serotonin, interact with neural pathways involved in anxiety and depression, and help form the gut-brain axis.

Animal studies show that replacing the gut bacteria of anxious mice with gut bacteria from fearless mice makes the anxious mice more brave, while giving bold mice bacteria from anxious mice makes them more anxious. In human subjects, a probiotic supplement (containing L. helveticus R0052 and Bifidobacterium longum R0175) reduces measures of anxiety and depression, and by some accounts, 35% of depressed patients have leaky gut.

Skin Problems (Eczema, Psoriasis)

In the last section, I told you about the gut-brain axis. There’s also a gut-skin axis: a constant interplay between the health of your gut and the health of your skin. People who have eczema are also likely to have leaky gut, while psoriasis patients show clear signs of unbalanced gut bacteria.

Autoimmune Disease

One of the world’s premier autoimmune disease researchers, Dr. Alessio Fasano, considers poor gut health a necessary pre-condition for all autoimmune diseases. It’s a similar situation to the allergy/intolerance issue: a leaky, inflamed gut allows outside proteins and other food components into the body, the immune system mounts an immune response to deal with the invaders, and this response gets out of hand and redirected toward the body’s own tissues.

Okay, so how does it all happen? Apart from food, which I’ll get to later on…

What Causes an Unhealthy Gut?

There are many potential causes of poor gut health.

Stress

Stress can directly induce leaky gut (PDF) and stress can take many forms, as we all know. Bad finances, marital strife, unemployment, too much exercise, lack of sleep, extended combat training, and chronic under-eating all qualify as significant stressors with the potential to cause leaky gut, especially chronically and in concert with one another.

Poor Sleep

Sleep is restorative, and restorative sleep means you’re lowering stress and improving gut health. If your circadian rhythm starts to shift, starts getting a little dysfunctional, your gut health soon follows.

Inadequate Dirt Exposure

Too sterile an environment causes too sterile a gut. We are made to spend time in nature, feet and hands getting dirty, exposed directly to the natural soil teeming with trillions of bacteria. We’re meant to eat produce directly from the ground, and nature didn’t intend for us to always wash it. (That said, if you didn’t grow it yourself, it’s best to wash your produce.) Exposure to healthy soil may even bestow upon us anti-anxiety gut bacteria—gut microbes that actually make us less anxious.

Not Enough Exercise (or Too Much)

Exercise has been shown to directly improve gut function, increasing the production of beneficial short cain fatty acids by gut bacteria. When you stop training, the gut benefits cease.

Just don’t do too much. An acute bout of intense training causes a transient rise in leaky gut that subsides and even improves several hours after the session. This is fine. This is normal. This is adaptive. But if you start stringing together intense training sessions without adequate rest, the exercise becomes a chronic stressor and the transient rise in leaky gut starts looking more permanent.

Too Many Antibiotics

Antibiotics are great at killing pathogenic bacteria attacking you, but they also tend to be indiscriminate. They do not distinguish between friendly bactieria and harmful bacteria in your gut biome. The broad spectrum antibiotics we commonly take also wipe out the bacteria living in our guts, leading to gut bacteria imbalances and poor gut function.

After addressing the major causes of poor gut health, is there anything you should avoid eating? Are there foods you should focus on eating to improve your gut health?

What Are the Worst Foods for Gut Health?

The worst foods for gut health are no surprise to regular readers of this site, but that doesn’t make them any less important to avoid.

Refined Carbohydrates

When we eat refined carbs like grains or sugar, glucose is immediately released into the digestive tract, increasing the concentration of carbohydrate available to your gut biome. This concentrated influx of dense carbohydrate into the gut produces an inflammatory microbial population that increases production of bacterial endotoxin and increases leaky gut. Meanwhile, the lack of prebiotic fiber means your beneficial gut bacteria have no food to consume.

Gluten

Gluten, a protein found in wheat, barley, and rye, causes your body to release zonulin—a chemical messenger that tells your intestinal junctions to open up. Many people can handle this increase in zonulin, but if you’re already suffering from poor gut health or are sensitive to gluten, the zonulin response may be strong enough to trigger leaky gut.

What Are the Best Foods for Gut Health?

Fermentable fiber

Chocolate

Berries

Red wine

Skin, bones, and broth

Fermented foods

Resistant starch

Meat

Pistachios

Onions, garlic, and leeks

Fermentable fiber

Without food, your gut bacteria suffers. And the best food for your gut bacteria is fermentable fiber, found in many different plants. Asparagus, carrots, Jerusalem artichokes, and alliums like garlic and onions are your best bet.

Chocolate

Besides being delicious, high-cacao dark chocolate is an excellent source of prebiotic fiber (fiber your gut bacteria can consume) and prebiotic polyphenols (plant compounds that also feed your gut bacteria).

Berries

Name a berry and it’s been shown to improve gut health. Strawberries feed the gut biome and improve the gut function of diabetic mice. Blackberries restore gut health and trigger neuroprotective effects. Eating blueberries leads to compositional changes to the gut bacteria linked to improved metabolic health. And black raspberries have been shown to cause “anti-inflammatory” bacterial profiles in the gut.

Red wine

Although too much alcohol can have a detrimental effect on gut health, moderate amounts of red wine polyphenols may have prebiotic effects on the gut bacteria.

Skin, bones, and broth

Skin, bones, and broth offer gut health benefits in a number of ways. First, they provide “animal fiber,” collagenous and gristly substrate that our gut bacteria can digest and prosper on. Next, they offer ample amounts of gelatin, which can help repair damaged gut lining. In a pinch, collagen can fill the gap.

Fermented foods

This is an obvious one, but it’s incredibly important and more complex than you probably think. First of all, fermented foods like yogurt, sauerkraut, pickles, kefir, and dozens of other varieties seed our guts directly with beneficial probiotic bacteria. That has real benefits—though they don’t “form colonies” and you do have to continually eat fermented foods for the full benefit. Some fermented foods also have the ability to “train” your resident bacteria to digest new compounds. One example is fermented milk: in one study it didn’t colonize the gut but led to increased microbial expression of carbohydrate metabolizing enzymes in the existing bacteria.

Resistant starch

Resistant starch isn’t like other starches. Our stomach acid and digestive enzymes cannot break it down, but our gut bacteria can digest it. Multiple studies indicate that resistant starch consumption generally leads to an increase in “beneficial” colonic bacteria and a reduction in “pathogenic” colonic bacteria, including a boost to bifidobacteria and a decrease in firmicutes and a huge boost to butyrate production. The best sources of resistant starch are green (unripe) bananas and raw potato starch.

Meat

Meat usually doesn’t pop up on these lists, but that’s a huge mistake. Red meat especially provides ample B-vitamins required for energy generation and general physiological maintenance, including gut function. It’s a nutrient-dense “safe” food for even damaged guts who need to be careful about the plant foods they eat. And if you’re eating a significant amount of meat, you’ll have less room to eat the refined carbs and refined sugar that really cause gut issues.

Pistachios

Pistachios are the most potent nut for improving gut health. Other nuts like almonds are good too, but pistachios produce a biome richer in butyrate-secreting bacteria which is extremely beneficial to several body systems.

Onions, garlic, and leeks

Onions, garlic, leeks, and other members of the allium family offer concentrated doses of fructo-oligosaccharides, some of the best-studied and most beneficial fermentable prebiotic fibers in the plant kingdom. Plus, they’re delicious, and humans have been eating them for thousands of years (if not longer).

Some people will react poorly to some of the foods listed in the “Best” section. If your gut health is compromised and your gut bacteria dysfunctional, you may very well have trouble consuming fermentable fiber, resistant starch, berries, and other fibrous foods without bloating, gas, stomach pain, constipation, and diarrhea. Please read my article on FODMAPs to understand how to work around this issue and maintain your gut health.

Thanks for reading, everyone. If you have any questions about gut health or the info contained in this post, let me know down below!

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References

Bell DS. Changes seen in gut bacteria content and distribution with obesity: causation or association?. Postgrad Med. 2015;127(8):863-8.

Tordesillas L, Gómez-casado C, Garrido-arandia M, et al. Transport of Pru p 3 across gastrointestinal epithelium – an essential step towards the induction of food allergy?. Clin Exp Allergy. 2013;43(12):1374-83.

Perrier C, Corthésy B. Gut permeability and food allergies. Clin Exp Allergy. 2011;41(1):20-8.

Foster JA, Mcvey neufeld KA. Gut-brain axis: how the microbiome influences anxiety and depression. Trends Neurosci. 2013;36(5):305-12.

Hidalgo-cantabrana C, Gómez J, Delgado S, et al. Gut microbiota dysbiosis in a cohort of patients with psoriasis. Br J Dermatol. 2019;181(6):1287-1295.

Allen JM, Mailing LJ, Niemiro GM, et al. Exercise Alters Gut Microbiota Composition and Function in Lean and Obese Humans. Med Sci Sports Exerc. 2018;50(4):747-757.

Petersen C, Wankhade UD, Bharat D, et al. Dietary supplementation with strawberry induces marked changes in the composition and functional potential of the gut microbiome in diabetic mice. J Nutr Biochem. 2019;66:63-69.

Marques C, Fernandes I, Meireles M, et al. Gut microbiota modulation accounts for the neuroprotective properties of anthocyanins. Sci Rep. 2018;8(1):11341.

Lee S, Keirsey KI, Kirkland R, Grunewald ZI, Fischer JG, De la serre CB. Blueberry Supplementation Influences the Gut Microbiota, Inflammation, and Insulin Resistance in High-Fat-Diet-Fed Rats. J Nutr. 2018;148(2):209-219.

Pan P, Lam V, Salzman N, et al. Black Raspberries and Their Anthocyanin and Fiber Fractions Alter the Composition and Diversity of Gut Microbiota in F-344 Rats. Nutr Cancer. 2017;69(6):943-951.

Mcnulty NP, Yatsunenko T, Hsiao A, et al. The impact of a consortium of fermented milk strains on the gut microbiome of gnotobiotic mice and monozygotic twins. Sci Transl Med. 2011;3(106):106ra106.

Haenen D, Zhang J, Souza da silva C, et al. A diet high in resistant starch modulates microbiota composition, SCFA concentrations, and gene expression in pig intestine. J Nutr. 2013;143(3):274-83.

Martínez I, Kim J, Duffy PR, Schlegel VL, Walter J. Resistant starches types 2 and 4 have differential effects on the composition of the fecal microbiota in human subjects. PLoS ONE. 2010;5(11):e15046.

Liu Z, Lin X, Huang G, Zhang W, Rao P, Ni L. Prebiotic effects of almonds and almond skins on intestinal microbiota in healthy adult humans. Anaerobe. 2014;26:1-6.

Ukhanova M, Wang X, Baer DJ, Novotny JA, Fredborg M, Mai V. Effects of almond and pistachio consumption on gut microbiota composition in a randomised cross-over human feeding study. Br J Nutr. 2014;111(12):2146-52.

Gibson GR. Dietary modulation of the human gut microflora using prebiotics. Br J Nutr. 1998;80(4):S209-12.

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lauramalchowblog · 5 years ago