#saeclum

[androgynouspenguinexpert]

MAYBE IT'S FOR THE BEST I CAN'T GET ANY CLOSER.

I WOULD TEAR YOU LIMB FROM PITIFUL LIMB.

[baldselene]

dies iræ - solvet saeclum in favila.

[mrs-kmikaelson]

06| The Tribrid

Pairing: Klaus Mikaelson x daughter!reader Summary: While you busy yourself with making sure the deal with the witches runs smoothly, Klaus occupies himself by trying to figure you out. Warnings: none Words: 4.4K

Masterlist | Part 7

I walked into my house, throwing my keys on the side-table next to the door and shrugging off my jacket. I checked my watch: 2:01 PM, so Davina was still at school and wouldn't be back 'til she was done practicing with the witches. 

I just got back from lunch with Elijah where we went over the Mikaelson's terms in more detail. Genevieve had sent a witch to the Abattoir earlier like a carrier pigeon with an outline of their requests.

Pretty dramatic, if you ask me, but she was like just resurrected. She probably doesn't know how to text yet, so whatever.

After Elijah and I talked over everything, I left, telling him I'd type up the contract myself. As an immortal with plenty of time on my hands, I've gone to law school and pursued numerous careers, as I'm sure Elijah probably had, too, so there was no need to hire (compel) someone else to write this contract for us.

I made my way to my room, passing Davina's on the way which was filled with boxes and a few things placed haphazardly on the ground. My room looked a little different: pretty plain, bed parallel to the door. Normal, basically. 

I walked into my adjoining walk-in closet which was probably the most interesting thing about this room. At first glance, it looked mundane; there were some eye-catching statement pieces, but this closet otherwise just looked like a closet.

Unless you knew what to look for.

I closed the closet door for good measure and turned to the back wall, waving my hand and muttering, "Invisique saeclum." Instantly, the illusion of the wall disappear and another, smaller, more compact room was revealed.

It was lined with shelves, books stacked on top of each them. I walked closer, going to pick up the book closest to me. My grimoire. Like the rest of the books in this closet, it was dusty. I haven't needed to look for a spell in a long while. 

I placed it down on the island in the middle of the room before turning to find the other book I needed. Under a few other books, I found what I was looking for: Amelia's grimoire.

I put it down next to mine, staring at both of them. Strong nostalgia came over me. I hadn't looked at her grimoire in long time, or even my own, for that matter. Both of them should have been worn down now after all these years, but a simple preservation spell kept them in pristine condition, looking just as they had when I was younger.

My lips quirked up as I ran my hand along their covers, memories flashing before my eyes of my childhood. But as quick as the happiness came, it disappeared with the thought of how that very childhood was stolen from me.

Enough with memory lane.

I switched my focus onto the purpose of even grabbing these books, opening my grimoire and flipping through it until I found the page I was looking for. 

Illusion spells.

While I was very familiar with this type of spell, the one I wanted to perform was a little different. It was similar to the average cloaking spell, but I wanted a physical manifestation of an object: a decoy.

I wasn't stupid. I was never going to give Genevieve my aunt's grimoire. The only reason the witches wanted something so powerful was for leverage, and they weren't gonna get it. I knew all this last night, so instead of actually giving them Amelia's grimoire, I'd give them a copy.

But this copy had to feel real, tangible. Its energy needed to be able to be sensed in the same way it was with the real thing. They needed to feel like they could trust us, even if the Mikaelsons—or myself, for that matter—didn't trust them.

The thing with magic was that it worked through energy. Witches have their own special type of energy that enables them to perform spells. That's why you could practice magic without incantations; so long as the intent was there and it was strong enough, then your spell would work.

The reason why we often do use incantations is because words hold power. The history behind them holds enough energy to basically back the spell up. So, if you were using spells that weren't your own, then you would also want to use the chant because, without one, your own intent wouldn't be strong enough for the magic to pull through.

That's why I was going to change the incantations written down altogether.

At first, I was gonna exclude certain pages from Genevieve's copy completely, but then I realized that, without the powerful spells, she'd be less likely to trust us. So then I just change them so that they still made sense, but wouldn't work.

Without the written incantations that Bennetts had chanted in the past, these spells would be useless. If the words didn't hold any significance, then they were pointless.

Which was exactly my goal.

I hovered my left hand over Amelia's grimoire, hovering the other over blank space on the island. I closed my eyes and began, "Phantamogriphia decorum, appearatas veridical. Phantamogriphia decorum, appearatas veridical." After repeating this a few times, I felt the emergence of energy into the room and opened my eyes to see a book identical to Amelia's under my right hand.

I picked it up, flipping through it and stopping every once in a while to alter a spell, muttering incantations under my breath so the words on the page would appear as if they were Amelia's handwriting.

When I was done, I set it down on the island to compare it to Amelia's real grimoire. It was almost impossible to tell the difference unless you actually knew her. There was only a slight difference in the energy emitting from each book, but I knew this was fool-proof.

With a grin, I returned mine and Amelia's grimoires to their spots, bringing the cloak of the wall back. I grabbed the fake and stuffed it into my bag, tossing it onto a chair in my room. For now, I'd go type up the contract, then I'd walk over to the compound to give it to Elijah.

With that, I walked over to my office.

THIRD PERSON, THE NIGHT BEFORE

Klaus stood off to the side while his brother and his latest fixation spoke to the witches. He was silent; Elijah already warned him earlier not to cause a fuss, and the last thing he wanted was a fight with a Elijah. He had enough to deal with, this agreement included.

This evening, however, was not something he wanted.

Klaus couldn't care less if the factions tore each other apart in the streets. All of this was Elijah's doing, and so Klaus was only there to oversee it. Truth be told, he wasn't even going to show until Elijah told him Y/N was going to be there.

That caught his interest.

He couldn't figure it out, but there was something about this girl that pulled him to her. She looked familiar; he just couldn't pinpoint where he knew her from.

It seemed that others found her just as fascinating. For some reason, she had the trust of the Quarter's residents, but she wasn't going to get Klaus' trust so easily.

There was something off about her, something far greater than familiarity. And he was going to figure it out.

No matter what.

His attention was drawn away from Y/N when Genevieve cut her off. The words that came out of her mouth had stunned him.

"Esther Mikaelson's grimoire. We want Esther Mikaelson's grimoire."

Elijah's request for peace this evening suddenly went over his head. He scowled, "Are you out of your mind?"

"Niklaus-"

"I am not giving you my mother's grimoire. After what you tried to do to my family, you expect me to hand over-"

"Niklaus." Klaus stopped, turning to look at Elijah. His jaw clenched when he saw the look on his brother's face. He calmed down slightly, glancing at Y/N, wondering how she was going to talk her way out of this one.

Even as he glowered at Genevieve, he couldn't help but feel smug. There was no way out of this, and the oh so special Y/N would fail.

Or so he thought. 

Y/N declined her request, as he predicted. Genevieve went to pull out of the deal, as he predicted. What he didn't predict was what Y/N said next.

"I currently have a Bennett grimoire in my possession." His head snapped in her direction. His eyes met Elijah's who looked just as surprised as him. He glanced over at the witches who luckily didn't notice their reactions, too engulfed in shock of their own. "It's yours, so long as you accept."

The rest of the conversation became muffled to Klaus, as if he were underwater. He could tell she wasn't bluffing—that, or she was a really good liar. He suspected that both were true. So many thoughts ran through his head at once.

While he thought she must have won Elijah over with that save, this only deepened his own distrust in her. A Bennett's grimoire was extremely hard to come by. They were guarded as if they were the holy grail. If he, the Original Hybrid, wasn't able to get his hands on one, then how did a mere vampire acquire one?

And why was she giving it up like it was pocket change?

He tuned back into the conversation when all parties stood up, Y/N and Genevieve shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries that he didn't care for. As Elijah walked the witches out, Klaus didn't glance at Genevieve once, even though he felt like glaring at her whenever he saw her. Instead, his glare was directed to Y/N.

Their eyes locked, and Y/N only continued to surprise him by staring right back. She was confident, and assertive, and unfazed with every comment he threw her way. He kept trying to shake her, but she appeared to be rooted to her spot every time. This only annoyed him.

He was so focused that he didn't even notice when his brother walked back into the room. Elijah thanked her, making Y/N look away to respond. Klaus had an inkling that Elijah wouldn't bring up what just happened, so he had no choice but to be the one to do it.

"How do you have a Bennett grimoire in your possession?" He interrogated, suspicion audible in his voice. Elijah gave him a look that was ignored.

He watched Y/N's body language as she responded, looking for any signs of a lie. "I met one a few hundred years ago. She died after she was in the wrong place, wrong time, but she left that book to me."

She must take me for a fool, he thought. The nerve of her to think he'd believe that. "A Bennett witch left her grimoire with you, a vampire? Not with her family?" He enunciated each word slowly as if to emphasize his point.

A Bennett witch leaving something as valuable as her grimoire to a member of the species they hated was unheard of. 

Y/N gave an excuse, saying the witch wasn't close with her family at the time, as if that made it any more believable. "And I was human at the time so, yes, she left it to me because she knew it could come of use one day."

She showed no indication that she was lying, and if her story was real, then her excuses were reasonable. Perhaps if the story were coming from someone else, he would've rolled over and believed it. But this was coming from Marcel's supposed 'best friend,' the woman who so happened to be there the night Hayley was almost attacked, who had his brother so interested in her that he forced him to allow Marcel back into the Quarter all for the sake of a deal. This was coming from the woman who reminded him so much of a ghost from his past.

So, no, Klaus did not believe her.

Elijah, on the other hand, didn't look as vexed. He cleared his throat and changed the subject, thanking her again. Y/N turned around, making plans for another meeting. She didn't look back at Klaus once, but he was staring at her until even after she walked out the gate.

Elijah sighing broke him out of his trance. "Must you be so difficult, Niklaus?"

Klaus rolled his eyes. "If you want to turn a blind eye to all of this, then by all means. But this woman is so obviously hiding something." He reached for his scotch, downing the rest of it in one go.

"Niklaus, please-"

He cut him off, "No, Elijah—you can't honestly be telling me that you don't see what I'm seeing. She acts as if she's guilty of something-"

"Innocent until proven guilty."

Klaus scoffed. Elijah's immediate impulse to see the best in everyone could very well one day be his downfall. For some reason, he was defending Y/N, even though they both knew the only reason they really brought her in was because he saw the same things Klaus did.

Klaus shook his head. "She's not who she says she is." This time, Elijah's response didn't come as quick. He only silently maintained his stare. Little did Klaus know, his brother had doubts of his own.

Elijah's response never came. He closed the book on the conversation completely. "Good night, Niklaus." Elijah walked way, patting Klaus' shoulder as he passed him before going up the stairs. The hybrid cursed him in his head. How could he be so stupid, he thought.

He knew you were hiding something. 

And he would make it his personal job to figure out what it was.

FIRST PERSON, PRESENT

I closed my laptop, having just printed out the contract. With Marcel, contracts were never necessary; you would just trust the other person's word. But, in this new society, trust could not be guaranteed. 

I sighed, checking the time. Davina should be home any minute now.

Right on cue, I heard a knock at the door. I furrowed my brows. Didn't I give her a key?

She must have left it her by accident. Not thinking anything of it, I got up, walking to the door absentmindedly. "Hey, Dav-" my words died down in my throat once I opened the door. Standing in front of me wasn't Davina.

It was Klaus.

He coyly smiled. "Hello, Y/N. May I come in?" For a quick second, I was stunned. I wasn't expecting this at all. How did he even know I lived here? I wondered before dismissing the thought. He's Klaus Mikaelson; of course, he knows where I live.

I quickly composed myself, reciprocating his smile, only hoping that mine didn't look as fake as his. I held the door open wider. "Of course." The act of Klaus stepping over the threshold into my home almost made me sick, but I didn't dare show it on my face.

"Lovely home you have here," he said, looking around, but I doubted he was just looking out curiosity, and that compliment felt nothing like a compliment to me. What the fuck is he doing here?

I thanked him, resisting the urge to cross my arms. I learned in the few psych classes I attended that it was a sign of discomfort. I instead tried to make myself less stiff, asking myself how a normal person would act in this situation and then trying to behave that way.

"Would you like something to drink? Water, tea, Brandy....?" 

Klaus shook his head, declining. He still wasn't looking at me, continuing to stare at my house. He seemed to be searching for something, and I had an idea what it was.

Well, he wouldn't find it.

I skipped over the like five other questions I had, asking, "What brings you here?" I kept my voice light, even though he probably knew that I knew what he was doing. I was already gonna be heading over to the compound later where he would've seen me. He had no reason to be here other than to look for some sort of flaw.

Finally, Klaus looked over at me. "Elijah's currently preoccupied, so I told him I'd just come here and get what you were supposed to give to him." Bullshit. But I'd play this game. I've won far harder ones.

I reminded myself of the pact I made to myself when I left the compound yesterday, of everything I've endured over the course of my life. If I went through what I went through, then I could go through speaking to my father.

I faked nonchalance. "Right, the contract. I'll go get that right now." I went to my room, grabbing the stapled pages and Amelia's grimoire out of my bag, ignoring the fact that the hybrid could've done anything in the less than thirty seconds I left him alone. However, when I got back, he seemed to be in exact same spot, waiting patiently for my return. 

"Here," I said, handing them to both to him. He hummed, flipping through the pages—though, I doubt he was reading anything, even though the contents of the folder I just gave him were only drafted in attempts to save his city.

But I didn't have to have known Klaus long to know that this wasn't about saving anything for him. Men like him didn't save; they destroyed, and my mother raised me well enough to make sure I never forgot that.

When he closed the folder, he looked at the grimoire with a serious stare. I would've been worried that he was trying to see past my glamour had I not been as strong as I was. Nobody could see past my illusions other than myself; it's always been that way, and it'll always be that way.

Instead, I could bet he was questioning its authenticity or even my authenticity. The white lie I gave the other night was convincing enough to get me out of the compound, but since Klaus was looking for any reason to support his distrust in me, he obviously still had reservations.

Before I could continue with my train of thought, Klaus looked up at me and abruptly questioned, "Where are you from?" My brows went up. Out of all the things he could've said, that was on my list of least expected.

But I wasn't expecting any of the other things that'd happened in my life since I returned to New Orleans, either.

My first instinct was to respond, why do you ask? but that felt defensive and that was the last thing I wanted to come off as to my father. I told him what I told most people who asked. "A little bit of everywhere, I suppose." I shrugged for effect. "I was travelling at a young age due to conflicts around my family, so I was all over Europe as a child."

The suspicion Klaus so eagerly showed me the other night was tucked away. Instead, he only hummed again, but clearly he didn't believe me; otherwise, he would've left it alone, but I could never be so lucky. 

"And how old are you? If you don't mind my asking," he added, as if he cared about whether not I minded.

I didn't hesitate. "About five hundred years old, give or take."

He hummed in response, adding to my irritation, but I was much better at hiding what I was thinking than he was. Not that he was trying. "Well, I suppose I should've assumed so since the Bennett witches had fled to America around that time period." He stared me dead in the eye, a smug smile on his face but a much more serious look in his eyes. 

He was pretty close to me, close enough that I could see his eyes—and I mean really see them. They were blue with twinges of green and brown that I hadn't seen from far away before. And even though almost nothing scared the crap out of me more than the fact that his eyes looked like mine, I stared right back like I had no fears at all.

"Yeah, that's true," I agreed, but I didn't offer anything further. The only other things I could've added to this conversation to convince him I wasn't lying were facts from my personal life and that was information I wouldn't soon give up. 

I didn't know how well Klaus knew my mother before they conceived me, if he knew her best friend's name or even her own, for that matter. So there were some details I just had to keep to myself; revealing certain things may have had the ability to help me, but they could also hurt me just as easily.

That was a risk I wasn't going to take.

Klaus just kept staring at me, and I almost thought he'd never look away until the door opened. We both turned to see Davina in the doorway, keys in her hand.

Her mouth fell open slightly, eyes darting between me and the Original in our living room. Said Original broke the silence. "Ah, if it isn't the little witch."

I watched Davina swallow but still manage to glare at him. "Klaus."

Klaus held his hands up in surrender, that same "friendly" smile on his face that was anything but. "Relax, love. I come in peace." He then looked back over at me. "I was just leaving." With that, he walked toward the door. Back still turned to me, he uttered a thank you for what I gave him and wished us a wonderful night, patting Davina on the shoulder on his way out.

The teenager barely waited until Klaus was out the door to close it, looking over at me with incredulous eyes. Just as her mouth was about to open, I brought my finger to my lips, silently shushing her and pointing to my ear.

She got the message, exasperatedly sighing and running a hand through her hair while I used my hearing to listen to Klaus walk away. Once I could no longer hear his footsteps, I let my finger fall. Davina instantly let her questions loose.

"What the hell was he doing here? Why'd you let him in- no, how did he get in? What was that stuff he walked out with and why did that book look like a grimoire? Oh my God, does he know that you're a-"

I cut her off, "Davina. Slow down and I'll explain." At my interruption she paused, taking a breath. I couldn't help but be amused at her worry, even though the Devil himself had just been standing in my living room.

Once she was calm, I elaborated, summarizing the deal I'd made with Elijah and then the deal we'd just made with the witches. Although I trusted Davina, I gave her the same story I gave Klaus when it came to the grimoire. There were some things just better kept secret and, for now, Amelia Bennett and my family fell under that category.

After I'd explained everything, Davina nodded to herself, soaking it all in, muttering under her breath, "That must've been what everyone was talking about today, a deal with the Mikaelsons." She pursed her lips. "Yeah, I heard Genevieve and some others whispering something about a Bennett witch, so it must've been that."

I nodded. "Yeah, and as for Klaus being here, I let him in myself. Don't worry; the protections are fine." She finally seemed to calm down after that.

"Okay, I guess I'll just go do my homework now or something. See you, Y/N/N." I ruffled her hair as she walked past me, getting a faux angry pout that didn't last long before a smile started to form on her lips. Like her happiness was contagious, the corners of my lips upturned, too.

It was good to see her happy, busying herself with things like homework. That's what teens should be doing, not hiding away in attics, isolated from humanity. Death shouldn't have even crossed her mind but I knew that, living in the world we lived in, that wasn't an option.

In spite of that, I would do my best to preserve her childhood for as long as I could. There was no one there to do that for me, and I'd be damned if I would just stand by and watch as hers was stolen from her.

Davina meant too much to me to allow that to happen, but even so, there were still things about me that she didn't know. There were things about me that no one knew, no matter how close to me they'd gotten.

No one knew I was Klaus' daughter, no one but Amelia, my mother, and the person who killed her.

At that thought, my mood became sour, but instead of drowning in my own self-pity, I blocked the thoughts completely. I couldn't afford to be in New Orleans with Klaus Mikaelson watching my every move and to also think about that part of my past.

So I pulled out my phone and dialled until Cellie's voice filled my ear, "Hey, what's up?"

"Hey, let's go out. We can hit up that new club downtown. And call Cami up, too; we can all go and just have fun."

"Not that I oppose this in anyway, but what brought up this spontaneousness?"

"Nothing," I lied. "I just want to have a night-out on the town. C'mon, Marcel; don't be boring."

He gave in, "Alright, alright, fine. I'll call Cami."

I grinned. "Great; meet at my place." Before he could say anything else, I hung up on him. This was just the sort of thing I needed, to go out like everything was normal.

I rushed to go get ready, pushing all thoughts of Klaus and my past to the back of my mind. For one night, just one, I wanted to feel like myself again.

Ever since I got back to New Orleans, I've felt like this shell of myself. Around the Originals, I felt like little-kid-me. All of these memories and thoughts that I've worked to repress have just been resurfacing, and so, for one night, I just want to feel like myself again. That'll help me get it all together.

I was gonna go out tonight, not as a Mikaelson, but as a Y/L/N.

And after that, I was gonna bury Y/N Mikaelson for good.

Taglist: @scrynexxtins @thisnameistaken1234 @honestlycasualarcade @xlittlestarling @thatgirljas13

[tobbogan-13]

dies irae

dies irae

dies illa

dies illa

solvet saeclum in favilla

AHH AHHH AHH

AHH AHHH AHH

AHH AHH AHH AHH AHH AHHH

KYRIE ELEISON

[c0rpsedemon]

hey girl did you know that uhm . dies irae dies ila solvet saeclum in favila teste david cum sibylla quantus tremor est futurus quandro judex est venturus cuncta stricte discussurus

[schizografia]

Requiem per l’Occidente

Verso la fine del XIX secolo, Moritz Steinschneider, uno dei fondatori della scienza del giudaismo, dichiarò, non senza scandalo di molti benpensanti, che la sola cosa che si poteva fare per il giudaismo era assicurargli un degno funerale. È possibile che da allora il suo giudizio si applichi anche alla Chiesa e alla cultura occidentale nel suo complesso. Quel che di fatto è, tuttavia, avvenuto è che il degno funerale di cui parlava Steinschneider non è stato celebrato, né allora per il giudaismo né ora per l’Occidente.

Parte essenziale del funerale nella tradizione della chiesa cattolica è la messa detta di Requiem, che nell’Introito si apre appunto con le parole: Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine, et lux perpetua luceat eis. Fino al 1970, il missale romano prescriveva inoltre per la messa di requiem la recitazione nella sequenza del dies irae. Questa scelta era perfettamente conseguente col fatto che il termine stesso che definiva la messa per i defunti proveniva da un testo apocalittico, l’Apocalisse di Esdra, che evocava insieme la pace e la fine del mondo: requiem aeternitatis dabit vobis, quoniam in proximo est ille, qui in finem saeculi adveniet, «vi darà la pace eterna, perché è vicino colui che viene alla fine del tempo». L’abolizione del dies irae nel 1970 va insieme all’abbandono di ogni istanza escatologica da parte della Chiesa, che si è in questo modo del tutto conformata all’idea di un progresso infinito che definisce la modernità. Ciò che viene lasciato cadere senza il coraggio di esplicitarne le ragioni – il giorno dell’ira, l’ultimo giorno – può essere raccolto come u’arma da usare contro le viltà e le contraddizioni del potere al momento della sua fine. È quanto intendiamo qui fare, provandoci a celebrare senza intenzione parodica, ma al di fuori della Chiesa, che appartiene al numero dei defunti, una sorta di funerale abbreviato per l’occidente.

Dies irae, dies illa

solvet saeclum in favilla,

teste David cum Sybilla.

Giorno d'ira, quel giorno

distruggerà il mondo nella cenere,

come testimoniano Davide e la Sibilla.

Di che giorno si tratta? Certamente del presente, del tempo che stiamo vivendo. Ogni giorno è il giorno dell’ira, l’ultimo giorno. Oggi il secolo, il mondo sta bruciando, e con esso anche la nostra casa. Di questo dobbiamo essere testimoni, come Davide e come la Sibilla. Chi tace e non testimonia, non avrà pace né ora né domani, perché è appunto la pace che l’occidente non può né vuole vedere né pensare.

Quantus tremor est futurus

quando iudex est venturus

cuncta stricte discussurus.

Quanto terrore ci sarà,

quando verrà il giudice,

per giudicare rigorosamente ogni cosa.

Il terrore non è futuro, è qui e ora. E quel giudice siamo noi, chiamati a pronunciare il giudizio, la krisis sul nostro tempo. Alla parola «crisi», di cui non si fa che parlare per giustificare lo stato d’eccezione, noi restituiamo il suo significato originale di giudizio. Nel vocabolario della medicina ippocratica, krisis designava il momento in cui il medico deve giudicare se il paziente morirà o sopravviverà. Allo stesso modo noi discerniamo ciò che dell’occidente muore e ciò che è ancora vivo. E il giudizio sarà severo, non si lascerà sfuggire nulla.

Tuba mirum spargens sonum

per sepulchra regionum,

coget omnes ante thronum.

Mors stupebit et natura,

cum resurget creatura,

iudicanti responsura.

Una tromba che diffonde un suono meraviglioso

nei sepolcri di tutto il mondo,

chiamerà tutti davanti al trono.

La morte e la natura stupiranno,

quando la creatura risorgerà,

per rispondere al giudice.

Non possiamo far risorgere i morti, ma possiamo almeno preparare con ogni cura lo strumento meraviglioso del nostro pensiero e del nostro giudizio e, facendolo poi risuonare senza timore, liberare la natura e la morte dalle mani del potere che con esse ci governa. Sentire stupire in noi la natura e la morte, presagire qui e ora un’altra vita possibile e un’altra morte, è la sola resurrezione che c’interessa.

Liber scriptus proferetur,

in quo totum continetur,

unde mundus iudicetur.

Iudex ergo cum sedebit,

quidquid latet apparebit,

nil inultum remanebit.

Verrà aperto il libro,

nel quale tutto è contenuto,

e da quello il mondo sarà giudicato.

Non appena il giudice sarà seduto,

apparirà ciò che è nascosto,

nulla resterà invendicato.

Il libro scritto è la storia, che è sempre storia della menzogna e dell’ingiustizia. Della verità e della giustizia non vi è storia, ma apparizione istantanea nella krisis decisiva di ogni menzogna e ogni ingiustizia. In quel punto la menzogna non potrà più coprire la realtà. La giustizia e la verità manifestano infatti se stesse, manifestando la falsità e l’ingiustizia. E nulla sfuggirà alla forza alla loro vendetta, a condizione di restituire al questa parola il significato etimologico che ha nel processo romano, in cui il vindex è colui che vim dicit, che mostra al giudice la violenza che è stata fatta a colui che solo in questo senso egli “vendica”.

Quid sum miser tunc dicturus,

quem patronum rogaturus,

cum vix iustus sit securus.

E io che sono misero che dirò,

chi chiamerò in mia difesa,

se a mala pena il giusto è sicuro?

Il giusto che presta la sua voce al giudizio è in qualche modo coinvolto nel giudizio e non può chiamare altri in sua difesa. Nessuno può testimoniare per il testimone, egli è solo con la sua testimonianza -in questo senso non è sicuro, è dentro la crisi del suo tempo -e nondimeno pronuncia la sua testimonianza.

Confutatis maledictis,

flammis acribus addictis,

voca me cum benedictis…

Lacrimosa dies illa,

qua resurget ex favilla

iudicandus homo reus

Condannati i maledetti,

gettati nelle vive fiamme,

chiama me tra i benedetti…

Giorno di lacrime quel giorno,

quando risorgerà dalla cenere

l'uomo reo per essere giudicato.

Benché l’inno sul giorno dell’ira faccia parte di una messa che chiede pace e pietà per i morti, il discrimine fra i maledetti e i benedetti, fra i carnefici e le vittime è mantenuto. Nell’ultimo giorno, i carnefici, come stanno ora facendo senza forse avvedersene, si confutano infatti da soli, lasciano cadere le maschere che coprivano la loro ingiustizia e la loro menzogna e si gettano nelle fiamme che hanno essi stessi acceso. L’ultimo giorno, il giorno dell’ira, ogni giorno è per essi un giorno di lacrime, ed è forse proprio perché ne sono consapevoli che si fingono così sorridenti. Solo il consenso e la paura dei molti tiene in sospeso quel giorno. Per questo, anche se ci sappiamo senza potere di fronte al potere, tanto più implacabile deve essere il nostro giudizio, che non possiamo separare dal requiem che stiamo celebrando. Signore, non dare loro la pace, perché essi non sanno che cosa essa sia.

Giorgio Agamben, 11 luglio 2024

[stain-is-the-name]

solvet saeclum in favilla

[patricida]

can these saeclum solvet in favilla already. i'm getting bored

[sadeanrule]

Formerly Libertine risen, Nero's torches, hard discipline, and a few other names I can't remember. The people I like, and those who like what I do always seem to find one another in the long run.

Dies Irae Dies Illah, Sol vet saeclum in favilla. Tests Satan cum si by....

[lyrics365]

Requiem (Prod. Czaer)

Dies irae, dies illa solvet saeclum in favilla, teste David cum Sibylla Dies irae, dies illa solvet saeclum in favilla, teste David cum Sibylla i geime deureoomyeon igeon pyeongsaeng imi competition choegoreul pogihan ideurui sichereul ssago isseo wieseo dance, that’s my mission Few understand Even though I’m famous, standing in front of y’all like Mona Lisa, huh nae wie bossneun none, cut the…

[pillarofawesome]

Fun fact:

The word "Secular" is often used to refer to matters worldly or nonreligious, but that's not what the word originally means.

It pertains to something called a "Saeclum", a variable unit of time most likely coined in the Roman Empire.

The time period begins at any point in history and ends when everyone alive at the beginning is now dead (approximately 110 years).

A so-called secular belief basically means that this life is all we have. Once we are dead, this world, era, or saeclum dies with us.

I thought that was interesting.

[southeurope]

K. Penderecki's "A Polish Requiem" is a large-scale choral and orchestral work that was first performed in 1984. The work is a setting of the traditional Latin texts of the Requiem Mass, but it also incorporates Polish folk music and other elements of Polish culture.

The work is in six movements, each of which is based on a different text from the Requiem Mass. The first movement, "Introitus," is a somber and reflective introduction. The second movement, "Dies irae," is a powerful and dramatic depiction of the Day of Judgment. The third movement, "Tuba mirum," is a more lyrical and contemplative movement. The fourth movement, "Mors stupebit," is a triumphant celebration of the Resurrection. The fifth movement, "Libera me," is a prayer for deliverance from eternal damnation. The sixth movement, "Pie Jesu," is a tender and moving plea for mercy.

"A Polish Requiem" is a challenging and demanding work, but it is also a deeply moving and powerful expression of grief and hope. The work is a testament to Penderecki's mastery of musical form and his ability to communicate complex emotions through music.

Some specific details about the work:

The work is scored for a large orchestra, including a full complement of brass and percussion, as well as a large choir.

The work is full of dramatic contrasts, from the quiet and reflective passages to the loud and dissonant passages.

The work incorporates elements of Polish folk music, such as the use of bagpipes and other traditional instruments.

The work is dedicated to the victims of the Holocaust and other atrocities.

"A Polish Requiem" is a significant work in the history of 20th-century music. It is a powerful and moving expression of grief and hope that continues to be performed and admired around the world.

Here is a more detailed description of each movement:

Introitus (Introduction)

The "Introitus" is a somber and reflective introduction to the work. The music is slow and quiet, with a simple melody in the choir. The movement is based on the Latin text "Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine, et lux perpetua luceat eis." ("Grant them eternal rest, O Lord, and let light perpetual shine upon them.")

Dies irae (Day of Judgment)

The "Dies irae" is a powerful and dramatic depiction of the Day of Judgment. The music is loud and dissonant, with a driving rhythm. The movement is based on the Latin text "Dies irae, dies illa, solvet saeclum in favilla, teste David cum Sibylla." ("Day of wrath, that day shall dissolve the world in ashes, as David and the Sibyl foretold.")

Tuba mirum (The wondrous trumpet)

The "Tuba mirum" is a more lyrical and contemplative movement. The music is slow and peaceful, with a simple melody in the choir. The movement is based on the Latin text "Tuba mirum spargens sonum per sepulchra regionum, coget omnes ante thronum." ("The wondrous trumpet, scattering its sound through the tombs of the regions, will summon all before the throne.")

Mors stupebit (Death shall be astonished)

The "Mors stupebit" is a triumphant celebration of the Resurrection. The music is loud and joyful, with a triumphant melody in the choir. The movement is based on the Latin text "Mors stupebit et natura, cum resurget creatura, judicanti responsura." ("Death shall be astonished and nature, when the creature shall rise again, to answer the Judge.")

Libera me (Deliver me)

The "Libera me" is a prayer for deliverance from eternal damnation. The music is slow and pleading, with a simple melody in the choir. The movement is based on the Latin text "Libera me, Domine, de morte aeterna, in die illa tremenda." ("Deliver me, O Lord, from eternal death, on that terrible day.")

Pie Jesu (Pie Jesu)

The "Pie Jesu" is a tender and moving plea for mercy. The music is slow and peaceful, with a simple melody in the choir. The movement is based on the Latin text "Pie Jesu Domine, dona eis requiem sempiternam." ("Merciful Jesus, Lord, grant them eternal rest.")

[spectaculardistractions]

To Homero Aridjis

[Mexico City, November 1982]

Dear friend, I’m putting into a few lines what I have already told you of my impressions on reading your book El último Adán. You can take out anything you don’t find useful:

Mankind will bring about the apocalypse, not God, that is in my view an absolute truth. This is the vast difference between the apocalyptic delirium of El último Adán and the mediocre description of the Apocalypse by Saint John. There is no doubt that human creativity has been enriched by the passing of the centuries.

The last Adam, his Eve already lost, wanders the ruined cities and barren fields in dense smoke under a dark sky, coming across groups of terrified humans with singed hair and eyebrows, blankly staring eyes and loosely hanging bellies. His progress is hampered by volcanoes erupting and clashing earth tremors, smoke, ash, skeletons, scattered human limbs and, above all, the fetid smell of putrefying flesh that I call ‘the sweet smell of eternity’.

Greek Homer’s ‘endlessly smiling sea’ has been extinguished, leaving only darkness and chaos.

To my mind, the constant and obsessive reiteration offers a powerful contribution to Aridjis’s narrative of delirious apocalypse, an alternative title for which might be: Dies irae, dies illa, solvet saeclum in favilla.* [Day of wrath and doom impending / Heaven and earth in ashes ending]

Luis Buñuel

*I crossed out the bit about teste David cum sibylla [David's word with Sibyl's blending] because I think it’s stupid.

Jo Evans & Breixo Viejo, Luis Buñuel: A Life in Letters

[teawiththespleen]

dies irae dies illa solvet saeclum in favilla teste david cum sybilla and soon and so forth yfeel?

[human-antithesis]

Nihil Sine Polum

Lyrics: Dissolve the full! Coagulate the empty! Procreate the infernal fire from the sacred soil of division. A seed hatches... solvet saeclum in favilla, venom of God! There are death wounds in the burning of Eros. The void calls to fill and the full to empty. Black shadow of a red sun, Saatorus! The adversary in combustion, rise! The call of emptiness as fire of life. To the gaping heart the deep beat, emptiness and the consistency of it Union of unequals, burn!

[sinnersandsaints-linwrites]

If it hasn't already been answered or if it's not spoilers, where geographically is Deadwood? America?

Deadwood is in United States, yes

don't ask me where specifically -- I don't know either. it's a fictional place in a fictional forest near a fictional river and a fictional mountain