write a reply

What are you reading?

phantom of the black parade
pronounsshe / her pronouns
4,382written posts
Kuroyaearned bits
offlinecurrently
Kuroya
Part of the Furniture
Kuroya Avatar
what do you want to know? my height, hobbies, quirks, the color of my underwear?
been reading altered carbon after i watched the netflix series

kind of an interesting premise, definitely think that the netflix series handled a lot of stuff better but the plot... definitely seems more in-depth for the book, which i'm here for, let's go for it

0written posts
Deletedearned bits
offlinecurrently
Deleted
Deleted Avatar
Were he still alive, today would have been the birthday of the most famous Romanian poet - Mihai Eminescu. Nicolae Iorga, the Romanian historian, considers Eminescu the godfather of the modern Romanian language, in the same way that Shakespeare is seen to have directly influenced the English language.

As a kid, his poetry was the first I liked, and reading his most celebrated poem spiritually resonated with me on a level few things (up to that early point) did. I thought I'd pay my respects to his continued immortality by spending a few hours making my translation of his work. While there are various translations out there, none that I could quickly find online captured what I wanted to come out of lost-to-translation. This is still a poor and non-archaic representation of his wordsmithing, but it's the best I could do while (mostly) retaining the words/meaning. 


Evening Star


Once upon a time,
Like never before there was,
From grand and famous royal blood,
A most beautiful girl.

Only child to her parents,
Gracious and bright in every way,
Like the Virgin midst the saints
And the moon among the stars.

From beyond the shadow of night’s crown
She directs her step
To the window, at its nook
Where the Eveningstar awaits.

Gazing in the distance how on the sea
He rises and casts light,
Along the winding, moving ways,
Dark ships carrying forward.

Sees him today, sees him tomorrow,
Thus, her desire peaks;
While he, watching for weeks,
Holds a fondness for her.

***

Step by step after her trail
He slips into the room,
Weaving a smattering of flame,
From the cold spark of his loom.

And when she stretches ‘long her bed,
Ready to be set to rest,
He glides a touch along her hands,
He closes her sweet eyelashes.

And from the mirror on her shape,
A beam spreads, resplendent
On her large eyes, restless in sleep
On the back of her fair head.

She watches him with a smile,
He shudders in the mirror,
Because he followed deep into her dream
To catch her by the soul.

She speaks to him in dream,
Whimpering through a murmur:
“Oh, my sweet evening Lord,
Why aren’t you here? Come!

Descend to me, gentle Eveningstar,
Gliding down a beam,
Step into my house and in my mind,
And set my life aglimmer!”

Tremulous, he stays and listens,
Flickering with greater ardor,
And like lightning he strikes down,
Submerging into the sea;

Great circles roll and froth
In the space where he fell,
And from the deep and dark unknown
A handsome young man swells.

Slowly he crosses upon the threshold,
On the edge of windowsill,
Holding a staff in his hand,
One crowned in reeds.

He seemed a young Warlord,
With soft and golden hair,
A purple shroud bound by a knot
Draping his bare shoulders.

The umbral surface of his face
Is pale and white as wax –
A handsome dead with livened eyes
That sparkle in their sockets.

“With great toil I’ve come from out my way,
To follow to your call,
The bolted sky is my father
And the sea – my mother.

So that I could come to your room,
To see you from up near,
I’ve descended with all my light,
Gaining birth from waters.

Oh, come! My most precious treasure
And leave your world behind;
I am the Eveningstar up high,
And you will be my bride.

In the great halls of my coral Palace
You’ll carry on through eons,
And the world in the whole ocean
Will hear your word and heed it.”

“Oh, your beauty’s built from touch of dreams,
As only an angel would show,
But up the road that you’ve cast open
I shall never go;

A stranger in thought and manner,
You shine without life’s luster,
Because I’m living, and you are dead,
The cold of your gaze will freeze me.”

***

There passed a day, there passed three,
And again, at night, he comes -
The Eveningstar above her,
With his clear, translucent rays.

Found deep in sleep
She would remember
And start to miss her Lord of the waves;
In her heart, it stings.

“Descend to me, gentle Eveningstar,
Gliding down a beam,
Step into my house and in my mind,
And set my life aglimmer.”

As he hears her from above,
The pain makes him extinguish,
From the place he disappears,
The whole cosmos begins to roil.

Through the air deep burning embers
Stretch the width of the whole world,
And from the chaos of a valley,
A gallant shape takes its form;

On top of dark vines of his hair
His crown seems to be burning,
He came floating in truth,
Bathed in the Sun’s fires.

Beyond the folds of his black shroud,
Extends the marble of his arms,
He arrives sad and thoughtful,
Great pallor to his face.

But his large wondrous eyes shine
With a deep, chimeric glimmer,
Like two unsated passions
And swimming full of darkness.

“With great toil I’ve come from out my way,
Again to follow at your call,
And the Sun is my father,
While night is my mother;

Oh, come, with your straw-blonde hair,
To gather crowns of stars,
On my skies to appear
Greater than any of them.”

“Oh, your beauty’s built from touch of dreams,
As only a demon would show,
But down the road that you’ve cast open
I shall never go!

I tire of your cruel love
Desire plucking my heartstrings,
And my large and heavy eyes know pain,
Your gaze is burning through them.”

“Then how would you want me to descend?
Or don’t you understand,
That I’m immortal,
And you are of the aging kind?”

“I seek no special words,
Nor would I understand them –
Even though you speak in words I know,
I cannot understand you;

If truly you want for all our time
That I should love you dearly,
Descend fully to the earth,
Be mortal just like me.”

“You ask for me to forfeit my place
Amid the never-ending hours,
In exchange for a kiss,
And I want to prove how much I love you;

Yes, I’ll be born again from sin,
Come governed by new laws;
I’m bound by eternity,
And I wish to break the chains.”

And so he goes… so he goes,
For the love of a child,
Ripping from out his place in Heaven,
Disappearing for many days.

***

During this time, Jonathan,
Sly child full of laughter,
Who fills up cups of wine
For those gathered round the table,

A cupbearer that carries step by step
The trail of the Queen’s gown,
A bold, wandering bastard
And clever with his eyes,

With two bright burning cheeks,
Of feeling, come to blame it,
He sneaks around just like a thief,
Watching Johanna.

Just look how beautiful she’s grown,
And elegant to boot;
Look, Jonathan, now’s your chance
To try your best at luck.

He catches her gently as she comes past,
Quickly drawing her to a corner.
“What do you want, Jonathan?
Go off and mind your matters.”

“What do I want? I’d like for you to stop
Being so lost in thought all of the time,
Instead – to laugh and give me
One mouth, just one.”

“You know not what you ask,
Leave me, get out of here –
Oh, for the Eveningstar in the sky
I wait and long for.”

“If you don’t know, then I’ll show you
From step to step how to love,
Just don’t get so upset,
Let’s take it slowly.

Just as the hunter throws the net
To catch the birds before they go aflutter,
When I reach my arm towards you,
Put your own around me;

And your unwavering gaze,
Keep it locked to mine…
If I lift you under the arms,
By the heels push yourself high;

When my face bows closer to yours,
Keep your gaze up,
So that we may watch each other to our fill
And sweetly all our lives;

And so you’ll know in full
What love means,
After I bow to kiss you,
You kiss me back again.”

She listens to the boy
Amazed and distracted,
Embarrassed and coy,
She doesn’t want to and she wants to,

So she tells him in a whisper:
“I’ve known you since you were little,
Full of talk and simple words,
You’d fit well with me…

But an Eveningstar came down,
From the peace of oblivion,
Offering limitless horizon
To the lonely of the sea;

He’s bright with scintillating love
To chase away my pain,
But he’s heading higher up,
Where I can’t reach him.

He casts down sad with his cold rays
Appearing from a world that keeps us divided…
I will love him forever,
And forever we will be parted…

That’s why my days
Run empty and quiet,
But my nights stretch with a holy charm,
That I can’t understand anymore.”

“You are a child, that’s how it is…
Come with me into the world,
Let’s run until they lose track of us
And they’ll forget our names.

Because together, we’ll be tame,
We’ll be glad and safe,
We’ll forget about our parents
And dreams of Eveningstars.”

***

Started, the Eveningstar. Growing
In the sky his wings,
And streams of thousand years pass by
In just as many moments.

Below, a depth of stars
Above, Haven’s stars begem –
He seemed a never-ending bolt
Wandering through them.

And from the chaos of the vale,
Surrounding him completely,
He could see like the first day
How lights come into spring.

They river-flow around him
Found swimming through all seas…
He flies, borne by his yearning,
Until everything disappears, everything.

For there’s no border where he arrives,
Nor eyes to know it,
And time’s trying in vain
To be born from nothing.

Nothing exists and yet there is
A thirst that sips him in,
It’s a similar depth
To forgetfulness’ oblivion.

“From the dark, heavy weight of eternity
Father, release me,
And forever praised may you be
Along the length of the whole world’s ladder.

Oh, ask of me what you will
To grant another fate,
Because you’re the wellspring of life
And deliverer of ending.

Reclaim my immortal core
And the fire in my gaze
And for all give me instead
An hour of love.

From chaos, Lord, I rose
And I would return to chaos…
And from rest I’ve been reborn
I crave to rest.”

“Hyperion, who rises
From beyond with a whole world,
Don’t ask for signs and miracles
That know not name nor form.

You wish to count yourself a man,
To be in same with them?
Should all men disappear,
They would be born again as men.

Only the wind can bear of these
Impossible ideals –
When waves crash upon their graves
They swell again to waves.

They have only lucky stars
And woven trials through their fates,
We have nor time nor place,
And we don’t know of death.

From the eternal yesterday
There lives today what dies,
Should a Sun extinguish in the sky
It would light back up with sunlight.

Seeming endlessly to rise,
Death follows close in his footsteps,
Because all are born so they will die
And die to be reborn.

But you, Hyperion, you remain,
No matter where you fade…
Ask for my word first –
Should I grant you my wisdom?

You wish for me to give that mouth a voice,
So after it’s gone singing
The mountains to take with forests
And the islands into the sea?

You wish, perhaps, in deed to prove
Fortitude and justice?
I would grant to you the Earth in pieces
So you may shape it empire.

I would grant you oar by oar,
Leagues of soldiers to explore
The land at range and sea at large,
But death I cannot give you…

And for whom do you wish to die?
Turn back, see for yourself
What’s waiting for you
On that fading earth.

***

To his designated place above
Hyperion returns,
And, just like the bright of yesterday,
He pours forth his light.

Because it’s late evening
And the night is close to falling;
In grace the moon lifts to the sky,
Vision shuddering in water

And she begins to cast her gaze
Illuminating roads and groves.
Under the long lining of linden,
Two youths sit all alone.

“Oh, my love,
Let my head rest on your breast
Under the clear sight of your gaze,
And its unfathomable sweetness;

Traverse the space of my thoughts,
Under cold light’s evening charm,
Pour an age’s worth of soothing
On my night of passion.

And always above me remain
Keeping my pain at bay,
Because you’re my first love
And the last one of my dreams.”

Hyperion watches from above
The wonder on their faces;
Just a hand he’d placed on her neck
And she embraced him…

The scent of silver flowers in the air
Petals dropping, a tender rain,
On the crowns of two children
With long blonde locks of hair.

She, drunk on love,
Raises her eyes. Sees
The Eveningstar. And steadily
She entrusts her wish:

“Descend to me, gentle Eveningstar,
Gliding down a beam,
Step into my glade and in my thoughts,
And set my luck aglimmer!”

He trembles just like on the first
Through forests and along the hills
Guiding loneliness
Across the shifting waves;

But he does not fall like in the past
To depth of sea from up his peak:
“What do you care, bearing of clay,
Should it be me or someone else?

Living in your narrow circle
Luck rules over you,
But I in my world feel
Cold and immortal.”

last edit on Jan 15, 2022 20:56:59 GMT by Deleted
take it easy.
aliascae
pronounsshe/her
534written posts
caeearned bits
offlinecurrently
cae
Part of the Furniture
cae Avatar
let's live our lives heroically / let's live our lives with style
i finished up mysterious skin & it left me pretty miserable (in the positive sense) 

Perhaps I should try writing another poem, I thought. I wanted to create something profound, something generations of people would read, nod, whisper, I know exactly what he felt.



×××

I look up at the blue light that floods everywhere, waterfalls of blue, and I know the boy’s hand is reaching for me, the alien’s hand is reaching for me, but I won’t look at them, I only look at the light, because the light is blinding me, and I want to be blinded.



×××



My voice had elevated, becoming something I no longer possessed. And the words kept coming:


×××



If we were stars in the latest Hollywood blockbuster, then I would have embraced him, my hands patting his shoulderblades, violins and cellos billowing on the soundtrack as tears streamed down our faces. But Hollywood would never make a movie about us.

×××

It was a light that shone over our faces, our wounds and scars. It was a light so brilliant and white it could have been beamed from heaven, and Brian and I could have been angels, basking in it. But it wasn’t, and we weren’t.




aliaslovelorn, ll, lorn
pronounsshe/her
129written posts
lovelornearned bits
offlinecurrently
lovelorn
Full Member
lovelorn Avatar
you carry the aura of the stars
witch hat atelier
spy x family
yona of the dawn
aragane no ko
where the shooting star falls, wait there
liar satsuki can see death
oshi no ko
who made me a princess
skip to loafer

are these books...NO...but ... here they are....
last edit on Feb 16, 2022 23:04:13 GMT by lovelorn
aliasirene
pronounsshe/hers
103written posts
ireneearned bits
offlinecurrently
irene
Full Member
irene Avatar
you want it darker, we kill the flame


Books (I'm reading slowly but surely...):
- The Bloody Chamber by Angela Carter
- Kristin Lavransdatter by Sigrid Undset

Webtoons/Manga:
- Noragami
- Spy x Family
- Witch Hat Atelier
- Toilet-Bound Hanako-kun
- One-Punch Man
- Black Butler
- Who Made Me A Princess
- +many, many other trashy webtoons

Books I wanna read next:
- Comfort Me with Apples by Catherynne Valente
- Lapvona by Oettssa Moshfegh
haikuwu
aliasCooked Bread
pronounsThey / Him
623written posts
Toastyearned bits
offlinecurrently
Toasty
Part of the Furniture
Toasty Avatar
>w<
Currently I'm reading some Shakespeare plays, like "Romeo and Juliet" and "A Midsummer Night's Dream." I've read A Midsummer Night's dream, but believe it or not, I haven't read Romeo and Juliet. It's good so far...

Also I'm currently reading a lot of webtoons so there's that as well.
take it easy.
aliascae
pronounsshe/her
534written posts
caeearned bits
offlinecurrently
cae
Part of the Furniture
cae Avatar
let's live our lives heroically / let's live our lives with style
finished up earthlings by sayaka murata, another book which messed me up (in a good way). 
Nonhuman lives jostled up against the window. The presence of nonhuman creatures was stronger at night. Strangely enough, though I was a little scared, I felt as though my own feral cells were throbbing.

---

It’s handy having a dumpster in the house. In this house, that’s my role. When Dad and Mom and Kise get so fed up they can’t bear it any longer, they dump everything onto me.

---

How long did I have to survive for? Would I ever be able to live without constantly trying to survive?

---

Magical powers. I have to summon my magical powers. The power of darkness, the power of wind—any magical power will do, but I need something. I have to use my magical powers on my whole body before my heart feels anything.

---

“Stop, please! Help!” my husband screamed pathetically, making a dash for where I stood as Yuu held my father-in-law back.

“Do you really want me to save you?” There was a grass-cutting scythe by the front door. “Do you, Tomoya? If you really want me to save you, then I will do my very best.”

My husband realized what was in my line of sight and quickly shook his head. “No, no, actually I don’t really want you to help me.”

“Really? Okay, fine.”



last edit on Mar 11, 2022 2:00:25 GMT by cae
take it easy.
aliascae
pronounsshe/her
534written posts
caeearned bits
offlinecurrently
cae
Part of the Furniture
cae Avatar
let's live our lives heroically / let's live our lives with style
recently-ish zoomed thru the winter prince by elizabeth wein. it's really...Really Dramatic but i like that ( also the writing's super pretty imo ):
“Watch closely,” I said. “There’s hardly any strength in a bow this small; the probe will probably bounce off the cloth when it strikes.” Lleu’s gaze flickered dubiously from the stiff and scarred fingers of my left hand to the target he had chosen: but what is my hand weighed against my name, my nature?

---

It was a silver-washed night of a waxing moon; I could not blame them for wanting to be out in it.

---

You need not think of me standing apart from the revelers and watching sullenly just beyond the circle of firelight, the slow cancer in the beating heart.

---

While I stood staring hopelessly you echoed my silence: your lean fingers closed firmly around mine, your blank eyes like fields of slate the perfect reflection of my own. Mother and son, flame and shadow, image and opposite -- witless I stood before you and let them all see how alike we are.

---

Then it was Lleu and I, alone, locked together in silent, furious intensity. The old bitter resentment raged through me: I was stronger and taller and more experienced than Lleu, and I knew I could not win. He must defeat me before you and all your young sons.
937written posts
gimmickearned bits
offlinecurrently
gimmick
Part of the Furniture
gimmick Avatar
All birds and men are sure to die but songs may live forever
The Secret History by Donna Tart. The second half drags, but the first half? Top tier build up. Most pretentious thing I've read in awhile—appropriately though cause the characters sure are

Trees are schizophrenic now and beginning to lose control, enraged with the shock of their fiery new colors. Beauty is terror. We want to be devoured by it, to hide ourselves in that fire which refines us.



He was, if possible, even a bigger windbag than Dr. Roland. Together, they were like one of those superhero alliances in the comic books, invincible, an unconquerable confederation of boredom and confusion.



I felt my heart limping in my chest, and was revolted by it, a pitiful muscle, sick and bloody, pulsing against my ribs.



If you wake up intending to murder someone at two o'clock, you hardly think what you're going to feed the corpse for dinner.



Life itself seemed very magical in those days: a web of symbol, coincidence, premonition, omen. Everything, somehow, fit together; some sly and benevolent Providence was revealing itself by degrees and I felt myself trembling on the brink of a fabulous discovery, as though any morning it was all going to come together—my future, my past, the whole of my life—and I was going to sit up in bed like a thunderbolt and say oh! oh! oh!



A good deal of my horror at his new behavior sprang from the fact that it was so similar to the old and frankly endearing way he used to tease me, and I was as baffled and enraged at his sudden departure from the rules as though—if we had been in the habit of doing a little friendly sparring—he had boxed me into the corner and beaten me half to death.



He wasn't perfect, far from it; he could be silly and vain and remote and often cruel and still we loved him, in spite of, because.



Light caught and glinted in his eyes, making them strange, crazed, the luminous killer eyes that sometimes glow unexpectedly from a friend's face in a snapshot



Horrific as it was, the present dark, I was afraid to leave it for the other, more permanent dark—jelly and bloat, the muddy pit. I had seen the shadow of it on his face—stupid terror, the whole world opening upside down; his life exploding in a thunder of crows and the sky expanding empty over his stomach like a white ocean. 

last edit on Apr 10, 2022 2:09:23 GMT by gimmick
take it easy.
aliascae
pronounsshe/her
534written posts
caeearned bits
offlinecurrently
cae
Part of the Furniture
cae Avatar
let's live our lives heroically / let's live our lives with style

 my year of rest and relaxation by ottessa moshfegh was fun. this is long ( not as long as it could be ) bc this book had a Lot of passages i enjoyed.

I took a Polaroid of her one night and stuck it into the frame of the mirror in the living room. Reva thought it was a loving gesture, but the photo was really meant as a reminder of how little I enjoyed her company if I felt like calling her later while I was under the influence.



I could feel the certainty of a reality leeching out of me like calcium from a bone. I was starving my mind into obliqueness. I felt less and less. Words came and I spoke them in my head, then nestled in on the sound of them, got lost in the music.



Occasionally, over the years, when I’d felt abandoned and scared and heard a voice in my mind say, “I want my mommy,” I took the note out and read it as a reminder of what she’d actually been like and how little she cared about me. It helped. Rejection, I have found, can be the only antidote to delusion.



The sky was milky, the sounds of the city muted by the hard ruffling of wind hitting my ears. I wasn’t nostalgic. But I was terrified. It was lunacy, this idea, that I could sleep myself into a new life. Preposterous. But there I was, approaching the depths of my journey. So far, I thought, I’d been wandering through the forest. But now I was approaching the mouth of the cave. I smelled the smoke of a fire burning deep inside. Something had to be burned and sacrificed. And then the fire would burn out and die. The smoke would clear. My eyes would adjust to the darkness, I thought. I’d find my footing. When I came out of the cave, back out into the light, when I woke up at last, everything—the whole world—would be new again.



My dead mother was lying in a coffin, a shriveled skeleton. I still felt like she was up to something down there, bitter and suffering as the flesh on her body withered and sank away from her bones. 



She couldn’t finish her sentence. She had no threats to make. She was too afraid of her own rage to ever imagine it through to any violent end.



Wherever she went, everything around her became a parody of itself, gauche and ridiculous. That was a comfort to see. Thank God for Whoopi. Nothing was sacred. Whoopi was proof.



I took the garbage out into the hallway and threw it down the trash chute. Having a trash chute was one of my favorite things about my building. It made me feel important, like I was participating in the world. My trash mixed with the trash of others. The things I touched touched things other people had touched. I was contributing. I was connecting.


last edit on Apr 27, 2022 0:07:49 GMT by cae
write a reply

QUICK REPLY

WRITE YOUR POST DOWN BELOW