The little AU: Spring Rains: Arrogance
The little AU: Spring Rains: Arrogance
slashfairy
~~
"You're so serious," Orlando says to him.
"Yeah," Karl agrees. "You need a good dunking."
They won't be together for what feels like forever, now, and it irritates him, and turns him inward in the worst way.
So he posts from The Onion, and is amazed at how many people take it seriously.
He congratulates the other team, and is annoyed, then amused, at how many people say You were in a good mood that day. What do they mean? he thinks. I'm always in a good mood. Mostly. Sometimes.
He tries as politely but clearly as possible to emphasize in interviews that his private life is his own, and is frustrated when Pilar mentions in passing that seven different people have mentioned that to her and one even winked.
And he grows his beard, and he reads Freud, and he posts poems from Argentina, and he reads in French in Toronto and in Spanish in New York and in German in Idaho, and thinks of Milosz' "Account" and shakes his head at his own seriosity.The history of my stupidity would fill many volumes.
Some would be devoted to acting against consciousness,
Like the flight of a moth which, had it known,
Would have tended nevertheless toward the candle’s flame.
Others would deal with ways to silence anxiety,
The little whisper which, thought it is a warning, is ignored.
I would deal separately with satisfaction and pride,
The time when I was among their adherents
Who strut victoriously, unsuspecting.
But all of them would have one subject, desire,
If only my own - but no, not at all; alas,
I was driven because I wanted to be like others.
I was afraid of what was wild and indecent in me.
The history of my stupidity will not be written.
For one thing, it’s late. And the truth is laborious.
He gives himself one night at the house at the end of the bluff road, even though neither of the others, nor any of the dogs, are there. He fills the big tub, as huge as a swimming pool when he's the only one in it, and soaks until the water cools around him, the scents of cedar and redwood soothing him, settling his mind, easing his aches.
In the morning he drives away without looking in the rear view mirror. He expects he'll be back. There's nowhere else that feels quite like this house that's home for the three of them, even as separated as their lives lead them for now. But today is a day to be in service to something else than what he wants, to be in service to something that's not "satisfaction and pride," and so, for just this once, he doesn't turn on the radio as he drives, but listens to a tape of Henry playing guitar, and lets his arrogance fall away.
previously: Comfort [wip]
next:
slashfairy
~~
"You're so serious," Orlando says to him.
"Yeah," Karl agrees. "You need a good dunking."
They won't be together for what feels like forever, now, and it irritates him, and turns him inward in the worst way.
So he posts from The Onion, and is amazed at how many people take it seriously.
He congratulates the other team, and is annoyed, then amused, at how many people say You were in a good mood that day. What do they mean? he thinks. I'm always in a good mood. Mostly. Sometimes.
He tries as politely but clearly as possible to emphasize in interviews that his private life is his own, and is frustrated when Pilar mentions in passing that seven different people have mentioned that to her and one even winked.
And he grows his beard, and he reads Freud, and he posts poems from Argentina, and he reads in French in Toronto and in Spanish in New York and in German in Idaho, and thinks of Milosz' "Account" and shakes his head at his own seriosity.The history of my stupidity would fill many volumes.
Some would be devoted to acting against consciousness,
Like the flight of a moth which, had it known,
Would have tended nevertheless toward the candle’s flame.
Others would deal with ways to silence anxiety,
The little whisper which, thought it is a warning, is ignored.
I would deal separately with satisfaction and pride,
The time when I was among their adherents
Who strut victoriously, unsuspecting.
But all of them would have one subject, desire,
If only my own - but no, not at all; alas,
I was driven because I wanted to be like others.
I was afraid of what was wild and indecent in me.
The history of my stupidity will not be written.
For one thing, it’s late. And the truth is laborious.
He gives himself one night at the house at the end of the bluff road, even though neither of the others, nor any of the dogs, are there. He fills the big tub, as huge as a swimming pool when he's the only one in it, and soaks until the water cools around him, the scents of cedar and redwood soothing him, settling his mind, easing his aches.
In the morning he drives away without looking in the rear view mirror. He expects he'll be back. There's nowhere else that feels quite like this house that's home for the three of them, even as separated as their lives lead them for now. But today is a day to be in service to something else than what he wants, to be in service to something that's not "satisfaction and pride," and so, for just this once, he doesn't turn on the radio as he drives, but listens to a tape of Henry playing guitar, and lets his arrogance fall away.
previously: Comfort [wip]
next: