[Requiem - Theo] Composing
It goes like this, the fourth, the fifth
The minor fall, the major lift
The baffled king composing Hallelujah
The fountain pen made a faint scratching sound on the parchment. Old fashioned but that did not render it less than perfect. Gel pens and acid treated paper simply didn't sound right; feel right for this sort of delicate and deliberate work and the ink always sat oddly on the paper. One mis-stroke, one smudge and it was ruined, leaving only the option to burn it and start anew.
Recently old half finished notes and scribbles from more famous composures had sold for thousands of dollars. As much as they were true masters, geniuses at their work, it was shameful they had allowed the mistakes and the smudges and the debris that came with composing lay about to be discovered by the audience.
Not that anyone knew of his own work really, worked on only in silence and secret, almost never performed and even then kept safe by the masquerade, but that changed not at all the principle of the matter. Work had slipped out true, pages here and there, attributed to 'unknown' or some other greater known but later composure. The joy was in the creation, songs singing in the halls of the mind and flesh, not the finished product. There was no need for recognition but at least the copies had been perfect.
How tragic for the world that one of the pieces that had been found was the Hymnal in D. Not one of the better pieces, vocal trash. But it had been from before Her and the Revelation. In the grand scheme perhaps it was fitting that one of the pieces the world knew was the last piece written before the Fall. The very piece he'd finished the Fall with when She had orchestrated it, the piece last sung as he collapsed from the effort to please.
She tied you to a kitchen chair
She broke your throne and she cut your hair
And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah
It had been so much easier to fill the pen when the blood in his veins had flowed of its own accord. But no masterpiece was easy and so the small sacrifices had to be made. The pinprick of the syringe into the much abused vein was like an Angel's kiss, the thick fluid being drawn out and then mixed carefully with powdered India Ink. This would be it for the night, the last few pieces of the coda coming together in the mind. One more masterpiece to be stored away as a record of understanding.
Even the heathens and heretics had some understanding of it all. Their talk of Pain Teaching and offerings of blood. Even those in the Hell that was the Absence of God followed the primal urgings built into their very being to give unto the Lord what was his and to atone for their miserable state. So glorious the Plan of the Lord, which turned misery into worship and lifted up the heart and soul to glimpse a moment of Heaven. She had shown him that in the Fall, the purity of the vision near death still bright after all these years.
With no flourish the last word, Addolorato, marked the movement. Completed.
Turning away, the ink left to set in the dry air, he padded over to another corner of the large chamber that served as the main portion of Haven. The mirror's reflection was ignored, hair tangled down his back, form trapped somewhere between the genders. Long fingers and limbs that didn't quite match the proportions a body should have.
This city held no others of the Faction that he could determine, a shame but in time others would come or convert and until then there was naught to do but abide. Even alone, even dead now, the Lord was here and his place was here in service.
There’s a blaze of light in every word
It doesn’t matter which are heard
The holy or the broken Hallelujah
Carefully selecting the leather thongs, it took only moments for nimble fingers well used to routine to twist and weave and bind them around a carved handle. Quickly, three knots were tied to each of the loose pieces, practice ensuring they were equally spaced on the thong but offset from any other knot on any other thong. The same nimble fingers twisted the long hair up into a knot as well, pulling it away from skin so that it was out of the way. To allow it to be broken or pulled away, even in devotion was unthinkable. Sacrilege to the mark of a heritage and Sacred Right forever denied him.
"Forgive me Father, for I am a sinner." Rusty, unused, the voice as dry as Egypt's sands. The new made scourge rose and fell, biting deep into flesh. Again and again it rose and fell; wet snapping sounds as it fell, whistling as it rose.
The body suffered for the failures of the flesh so that in its mortification the mind could rise above this place. Each explosion of pain across the perpetually half healed flesh pushed the notes together, assembling them as they had been assembled on paper. Music meant nothing if it was unheard, the careful calculation of the music in composure was not hearing but creation - pure joy of the mind. And now, it was released to freedom, ringing in the Hall of the Mind to become True Music heard by the soul and the Lord.
There the bass flute, steady and strong throughout, underpinning the whole movement. There the growing pain of abused knees against the stone floor. There the woodwinds rose up, piercing and sweet carrying the hopes and dreams and prayers.
The viola's picked up. The instrument of the one he could not find. Checking and rechecking the dates had done nothing. It was accurate, down to the hour and yet the Seraphim had not emerged. Destruction was not the cause, that would have been known, an agony that would strike no matter what distance in time and space between them. The Seraphim who tended to him after the Fall and Her and the bond held tight, not in vitae but honest blood and tears and effort. Bound to serve the one who served herself, this task would not be unfinished forever. The viola's song promised that, aching with the desire to complete what had been so long denied.
I did my best, it wasn’t much
I couldn’t feel, so I tried to touch
I’ve told the truth, I didn’t come to fool you
Pain. Music. Pure notes untainted by words for no words were sacred enough for the expression of Understanding. Blood flowed down his back and spattered the walls and floor and ceiling. As the knots broke and tore the flesh, the music came together all at once. Each note and bar and movement, each notation and flourish and intent all combined.
And for a moment there was heaven. The agony of the flesh - dark and bitter and wonderful. The pure song heard only in his mind - bright, sweet, and Fallen. Pain bled to notes and notes to song and song to thought and thought to understanding and understanding to Heaven and Heaven to the Fall and the Fall to Pain which bled back into notes until it was all indecipherable from the rest. Ecstasy of the highest order found at the juncture between Heaven and Hell, Pleasure and Pain. The only true Ecstasy his cut body had ever experienced found in emulation of Passion.
And even though it all went wrong
I’ll stand before the Lord of Song
With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah
Man and Beast combined. Then Fell anew, in a crescendo. Each mortification brought understanding and someday it would encompass all knowledge of giving and recieving. Until like the Covenants founder, the Curse of God was shaken. And the Sacred Place reserved would be taken up.
ooc - Damn my grammar sucked. Updated to be less grammatically painful. But hot damn, do I love writing for Theodoric.
The minor fall, the major lift
The baffled king composing Hallelujah
The fountain pen made a faint scratching sound on the parchment. Old fashioned but that did not render it less than perfect. Gel pens and acid treated paper simply didn't sound right; feel right for this sort of delicate and deliberate work and the ink always sat oddly on the paper. One mis-stroke, one smudge and it was ruined, leaving only the option to burn it and start anew.
Recently old half finished notes and scribbles from more famous composures had sold for thousands of dollars. As much as they were true masters, geniuses at their work, it was shameful they had allowed the mistakes and the smudges and the debris that came with composing lay about to be discovered by the audience.
Not that anyone knew of his own work really, worked on only in silence and secret, almost never performed and even then kept safe by the masquerade, but that changed not at all the principle of the matter. Work had slipped out true, pages here and there, attributed to 'unknown' or some other greater known but later composure. The joy was in the creation, songs singing in the halls of the mind and flesh, not the finished product. There was no need for recognition but at least the copies had been perfect.
How tragic for the world that one of the pieces that had been found was the Hymnal in D. Not one of the better pieces, vocal trash. But it had been from before Her and the Revelation. In the grand scheme perhaps it was fitting that one of the pieces the world knew was the last piece written before the Fall. The very piece he'd finished the Fall with when She had orchestrated it, the piece last sung as he collapsed from the effort to please.
She tied you to a kitchen chair
She broke your throne and she cut your hair
And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah
It had been so much easier to fill the pen when the blood in his veins had flowed of its own accord. But no masterpiece was easy and so the small sacrifices had to be made. The pinprick of the syringe into the much abused vein was like an Angel's kiss, the thick fluid being drawn out and then mixed carefully with powdered India Ink. This would be it for the night, the last few pieces of the coda coming together in the mind. One more masterpiece to be stored away as a record of understanding.
Even the heathens and heretics had some understanding of it all. Their talk of Pain Teaching and offerings of blood. Even those in the Hell that was the Absence of God followed the primal urgings built into their very being to give unto the Lord what was his and to atone for their miserable state. So glorious the Plan of the Lord, which turned misery into worship and lifted up the heart and soul to glimpse a moment of Heaven. She had shown him that in the Fall, the purity of the vision near death still bright after all these years.
With no flourish the last word, Addolorato, marked the movement. Completed.
Turning away, the ink left to set in the dry air, he padded over to another corner of the large chamber that served as the main portion of Haven. The mirror's reflection was ignored, hair tangled down his back, form trapped somewhere between the genders. Long fingers and limbs that didn't quite match the proportions a body should have.
This city held no others of the Faction that he could determine, a shame but in time others would come or convert and until then there was naught to do but abide. Even alone, even dead now, the Lord was here and his place was here in service.
There’s a blaze of light in every word
It doesn’t matter which are heard
The holy or the broken Hallelujah
Carefully selecting the leather thongs, it took only moments for nimble fingers well used to routine to twist and weave and bind them around a carved handle. Quickly, three knots were tied to each of the loose pieces, practice ensuring they were equally spaced on the thong but offset from any other knot on any other thong. The same nimble fingers twisted the long hair up into a knot as well, pulling it away from skin so that it was out of the way. To allow it to be broken or pulled away, even in devotion was unthinkable. Sacrilege to the mark of a heritage and Sacred Right forever denied him.
"Forgive me Father, for I am a sinner." Rusty, unused, the voice as dry as Egypt's sands. The new made scourge rose and fell, biting deep into flesh. Again and again it rose and fell; wet snapping sounds as it fell, whistling as it rose.
The body suffered for the failures of the flesh so that in its mortification the mind could rise above this place. Each explosion of pain across the perpetually half healed flesh pushed the notes together, assembling them as they had been assembled on paper. Music meant nothing if it was unheard, the careful calculation of the music in composure was not hearing but creation - pure joy of the mind. And now, it was released to freedom, ringing in the Hall of the Mind to become True Music heard by the soul and the Lord.
There the bass flute, steady and strong throughout, underpinning the whole movement. There the growing pain of abused knees against the stone floor. There the woodwinds rose up, piercing and sweet carrying the hopes and dreams and prayers.
The viola's picked up. The instrument of the one he could not find. Checking and rechecking the dates had done nothing. It was accurate, down to the hour and yet the Seraphim had not emerged. Destruction was not the cause, that would have been known, an agony that would strike no matter what distance in time and space between them. The Seraphim who tended to him after the Fall and Her and the bond held tight, not in vitae but honest blood and tears and effort. Bound to serve the one who served herself, this task would not be unfinished forever. The viola's song promised that, aching with the desire to complete what had been so long denied.
I did my best, it wasn’t much
I couldn’t feel, so I tried to touch
I’ve told the truth, I didn’t come to fool you
Pain. Music. Pure notes untainted by words for no words were sacred enough for the expression of Understanding. Blood flowed down his back and spattered the walls and floor and ceiling. As the knots broke and tore the flesh, the music came together all at once. Each note and bar and movement, each notation and flourish and intent all combined.
And for a moment there was heaven. The agony of the flesh - dark and bitter and wonderful. The pure song heard only in his mind - bright, sweet, and Fallen. Pain bled to notes and notes to song and song to thought and thought to understanding and understanding to Heaven and Heaven to the Fall and the Fall to Pain which bled back into notes until it was all indecipherable from the rest. Ecstasy of the highest order found at the juncture between Heaven and Hell, Pleasure and Pain. The only true Ecstasy his cut body had ever experienced found in emulation of Passion.
And even though it all went wrong
I’ll stand before the Lord of Song
With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah
Man and Beast combined. Then Fell anew, in a crescendo. Each mortification brought understanding and someday it would encompass all knowledge of giving and recieving. Until like the Covenants founder, the Curse of God was shaken. And the Sacred Place reserved would be taken up.
ooc - Damn my grammar sucked. Updated to be less grammatically painful. But hot damn, do I love writing for Theodoric.