You're Once...Twice...Four Times the Drabble....
Because I didn't do my daily drabble over the weekend and yesterday was Labor Day, then I am going to do four related drabbles to make up for my gross negligence.
Words for the Days
busker \BUS-kur\, noun:
A person who entertains (as by playing music) in public places.
Examples
"Jakub is a student of mathematics, a likable but callow young man who seduces a blind busker, Alzbeta, who plays for the tourists in modern Prague."
-Andrew Miller, "Waiting for Something to Happen," New York Times, October 24, 1999
"When Singapore decided to legalize street performances in 1997, artists were required to audition and to donate any money collected to charity. The government recently lifted a ban on audience participation, but the streets remain largely busker-free."
-Wayne Arnold, "In Singapore, the Start-Up Dance Is Still Difficult to Do," New York Times, September 19, 1999
"... a busker who simultaneously plays the drums, cymbals, bells and a mouth organ."
-Murray Bail, Homesickness: A Novel
Etymology
Busker is from busk, "to seek to entertain by singing and dancing," probably from Spanish buscar, "to seek."
sybarite \SIB-uh-ryt\, noun:
A person devoted to luxury and pleasure.
Examples
"This worldly cleric, nicknamed 'the sybarite of Saumane', friend of Voltaire and a social luminary in Paris and Avignon, lived a high old life within the medieval fortifications of his chateau in Provence."
-"The dubious charms of Citizen Sade," Irish Times, April 17, 1999
"Beneath the prudish disapproval that colored Upton Sinclair's assessment of California's wealthy sybarites was an amused astonishment at how hard they worked at having fun, at how deadly serious they were about pleasure."
-Richard White, "What California Taught America," The New Republic, December 1, 1997
"And when the final blessing of a perfect French cook appeared to make our domestic picture complete, we became utter sybarites, frank worshippers of the splendors of the French cuisine."
-Samuel Chamberlain, Clémentine in the Kitchen
Etymology
Sybarite is derived from Greek Sybarites, from Sybaris, an ancient Greek city noted for the luxurious, pleasure-seeking habits of many of its inhabitants.
deride \dih-RYD\, transitive verb:
To laugh at with contempt; to subject to ridicule or make sport of; to mock; to scoff at.
Examples
"She was inclined to deride Mr. Hemingway's mania for firearms and thereby often hurt his feelings."
-"Hemingway's Prize-Winning Works Reflected Preoccupation With Life and Death," New York Times, July 3, 1961
"I had no desire to endorse idiocy -- but neither could I be seen to deride a colleague."
-Michael Foley, Getting Used to Not Being Remarkable
"It is in the nature of tyranny to deride the will of the people as the voice of the mob, and to denounce the cry for freedom as the roar of anarchy."
-William Safire, "The Counter-Revolution," New York Times, May 22, 1989
Etymology
Deride comes from Latin deridere, from de-, "down from" + ridere, "to laugh." It is related to ridiculous. Derision is the act of deriding, or the state of being derided.
cavil \KAV-uhl\, intransitive verb:
To raise trivial or frivolous objections; to find fault without good reason.
transitive verb:
To raise trivial objections to.
noun:
A trivial or frivolous objection.
Examples
"Insiders with their own strong views, after all, tend to cavil about competing ideas and stories they consider less than comprehensive."
-Laurence I. Barrett, "Dog-Bites-Dog," Time, October 30, 1989
"It may seem churlish, amid the selection of so much glory, to cavil at a single omission, but I do think a great opportunity has been missed."
-Tom Rosenthal, "Rome sweet Rome," New Statesman, February 5, 2001
"He was determined not to be diverted from his main pursuit by cavils or trifles."
-William Safire, Scandalmonger
Etymology
Cavil comes from Latin cavillari, "to jeer, to quibble," from
cavilla, "scoffing."
Synonyms
quibble, carp, nitpick.
~oOo~
Today's drabble is once again an unhappy one. That seems to be par for the course for me.
The words are used in no particular order. I must issue a warning for discussion of violence, blood, and some squickiness, nothing too extreme.
The Heretic's Fate
I. The Singer
The jewels on his fingers break the light, and it stabs my eyes. Many years has it been since I last looked upon faceted stone.
A sybarite, he is-many have I seen over the centuries, wandering this strange new world-with his velvet and his gold. His guards thrust me roughly before him. He looks at me. His eyes widen, barely.
I wear rags. My feet are wrapped in strips of leather but otherwise bare and filthy. My scarred, deformed hand hangs at my side. But perhaps he sees it in my eyes.
I, too, was once a King.
II. The King
“What filth do you bring into my court?” I bark.
I do not meet his eyes.
“A busker,” says the guard. “We found him singing near the quay.”
If the legends are true, then there is a reason why his hair falls to cover his ears. We burn such people now for heresy. The blackened, burned hand hangs at his side. I once had a book-
But that is the stuff of childhood, and the book I burned alongside the heretics.
“His voice was said to heal an ailing child,” says the other guard.
“Then let us hear it. Sing.”
III. The Singer
They deride those who speak of the legends. Those who speak of me. They say I lure ships to their dooms, but never was that my intention. I have no intentions.
They say the pain in my voice eclipses all agony.
I wonder: Have I survived the centuries, the wars and the strife, to die like this, at the will-not even the hand-of a man with less wisdom than the weakest of my people?
My voice could save me. It has saved me before.
But this time, as I ponder my imminent death, a new voice answers.
Please.
IV. The King
I wait for him to sing.
His gray eyes do not blink. No cavil issues from his lips.
The guards scream at him, whip him with straps. The rags tear; his flesh bleeds. Still, he makes no sound.
The book had not wished to leave my hand. Eager tongues of flame had licked it and burned my fingers, and on reflex, I’d dropped it. And, as it was consumed, I’d imagined I heard the Wanderer screaming.
He does not scream now.
You could save your life with a song. Fool.
My eyes lock with his.
“Let fire be his fate.”
Words for the Days
busker \BUS-kur\, noun:
A person who entertains (as by playing music) in public places.
Examples
"Jakub is a student of mathematics, a likable but callow young man who seduces a blind busker, Alzbeta, who plays for the tourists in modern Prague."
-Andrew Miller, "Waiting for Something to Happen," New York Times, October 24, 1999
"When Singapore decided to legalize street performances in 1997, artists were required to audition and to donate any money collected to charity. The government recently lifted a ban on audience participation, but the streets remain largely busker-free."
-Wayne Arnold, "In Singapore, the Start-Up Dance Is Still Difficult to Do," New York Times, September 19, 1999
"... a busker who simultaneously plays the drums, cymbals, bells and a mouth organ."
-Murray Bail, Homesickness: A Novel
Etymology
Busker is from busk, "to seek to entertain by singing and dancing," probably from Spanish buscar, "to seek."
sybarite \SIB-uh-ryt\, noun:
A person devoted to luxury and pleasure.
Examples
"This worldly cleric, nicknamed 'the sybarite of Saumane', friend of Voltaire and a social luminary in Paris and Avignon, lived a high old life within the medieval fortifications of his chateau in Provence."
-"The dubious charms of Citizen Sade," Irish Times, April 17, 1999
"Beneath the prudish disapproval that colored Upton Sinclair's assessment of California's wealthy sybarites was an amused astonishment at how hard they worked at having fun, at how deadly serious they were about pleasure."
-Richard White, "What California Taught America," The New Republic, December 1, 1997
"And when the final blessing of a perfect French cook appeared to make our domestic picture complete, we became utter sybarites, frank worshippers of the splendors of the French cuisine."
-Samuel Chamberlain, Clémentine in the Kitchen
Etymology
Sybarite is derived from Greek Sybarites, from Sybaris, an ancient Greek city noted for the luxurious, pleasure-seeking habits of many of its inhabitants.
deride \dih-RYD\, transitive verb:
To laugh at with contempt; to subject to ridicule or make sport of; to mock; to scoff at.
Examples
"She was inclined to deride Mr. Hemingway's mania for firearms and thereby often hurt his feelings."
-"Hemingway's Prize-Winning Works Reflected Preoccupation With Life and Death," New York Times, July 3, 1961
"I had no desire to endorse idiocy -- but neither could I be seen to deride a colleague."
-Michael Foley, Getting Used to Not Being Remarkable
"It is in the nature of tyranny to deride the will of the people as the voice of the mob, and to denounce the cry for freedom as the roar of anarchy."
-William Safire, "The Counter-Revolution," New York Times, May 22, 1989
Etymology
Deride comes from Latin deridere, from de-, "down from" + ridere, "to laugh." It is related to ridiculous. Derision is the act of deriding, or the state of being derided.
cavil \KAV-uhl\, intransitive verb:
To raise trivial or frivolous objections; to find fault without good reason.
transitive verb:
To raise trivial objections to.
noun:
A trivial or frivolous objection.
Examples
"Insiders with their own strong views, after all, tend to cavil about competing ideas and stories they consider less than comprehensive."
-Laurence I. Barrett, "Dog-Bites-Dog," Time, October 30, 1989
"It may seem churlish, amid the selection of so much glory, to cavil at a single omission, but I do think a great opportunity has been missed."
-Tom Rosenthal, "Rome sweet Rome," New Statesman, February 5, 2001
"He was determined not to be diverted from his main pursuit by cavils or trifles."
-William Safire, Scandalmonger
Etymology
Cavil comes from Latin cavillari, "to jeer, to quibble," from
cavilla, "scoffing."
Synonyms
quibble, carp, nitpick.
~oOo~
Today's drabble is once again an unhappy one. That seems to be par for the course for me.
The words are used in no particular order. I must issue a warning for discussion of violence, blood, and some squickiness, nothing too extreme.
The Heretic's Fate
I. The Singer
The jewels on his fingers break the light, and it stabs my eyes. Many years has it been since I last looked upon faceted stone.
A sybarite, he is-many have I seen over the centuries, wandering this strange new world-with his velvet and his gold. His guards thrust me roughly before him. He looks at me. His eyes widen, barely.
I wear rags. My feet are wrapped in strips of leather but otherwise bare and filthy. My scarred, deformed hand hangs at my side. But perhaps he sees it in my eyes.
I, too, was once a King.
II. The King
“What filth do you bring into my court?” I bark.
I do not meet his eyes.
“A busker,” says the guard. “We found him singing near the quay.”
If the legends are true, then there is a reason why his hair falls to cover his ears. We burn such people now for heresy. The blackened, burned hand hangs at his side. I once had a book-
But that is the stuff of childhood, and the book I burned alongside the heretics.
“His voice was said to heal an ailing child,” says the other guard.
“Then let us hear it. Sing.”
III. The Singer
They deride those who speak of the legends. Those who speak of me. They say I lure ships to their dooms, but never was that my intention. I have no intentions.
They say the pain in my voice eclipses all agony.
I wonder: Have I survived the centuries, the wars and the strife, to die like this, at the will-not even the hand-of a man with less wisdom than the weakest of my people?
My voice could save me. It has saved me before.
But this time, as I ponder my imminent death, a new voice answers.
Please.
IV. The King
I wait for him to sing.
His gray eyes do not blink. No cavil issues from his lips.
The guards scream at him, whip him with straps. The rags tear; his flesh bleeds. Still, he makes no sound.
The book had not wished to leave my hand. Eager tongues of flame had licked it and burned my fingers, and on reflex, I’d dropped it. And, as it was consumed, I’d imagined I heard the Wanderer screaming.
He does not scream now.
You could save your life with a song. Fool.
My eyes lock with his.
“Let fire be his fate.”