now that i'm clean.
"Fallen angels who were not good enough to be saved, nor bad enough to be lost" say the peasantry...
I read my Tower of Souls notes this afternoon, avoided the musical [critical] analysis paper and the piano practice like plague. Threw the sheet music and the textbooks to one side just for today: today I was going to be a writer again. It was going to be like old times, good times when I was eleven, twelve, thirteen and spent every hour of every day buried in a notebook. It was going to be. But I woke up late and did a bit of homework after all, and by the time I got to my desk I was a bit sad, a bit distanced. So I sat on the floor, heaved the box of notebooks out from under my bed and casually reread the top few clumps of writing. It is the most beautiful feeling to recognize something - something good - that you wrote years ago. It's like visiting an old friend. Like going home. It was a lovely wreck of a novel: the purification of the reincarnation cycle, the Death, The Dream Keeper, Mikhyl the Arch-King, angels did battle with humans and we had Tjaii [who was Majhisti, who was the Death's incarnation] waiting to kill a man - "Go to Hell," he whispered just before pulling the trigger, "and fight a Demon." It was quite a thing to write. And on the topic of going to Hell...
:... It's The Cleanest I've Been...:
More Cast.
- Miroslav Satan: A friend... possibly. He serves two purposes. A dark angel like his namesake, and devoid of divinity. He is what he is, does what he does, and ultimately seves dual purposes: catalyst, antagonist. A friend from South Slavia. The name was nicked without hesitation from a boy who lives in my town. I was reading the newspaper one day and came upon his name. He had done something grand at the local high school, apparently. And the name caught my attention: Miroslav Satan, in a little Ukrainian town full of little Ukrainian babas making the sign of the cross at him. Poor thing. I love that these characters are snagged straight from reality, from people I know, people I know of, people I love indirectly and from a distance. (I do believe that there is a Czech Mr. Satan somewhere on the professional ice hockey front, but his name is spelled with the caroned Š, and thus it becomes Shah'ton. I may or may not nick it). For the purposes of our narrative, however, our Miroslav will be black-haired and slick as silk and suave - a thin,dark Livny to contrast Serafeim: S. is a metaphorical angel, M. is a man... an occasionally delinquent man. He hangs out in bars, swears too much... less violent than Livny, more ridiculous. A healthy dose of the Tovish Uncle goes into this fellow. ... He spends a great deal of effort attempting to drag our frail protagonist into the abandonment of his vows of chastity. Odd enough that our Miroslav is the most wretchedly [animalistically, naturally] human of the lot of them. And so continues the theme and postulation that humanity is the most inferior in the divine hierarchy [...Look at me, says an appalled and fallen Lucifer - I'm almost a human being.] He likes living without regrets. He writes about his shameless escapades in Croatian and has Eleanore translate them for the Western market for 20 kuna a page.
. . .
I've been trying to figure out the clergy are involved, with little luck. I don't know how far I want to take this, or how high. And I am, of course, out of time. The NaNovel, which is never written in November, will - of course - spill over into the subsequent years. I love how useless I am on deadlines. And no, you may not have a word count. Excerpts, next time, if you're nice to me.