WHAT MARY
WHAT
Okay just behave now!
Sit down and behave I am being serious okay aaaaaah
This is the part where I should go 'shit' and hit the keys a lot in hopes of producing something, isn't it? *headdesk*
(inspiring this section so far - T. S. Eliot's
Marina)
(if it keeps going much longer - omg send help - probably Carl Phillips'
Civilization too)
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Also, I am loving the new layout. <3333
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And yeah, stories can be so complicated argh!
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I shall make it up for it by continuing to do the werewolves as well as I can and give them real futures!
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I KNOW! LET'S SHIP HER WITH ALBUS SEVERUS!
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(also, Renesmee as a name, ick. obviously, even she hates it, which is why when she gets forged papers she puts the name 'mary blake' on it. this is why there is a part in the fourth part that goes -
“Renesmee,” Bella says, and the word sounds so strange and abstract. It isn’t a name at all, she thinks, and without even realizing she is speaking out loud,
“Mary,” she says. “My name is Mary.”
BECAUSE HI, WHAT KID WANTS THE NAME RENESMEE. also, yeah, I hated the concept of Renesmee too. which is, uh, why I'm rehabilitating her. *coos* how are you today, Mary?)
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those poems are all over my lj I love them soooooo <3333 my name is currently marina just for that reason, and the side text is civilization, and omg eliot omg carl phillipsssss
I AM SO EXCITED THAT THEY ARE IN YOUR WRITING!!!
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SO PRETTYYYY
It must only look
like leaving. There’s an art
to everything. Even
turning away. How
eventually even hunger
can become a space
to live in. How they made
out of shamelessness something
beautiful, for as long as they could.
this made me want to cry. trufax.
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reading Marina again reminded me of a Neruda poem - The Builder.
I chose my own illusion,
from frozen salt I made its likeness--
I based my time on the great rain
and, even so, I am still alive.
It is true that my long mastery
divided up the dreams
and without my knowing there arose
walls, separations, endlessly.
Then I went to the coast.
I saw the beginnings of the ship,
I touched it, smooth as the sacred fish--
it quivered like the harp of heaven,
the woodwork was clean,
it had the scent of honey.
And when it did not come back,
the ship did not come back,
everyone drowned in his own tears
while I went back to the wood
with an ax naked as a star.
My faith lay in those ships.
I have no recourse but to live.
tr. Alastair Reid, I believe.
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eeeeeee!
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With what attentive courtesy he bent
Over his instrument;
Not as a lordly conquerer who could
Command both wire and wood,
But as a man with a loved woman might,
Inquiring with delight
What slight essential things she had to say
Before they started, he and she, to play.
So pretty!
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