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[newredshoes]

I was having the most effed up, Freudian dreams last night. Any time you find yourself wrapped in black cloth by a bunch of people who have kidnapped you to take part in a sacred marriage, but you escape, only to find yourself in your childhood home as it was before all the renovations... man, it was effed up

Comments

[newredshoes]

You watch him, Iago and his swan, Iago and Eulalia, who stare you down as coolly as innocents. She is a beautiful daemon, graceful arc of neck and splendid white plumage, and this blinded all of Venice and Cyprus to the cold black pits of her eyes. He will not speak, or so claims the captain of the guards. This will not do.

It is a distasteful thing you are charged with, but you are a devoted servant of the law. Othello is dead, Desdemona is dead, Iago's own wife is dead. He will not speak, and you will not touch him. But you plan on testing the wives' tales, with knives and clubs and your own bare hands. It is a matter of curiosity as much as the retribution of men: you are a soldier, and you have never heard a swan sing.

[byzantienne]

This kind of broke me in amazing ways.

Something about attempts at justice for actions to which no justice is adequate.

And Eulalia's eyes.

White, and the eyes.

Thank you.