Thothmuffin
Don't get any crumbs on the scale of judgement.
Thursday, May 27, 2004
Dreamlike Ponderous
The weight of the robes was the first thing the Arbiter noticed when he was installed in this position, and occasionally he notices them still, as now. Yards and yards of the heaviest black velvet anchor him to the dais, bending into thick, reluctant folds as they drape inexorably to the floor. The great seat of judgment surges upward from the plateau of dark stone, carved from the mountain’s heart. Lesser elements would not support his weight.
His mask feels light. It is all that does.
Below him, on the chamber floor, two massive stone hands rise from the rock to cradle the disputants, imposing a heavy awe on those who seek his judgment. The hands are his hands. Pale simulacrums cradled within his sleeves sometimes tremble at the thought of the weight they bear, but his hands are steady.
On his knees rests a sword of gold, and it is heavier than the entire mountain, heavier than all the robes in the world. He knows this, and yet when the time arrives he raises it with dreamlike ease, leveling it steadily towards truth. The sword is a phantasm supported by his mind; he barely avoids crumbling beneath it today. He is careful not to show the strain.
“I rule with thee.”
His voice booms throughout the chamber, fitfully bracing the walls that hold back the mountain. To his right, where the sword does not point, a woman collapses beneath the curving fingers of his inflexible hand.
Lives are heavy things, he would whisper in her ear, but the words are ponderously forbidden, and sink to the base of his mind.
His mask feels light. It is all that does.
Below him, on the chamber floor, two massive stone hands rise from the rock to cradle the disputants, imposing a heavy awe on those who seek his judgment. The hands are his hands. Pale simulacrums cradled within his sleeves sometimes tremble at the thought of the weight they bear, but his hands are steady.
On his knees rests a sword of gold, and it is heavier than the entire mountain, heavier than all the robes in the world. He knows this, and yet when the time arrives he raises it with dreamlike ease, leveling it steadily towards truth. The sword is a phantasm supported by his mind; he barely avoids crumbling beneath it today. He is careful not to show the strain.
“I rule with thee.”
His voice booms throughout the chamber, fitfully bracing the walls that hold back the mountain. To his right, where the sword does not point, a woman collapses beneath the curving fingers of his inflexible hand.
Lives are heavy things, he would whisper in her ear, but the words are ponderously forbidden, and sink to the base of his mind.
Saturday, May 15, 2004
Tough Love
Aaaaaaaaah!
Feels vague
Are you gesturing towards more?
So as to capture
Exploratory process
Fuse the two
Not whole by virtue of being interrupted
Subtly at odds with each other
Does this suit your intention?
Unnegotiated swerve
Trying to steer you away
Turgid; needs smoothing
Not just positionally but
Is condensation possible?
Entangled in the moments
Tantalizing but elusive
No signal that an explanation is to follow
Defying my efforts at decoding
Condense; focus
You’ve almost nailed it--
You’re onto something good.
** This is a poem composed entirely of intratextual commentary my thesis advisor provided me and a friend of mine on drafts of our senior theses. I arranged some of the choicer bits, and we're presenting her with this little work as a token of our gratitude for her lively and colorful notes.
Feels vague
Are you gesturing towards more?
So as to capture
Exploratory process
Fuse the two
Not whole by virtue of being interrupted
Subtly at odds with each other
Does this suit your intention?
Unnegotiated swerve
Trying to steer you away
Turgid; needs smoothing
Not just positionally but
Is condensation possible?
Entangled in the moments
Tantalizing but elusive
No signal that an explanation is to follow
Defying my efforts at decoding
Condense; focus
You’ve almost nailed it--
You’re onto something good.
** This is a poem composed entirely of intratextual commentary my thesis advisor provided me and a friend of mine on drafts of our senior theses. I arranged some of the choicer bits, and we're presenting her with this little work as a token of our gratitude for her lively and colorful notes.
Friday, May 14, 2004
Thoughts on Troy
Some brief but important notes on the Troy movie:
1) This movie was only "inspired" by the Iliad.
2) I was most inspired by how much prettier the world was before pants were invented.
3) Clever Odysseus = A+
4) Grey-eyed Helen = F-
5) There will be slash for this movie, and what isn't incest will be more faithful to the actual relationships in the Iliad than the movie was.
1) This movie was only "inspired" by the Iliad.
2) I was most inspired by how much prettier the world was before pants were invented.
3) Clever Odysseus = A+
4) Grey-eyed Helen = F-
5) There will be slash for this movie, and what isn't incest will be more faithful to the actual relationships in the Iliad than the movie was.
Sunday, May 09, 2004
Just a little spleen, guys
So I realize, from the early critical reaction, that my post last night was possibly a little scary and weird. I'm sorry if I concerned anyone! I was just sort of venting to myself with random prose-poetry because I didn't really know what mood I was in, and decided just to write. I probably should have abandoned it after I created it, but I felt much better after I wrote it, and on re-reading it struck me that it was sort of interesting to read and not really like anything I've written before. You see the dangers of writerly detachment. You, dear readers, should probably take anything on this blog with a grain of salt; there's truth in the fiction and lies in the essays. Besides, friends, I'd call if I needed you. <3
You see there is nothing spleenical in all this
One day i decided to draw a picture about how i feel. It has lots of squiggly lines and is abstract because i don’t draw so good well especially not emotions which are hard. in the middle is a big black tangly just cuz you know i got in sort of a rut and it felt like it was working but then i had to branch off but then the symmetry was just like totally fucked and it wasn’t very pretty and maybe i thought i should introduce color but that’s a whole new kettle of so i just kept drawing black. shapes began to coalesce. am i drawing them i thought or is it that i’m rorschaching myself will other people see it too of course i can’t ask because then they’d be like breasts what i don’t see any breasts and i’d have to be all huh, yeah, me neither and stuff. It started to feel good once i filled up more of the page and it was even again but then every stroke of my ballpoint pen gets lost in previous strokes and i really start to wonder if i’m making any progress. it’s so hard to tell. There’s a lot of regret; it just never comes out how i want and eventually i just try to make the whole thing black uniform like the white i started with because maybe that’ll fix it but there’s so many many tiny white holes i’ll never get them all filled but at last maybe i’ll be able to feel like i’m done you know that hyperbolic progression towards the axis shoot what’s that called asymptote haha yes i rock curvy lines the hyperbolas stick out i didn’t think they would so much over all the background squiggles but i guess i pressed too hard another layer cover them over maybe they’ll be gone oh! i can feel them on the back of the paper braille i can feel all the squiggles it’s nice i can’t stop touching over and over it seems like i’m done i guess i thought it would feel better.
Monday, May 03, 2004
Haiku, on leaving the Writing Center
presences abound
in the ticking of the clock
all else now silent
in the ticking of the clock
all else now silent
