![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
oh dear
Not even close to being a GIP, even though this icon GLADDENS MY HEART - thank you, ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
chaos_pockets - because I have to display the results of my insanity (& gross enabling on boxchat's behalf) as well.
This is set loosely after 2522, Rematch and Disrepair.
It's a sestina. Much to my disgust, it also insisted on being written in iambic pentameter. I have structured myself into oblivion. Later on I may write, you know, actual fic.
Distillation
They say that nothing feels so old as space,
although this ‘verse has brought a brand new way
to live; now worn, familiar; let it be.
New titles in their mouths for when they wave
goodbye: Andronicus and Prior Fell
(they have been constant now in all but name).
~
Two demons meet aboard a ship. No names
exchanged. One waves. A conversation space,
but what to say? I’m sorry that you fell
in love; bad luck that it turned out this way?
So Crowley weakly lifts a hand and waves
right back, thinks: this is what I might have been.
~
One part of him (insane) just wants to be
the perfect tool for Lucifer who named
him once (lucidity now comes in waves);
whose logic is the ground below and space
above and who has always shown the way –
in love, in all things leading to a Fall.
Now Lucifer has seen the pieces fall
together, and he knows there should not be
confusion; and yet Raguel, the way
he Fell? For this, he cannot find a name,
instead there is a gap: a mental space
that’s filled with echoes, darkness, wind and waves.
~
He checks the Abbey line: he has a wave,
no name attached. He feels his stomach fall.
Of all the voices throughout all of space
and time, of all the things it could have been:
“I’m better now. Feel like a game. You name
the time and place, and I’ll be on my way.”
~
Aziraphael thinks: when he laughs that way,
the devil’s eyes are flooded with a wave
of light. Oh, those who stand against the Name,
he knows, must yield, and in the end they Fall.
And yet the angel’s sure as he can be –
that laugh grew from a Darkness worse than space –
and all then falls away but these two facts:
that light can be both particle and wave;
that named for light, he laughs like space and stars.
chaos_pockets - because I have to display the results of my insanity (& gross enabling on boxchat's behalf) as well.This is set loosely after 2522, Rematch and Disrepair.
It's a sestina. Much to my disgust, it also insisted on being written in iambic pentameter. I have structured myself into oblivion. Later on I may write, you know, actual fic.
Distillation
They say that nothing feels so old as space,
although this ‘verse has brought a brand new way
to live; now worn, familiar; let it be.
New titles in their mouths for when they wave
goodbye: Andronicus and Prior Fell
(they have been constant now in all but name).
~
Two demons meet aboard a ship. No names
exchanged. One waves. A conversation space,
but what to say? I’m sorry that you fell
in love; bad luck that it turned out this way?
So Crowley weakly lifts a hand and waves
right back, thinks: this is what I might have been.
~
One part of him (insane) just wants to be
the perfect tool for Lucifer who named
him once (lucidity now comes in waves);
whose logic is the ground below and space
above and who has always shown the way –
in love, in all things leading to a Fall.
Now Lucifer has seen the pieces fall
together, and he knows there should not be
confusion; and yet Raguel, the way
he Fell? For this, he cannot find a name,
instead there is a gap: a mental space
that’s filled with echoes, darkness, wind and waves.
~
He checks the Abbey line: he has a wave,
no name attached. He feels his stomach fall.
Of all the voices throughout all of space
and time, of all the things it could have been:
“I’m better now. Feel like a game. You name
the time and place, and I’ll be on my way.”
~
Aziraphael thinks: when he laughs that way,
the devil’s eyes are flooded with a wave
of light. Oh, those who stand against the Name,
he knows, must yield, and in the end they Fall.
And yet the angel’s sure as he can be –
that laugh grew from a Darkness worse than space –
and all then falls away but these two facts:
that light can be both particle and wave;
that named for light, he laughs like space and stars.
no subject
that's all I have.
no subject
no subject
no subject
*excited*
no subject
You are a crazy genius.
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
You are a madwoman; it is amazing.
no subject
no subject
What is the role of Blue Sun in Crying Call? I have forgotten, and I mean to reread it soon, but it is so long.
no subject
Uuuuum, I didn't directly address Blue Sun, actually. They're big enough that Rosse has probably had dealings with them, and he might hold their advertising account.
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
Poor Lucifer and his modified memory. I shudder to think what actually happened there. Or at the re-rematch. Possibly this time the Prior will think to bring backup.
I think the iambic pentameter works well for this, though. It makes everything feel kind of unstoppable and circular. Shut up, it made sense in my head. ;)
no subject
Stupid iambs. Stupid. I think my poetry muscle was so stressed out by the last thing I wrote being free verse that it decided to overcompensate.
no subject
I love you lots and lots.
And lots.
Ohsopretty. And. And structure. And the sestina fits it perfectly, the form with the way the words cycle back and back, different meanings and the same and all layered, and that fits perfectly to angels and demons living through thousands of human generations -- and iambic pentameter. Iambic pentameter. You are a crazy woman in the best sort of way. (And, if I felt like overanalyzing, I could declare that the iambs fit too, because it's an old and classic meter, linked especially in most people's minds with Shakespeare (love sonnets and plays) and it gives a rhythm and a pattern to the sestina's cycles. Like it says in A Wrinkle In Time, which was rather a formative part of my childhood, absolute freedom within an imposed structure -- and a doubly imposed structure for these Ethereals, here. Apparently I do feel like overanalyzing.)
In conclusion: wow.
I am going to reread now.
no subject
no subject
All the imposed constraints of nature, and just how far they determine the ethereals' behavior in everything -- and to what extent they don't.