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I was going to post more poems I admire, wasn't I
Greater Love
Red lips are not so red
As the stained stones kissed by the English dead.
Kindness of wooed and wooer
Seems shame to their love pure.
O Love, your eyes lose lure
When I behold eyes blinded in my stead!
Your slender attitude
Trembles not exquisite like limbs knife-skewed,
Rolling and rolling there
Where God seems not to care;
Till the fierce love they bear
Cramps them in death's extreme decrepitude.
Your voice sings not so soft, -
Though even as wind murmuring through raftered loft, -
Your dear voice is not dear,
Gentle, and evening clear,
As theirs whom none now hear,
Now earth has stopped their piteous mouths that coughed.
Heart, you were never hot
Nor large, nor full like hearts made great with shot;
And though your hand be pale,
Paler are all which trail
Your cross through flame and hail:
Weep, you may weep, for you may touch them not.
- Wilfred Owen, 1917
Red lips are not so red
As the stained stones kissed by the English dead.
Kindness of wooed and wooer
Seems shame to their love pure.
O Love, your eyes lose lure
When I behold eyes blinded in my stead!
Your slender attitude
Trembles not exquisite like limbs knife-skewed,
Rolling and rolling there
Where God seems not to care;
Till the fierce love they bear
Cramps them in death's extreme decrepitude.
Your voice sings not so soft, -
Though even as wind murmuring through raftered loft, -
Your dear voice is not dear,
Gentle, and evening clear,
As theirs whom none now hear,
Now earth has stopped their piteous mouths that coughed.
Heart, you were never hot
Nor large, nor full like hearts made great with shot;
And though your hand be pale,
Paler are all which trail
Your cross through flame and hail:
Weep, you may weep, for you may touch them not.
- Wilfred Owen, 1917
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I mean. knife-skewed/decreptitude, for fuck's sake. WILF. :(
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Del Del Del I finally finished the FUCKING HEATHER SCENE. Only four more scenes to go. I would chew my hand off if it would get this finished faster.
I can't believe I suggested Arthur/Billy Prior before I even knew that Tom Hardy was the guy in your Billy icon.
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WOOOHOOOOO! Self-imposed fic-reading exhile ends soon? ALSO THE FIC. EEE.
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The next scene is one I have been looking forward to writing, but it's proving incredibly tricky to join the disparate bits together. Although:
He was hoping that this would be uncomplicated, symbolic; this deep in anyone's dreams, everything can be a symbol one way or another. But when she lowers herself back onto the flats of her feet and the kiss breaks, they gaze at each other for a period of time that Arthur recognises as dangerous.
Ariadne's throat moves as she swallows.
"It's fucking alarming the way you look at people sometimes," she says. "Like you're taking them apart."
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ARIADNE. YOU HYPOCRITE.
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I have come to terms with the fact that EVERYONE in this story is a hypocrite. Arthur's voice keeps omitting things from the narrative, which is not quite lying, but it comes close. It's basically a story about secrets and you never actually find out what his ARE, because by the end he hasn't even admitted them to the people he loves, so why would he admit them to you?
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WHICH IS EXACTLY WHY I AM GOING TO LOVE IT, I THINK. Nrgh unreliable narrator nrrrgh liars nrrgh. Etc etc. <3 Right up my alley.
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Hmm hmm what else can I show you. I think you've seen most everything worth reading at this point. I'm in one of those unproductive stages where I fretfully reread my favourite scenes and poke the wording. Someone needs to take the hall-of-mirrors scene away from me.
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