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"writhe." an erasure. original text by Z.
I suspect one of my friends has discovered fandom. She's summer-binging on Buffy, Angel, HIMYM, True Blood. It could all be a coincidence, of course, but it kind of reminds me of the time I searched for the Merlin DVDs on Amazon and the "Others who bought this item also bought" list included Torchwood, Dr. Who, Supernatural, and Smallville.
Anyway. The following is an erasure of![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
zempasuchil's Merlin OT4 fic, Rewriting the Old Language, which I loooove. Funny that we both ended up erasing each other's Merlin OT4 fics. It's not like we told each other beforehand which fic we were doing, but I guess the siren call of polyamory was just too great.
writhe
an erasure. original text by Z.
In short,
according to this
I will be here
after they are gone.
the very stones settle
and man shakes the earth, relieved
any lifted gaze can pass you by, can remember
and the face of the years will decide
She wasn't empty
she reared her head
her hands in everything
if magic is real There's no such thing as love
nothing like trust and knowing
she tries not to laugh
she’ll know the language
she’ll be around
"Do you know how?"
"I can figure it out."
somehow It's a veil torn away
father, father, take up the life he'd never known
he doesn't know a thing
you know how it works because
you built it yourself
never forget
no greater thing than earth confirmed
the hardest life and the simplest
real living; real work
he saw his own eyes
his heart, if not his father
the heartland, the earth, the sweat of his brow
the abstracts were their own lives
he could reach out beside him
below him
above
as strange as her dreams must be
something says, I don’t know how. There’s so much
trapped in buildings, in this city, in this country,
You’re right,
you’re right
it's all right
everything is all right
or changed.
she can beat him
It doesn't take much
suddenly "No,"
"Yes. you got your
little victory." But
he's already inside
all those years
do better, be better. victory hasn’t won her a thing.
to become something that she earned
she broke halfway between spitting and tears
it doesn't matter
walk down the street
Get something to drink
Look, this is how it is.
for years she explains
men and women, brothers and sisters,
you have to fight
that's the problem.
this strange new world held first the audience the wolf the open mouth
there is no invitation
but come anyway
sit
switch
avoid
there isn't much change
The threat is distant, the satellites unmarked,
the stars without a war fought in the right direction.
forget them. bring them up
get quietly angry because there's nothing he can do
he's only the son, only the father and
just the nation, enough to serve and protect
every word demands a continuation of tradition.
these accidents without casualties
these lines as simple as closing the door
it's not criminal
but from the start, he knows
keep above the tide
More is not the solution
less is not the solution
she's been part of the revolution
long enough to change
long enough to turn the tables. She says, Every chain link cracked
understands, understood
that words will wrap around and
swallow.
She appreciated the morning light
bright against her skin, and loose about her shoulders.
a discarded summer, pale, mentioned in the place of love;
"it's more than that.
You know how to speak; to keep your words
when you pause You make them want what you want."
They forget to remember together,
and he learns
where the city
where the fields
They explore, fall and get caught
and laugh
and laugh
and she thinks they might be the only people left who clamber down ravines
to forget about the rain
They are looking for satellites
for all the wrong reasons.
She bites terror from both sides.
He rests his fist by his father
slowly, as though this is just occurring to him,
as though by saying it he is coming to himself
to everything
on the roof with the stars and satellites
The sky smells like summer and life and sweat
they dismiss it, and it floats away on a tendril of smoke
It's as simple as
a fool going to meet a universe
its own time a whirlwind of moments until he arrives
He can't describe it.
His body holds memories more solidly than his mind
he feels every toss and pull and plunge long after his body
reveals to him white sun and crisp sky, golden fields;
the world blinds him with all he remembers
a late afternoon
a rhythmic motion
their bodies reaching, burst.
They dig and dig easily
It's so easy, here, when the afternoon is warm
and the sunbeams meet each other
where a secret is ready
to light up.
at night, the signals vanish.
the storm-fresh air looks up at the sound
and reaches for the morning
and hears the lights and the fear.
everything is bright and clean
usurped and appropriated
crumbled and glorious
the outstretched hand will speak in tongues
expect visions
Anyway. The following is an erasure of
zempasuchil's Merlin OT4 fic, Rewriting the Old Language, which I loooove. Funny that we both ended up erasing each other's Merlin OT4 fics. It's not like we told each other beforehand which fic we were doing, but I guess the siren call of polyamory was just too great.writhe
an erasure. original text by Z.
In short,
according to this
I will be here
after they are gone.
the very stones settle
and man shakes the earth, relieved
any lifted gaze can pass you by, can remember
and the face of the years will decide
She wasn't empty
she reared her head
her hands in everything
if magic is real There's no such thing as love
nothing like trust and knowing
she tries not to laugh
she’ll know the language
she’ll be around
"Do you know how?"
"I can figure it out."
somehow It's a veil torn away
father, father, take up the life he'd never known
he doesn't know a thing
you know how it works because
you built it yourself
never forget
no greater thing than earth confirmed
the hardest life and the simplest
real living; real work
he saw his own eyes
his heart, if not his father
the heartland, the earth, the sweat of his brow
the abstracts were their own lives
he could reach out beside him
below him
above
as strange as her dreams must be
something says, I don’t know how. There’s so much
trapped in buildings, in this city, in this country,
You’re right,
you’re right
it's all right
everything is all right
or changed.
she can beat him
It doesn't take much
suddenly "No,"
"Yes. you got your
little victory." But
he's already inside
all those years
do better, be better. victory hasn’t won her a thing.
to become something that she earned
she broke halfway between spitting and tears
it doesn't matter
walk down the street
Get something to drink
Look, this is how it is.
for years she explains
men and women, brothers and sisters,
you have to fight
that's the problem.
this strange new world held first the audience the wolf the open mouth
there is no invitation
but come anyway
sit
switch
avoid
there isn't much change
The threat is distant, the satellites unmarked,
the stars without a war fought in the right direction.
forget them. bring them up
get quietly angry because there's nothing he can do
he's only the son, only the father and
just the nation, enough to serve and protect
every word demands a continuation of tradition.
these accidents without casualties
these lines as simple as closing the door
it's not criminal
but from the start, he knows
keep above the tide
More is not the solution
less is not the solution
she's been part of the revolution
long enough to change
long enough to turn the tables. She says, Every chain link cracked
understands, understood
that words will wrap around and
swallow.
She appreciated the morning light
bright against her skin, and loose about her shoulders.
a discarded summer, pale, mentioned in the place of love;
"it's more than that.
You know how to speak; to keep your words
when you pause You make them want what you want."
They forget to remember together,
and he learns
where the city
where the fields
They explore, fall and get caught
and laugh
and laugh
and she thinks they might be the only people left who clamber down ravines
to forget about the rain
They are looking for satellites
for all the wrong reasons.
She bites terror from both sides.
He rests his fist by his father
slowly, as though this is just occurring to him,
as though by saying it he is coming to himself
to everything
on the roof with the stars and satellites
The sky smells like summer and life and sweat
they dismiss it, and it floats away on a tendril of smoke
It's as simple as
a fool going to meet a universe
its own time a whirlwind of moments until he arrives
He can't describe it.
His body holds memories more solidly than his mind
he feels every toss and pull and plunge long after his body
reveals to him white sun and crisp sky, golden fields;
the world blinds him with all he remembers
a late afternoon
a rhythmic motion
their bodies reaching, burst.
They dig and dig easily
It's so easy, here, when the afternoon is warm
and the sunbeams meet each other
where a secret is ready
to light up.
at night, the signals vanish.
the storm-fresh air looks up at the sound
and reaches for the morning
and hears the lights and the fear.
everything is bright and clean
usurped and appropriated
crumbled and glorious
the outstretched hand will speak in tongues
expect visions
no subject
Yes Uther's blind eye and university pressure! I would like to hear what you write on subversive books. Maybe you can write excerpts from these books, or write newspaper articles about these magic purges. Maybe you can write some of Morgana's poems? Which are possibly just erasures of the Manifesto arharhar. That is pretty fascinating about your aunt's Romanian friends, and also that the LINES MENTION NIMUEH. WHAT. whaaaaaat. awesome. the world continues to validate the way I participate in fandom.
Have you read "Confessions of an Economic Hitman"? That memoir ('memoir'?) that only enables my worst fears about the neocolonial international development situation. I have to get my hands on it. It also sounds pretty relevant to these interests.
It sounds like Foucault's "Discipline and Punish" because we read that toooooooo. seriously wtf our classes! yesss Uther IS THE NATION. It's why he's such a despot. AND THEN, depending on how much one is drawing on magical realism, to what extent does the land reflect the king?
no subject
timeline? timeline??? dsljk; I have been putting that off, hoping that I can get by with compounding elements of any revolution and any controlling government and any kind of magic I want into this setting. I don't know if I can write something with characters that aren't modern, you see. I have not read enough literature from that era to get a sense of the world. So "whatever" is sort of my motto on this. And maybe one day I will be serious about this and map out what is and what isn't, but for now I am just using what I find exciting and interesting. consistency is my bare minimum.
Oh wow I would LOVE to write parts of this literary canon they hand around! And Morgana's poetry of course! aaahhh yay!
I think I wrote those sentences very badly because I did not mean to connect Romanian Christian subversives with the subversives that used code phrases from communist texts or Arthuriana - they were subversives under a communist regime sadly and so lenin was a scourge :(
wow! I just read the Amazon summary of it, and holy cow, it makes me so paranoid. it makes me think of The Poisonwood Bible, which we had to read for 12th grade English, where Barbara Kingsolver pours her heart out about how the West just uses and abuses Africa. there's a part in there where a character talks about the World Bank loan to then-Zaire to build power lines, which were never finished and so sat useless while the country was forever in debt to it. I could swear there are actual articles we read about this sort of thing - I'm sure you've read them - I want to find them again. ohhhh why did I quit the International Studies major. it had such good stuff.
WTF OUR CLASSES! It... it must be destiny, lass XD big shiny academic fannish destiny.
I have always been enchanted by the body of the land. Is the king the land or is the king married to the land? I think they are thesis and antithesis. and then the synthesis... the people?
no subject
The soul is a prison to the body. What if the people are the antithesis, and the land is synthesis?
re: Economic Hitman, Zaire. Here is my knee-jerk beliefs: IT'S TRUE. The colonies gained independence, but in name only. The power structure isn't as overt. Europe made its wealth on the colonies, so they're not going to let all these resources completely break away. They have to engineer a new ways to keep their fingers in the pies, how to perpetuate vulnerability and dependency. So they're all, "We'll only give you this aid package if you do the following things that are advantageous to us, and also to you of course, um," and now there are tractors rusting in Uganda that the people they're supposed to benefit don't know how to fix or where to get spare parts from, and even when Australia and New Zealand gives little Oceanic countries grants, it comes with the concession of exclusive trading rights. Why is a country like the Philippines the #4 importer of rice? Why do archipelagos get development plans from the multilaterals that don't account properly for their coastal resources? Structural adjustment and neoliberalism is round peg into square hole, and they KNOW THIS, but that's okay, 'cos they're not actually trying to fix that much. omg debt. argh.