infinityeva

Argh.

Once I heard the muses singing,
Golden verses shimm’ring,
Shining,
Divining,
A tale of yonder light.

How precious seemed it then,
That brilliant vision,
... The majestical triumphs of Troy!
How wond’rous the dream!

There rushed Hector,
Carved in Bronze and Gold,
Shining,
Pining,
Stallion stride ethereal to behold,

And there Achaeans tripping for hollows ships,
Helmets to dust asunder,
Shining,
Entrails untwining,
Magnificent Hector striking, swift as thunder,

Could seven winds and seven seas,
Break this furious storm?
Shining,
Unyielding,
A blazing torrent, a shooting star in form.

How beautiful the man!
Beloved worlds above,
A hero Earth below,
Hector,
Tamer of Horses,
Noblest Trojan Prince!

And yet my heart filled with blood,
As his blood stained the field,
The muses’ singing turned to screeching,
When by Achilles,
Was Hector killed.

The greying and decaying Priam,
Ragged by years,
Destroyed by fears,
Crumpled in destruction actualised.

The loveliest women, Andromache, Hecabe
Broken and wild,
Distraught for husband and child,
Windless as fallen Hector in their tears.

Darkness to the Gold,
The creeping Death,
Nobility turned to shadows,
And a dirge of desecrated royalty,
These mourners of legend,

How fitting then, how tragic,
That I too,
Without the benefit of myth,
Am reduced and faded
By the death of shining Hector?

Yet beyond the dogs and vultures lie
Hector’s immortal body,
And funeral pyres.

Maybe then shall brilliant glory come,
To life. To song.
To my desires.

Out in the darkness, I sat under that same sky, warmed by that same fire, surrounded by that same wilderness.

Nostalgia tingled.

I don't want to sound sentimental, but for what was then until now, thank you.

I suspect this is going to be a stupidly intense semester. Fingers crossed that I didn't bite off more than I can chew.

Man, a series is REALLY good when it can make the Irene Adler story (which I always found a bit overrated, just quietly) emotionally captivating. What even.

If I died any time soon, I don't think I would have too many regrets. For all of my angst, I'm also happy with how I have lived my life.

For however long is to come, I want to live and die without regrets. Life is for the taking - follow the most promising pathways, reflect on the beautiful, and learn from the mistakes.

I've taken away the link to this LJ from any public source which displayed it. Said links were already obscure, so my move doesn't really change much at all, but symbolically I think it's good to acknowledge that most of the people who care about my personal writing know about this already anyway.

I'm a people person. I've always been one. I know this.

At the moment I can't really stand the thought of dealing with people. I just want to be left alone, to sleep, to write, to be by myself - to think.

Don't get me wrong - I love people individually. It is others who make me happy. The joy of knowing that you are not alone in this world, that you can do something for someone else. The joy of somebody else's smile.

Nevertheless, people also frighten me - they weigh me down. In my lowest moments, I simply can't stand the uncertainty of not knowing how others perceive you. Not only that, but every odd statement becomes an ambiguous signifier, to be interpreted and deconstructed, to the extent that it drives me insane. I'm too sensitive; I think too much, I know. But it's how I am.

I don't know what to do. It's a panorama of stars, and I'm dying underneath their radiance.

I finally finished reading Atonement, and by God it's a revelation. Ian McEwan impressed me already with Enduring Love; Atonement took me by the foundations and inverted my world entirely. The prose is sensual and consuming, and the work's underlying ideologies make it as deep as (dare I say deeper than?) Hamlet.

Getting through Wuthering Heights now, and it's a very different, and yet very similar experience. I'm excited.