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round three
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May. 13th, 2008 @ 11:20 pm
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I am at work on the third draft, now, of "The Oracle." Very many apologies to ![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) jmeadows, who got stuck with the first draft. You can trash that! It has changed....
How many things and people, real, almost real, and more than real, can I be in love with at once? So many, so very many. And that's "in love"--doesn't even take into account the things I just plain love. This intoxication!I feel...:  intoxicated I hear...: Mari Fujiwara: The Wind Forest |
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The Oracle
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May. 12th, 2008 @ 01:07 pm
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Thanks to sartorias, I have some wonderful ideas for how to improve this story. Now if I can just live through my hours of work, and try to *concentrate* on that work, and not on what I'm going to do to the story's most unpleasant character or how I'm going to improve the fortunes of the POV character, I'll be all set.
Thanks again, sartorias!I feel...:  jubilant I hear...: Emily Smith: May Colven |
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maddening honey
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May. 11th, 2008 @ 11:01 am
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I'm definitely going to use this, or something based on it, in a story one day:
(From Wikipedia's entry "Rhododendron")
Some species are poisonous to grazing animals. These Rhododendrons have a toxin called grayanotoxin in their pollen and nectar. People have been known to become ill from eating honey made by bees feeding on rhododendron and azalea flowers. Xenophon described the odd behavior of Greek soldiers after having consumed honey in a village surrounded by rhododendrons. Later, it was recognized that honey resulting from these plants have a slightly hallucinogenic and laxative effect.
Traveling through the links (God bless the Internet), I come to this, from Pliny the Elder, on "Maddening Honey":
In the country of the Sanni, in the same part of Pontus, there is another kind of honey, which, from the madness it produces, has received the name of "mænomenon." This evil effect is generally attributed to the flowers of the rhododendron, with which the woods there abound; and that people, though it pays a tribute to the Romans in wax, derives no profit whatever from its honey, in consequence of these dangerous properties ... What can we suppose to have possibly been the intention of Nature in thus laying these traps in our way, giving us honey that is poisonous in some years and good in others, poisonous in some parts of the combs and not in others, and that, too, the produce in all cases of the self-same bees? It was not enough, forsooth, to have produced a substance in which poison might be administered without the slightest difficulty, but must she herself administer it as well in the honey, to fall in the way of so many animated beings?I feel...:  enthralled I hear...: Old Blind Dogs: Twa Corbies |
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the space between
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May. 11th, 2008 @ 10:08 am
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(I didn't update for three days, so I have lots of entries stored up...prepare for Asakiyume spam... my apologies in advance)
"Do you think there's something between them?" "Nothing will ever come between us."
Isn't it interesting that in the first sentence, having something between is a good thing--a tie, a connection--and in the second case, having something between is a bad thing--a barrier.
In the throes of full cheek-burning, heart-racing passion, isn't the goal to close the space between, to be so close, so very close that electrons and protons forget what they are?
And then, that experience becomes the "something between them" ... and having shared it, the lovers promise "nothing will ever come between us."
...What happens after is another story, but as for stories, their number is infinite... or more than I can count, anyway.I feel...: passionate I hear...: Eliza Carthy and the Kings of Calicut: "Fisher Boy" |
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all a-May
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May. 11th, 2008 @ 07:23 am
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So many blossoms all around, so much blossom fragrance in the air, and every day a new bird singing, sweetfern and strawberries in my garden and violets in the grass—yes, this is May.
Oh in the merry month of May
Beneath the blossoms will you lie,
Will you linger, will you stay
And watch the sparrows as they fly?
Here is the chorus of birds at 6 am. You can hear the oriole very clearly at 2, 11, and 26 seconds. More hard to hear, unless you turn your volume way up, is the lovely wood thrush, who sings at 8, 15, and 23 seconds...
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| » Question |
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If the road to hell is paved with good intentions, where does a road paved with bad intentions take you?
May. 7th, 2008 @ 10:17 pm
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| » looks like hawthorn... but is probably pin cherry |
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Alas, I thought this was the lovely folkloric hawthorn, but that plant has scalloped leaves, and this one has smooth leaves...
And so, rather than the faery gateway plant, we have just a cheery May friend here, it seems. Next time I go out to steal from the other world, I'll get it right!
In my defense, look how similar the flowers are ( I plead my case )
May. 7th, 2008 @ 10:56 am
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| » a ship of the line |
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This description in Les Mis was beautiful, and as I read it, I thought about sovay's recent entries, and also about teenybuffalo, who's helping to organize "Sail into the Sunset 2008" (more information in her entry here) and who loves the sea.
"A vessel of the line is composed at once of the heaviest and lightest materials, because it has to contend simultaneously with the three forms of matter, the solid, the liquid, and the fluid. She has eleven iron claws to grasp the rock at the bottom of the sea, and more wings and feelers than a butterfly to catch the breezes in the sky. Her breath is expelled through her hundred and twenty guns as through enormous trumpets, and proudly answers the thunderbolt. The ocean strives to lead it astray in the frightful similarity of its billows, but the ship has a compass, its soul, always counseling it and always pointing toward the north. On dark nights, the lantern takes the place of the stars. So, to oppose the wind, it has ropes and canvas; against the water its timbers; against the rock its iron, copper, and lead; against the darkness, light; against immensity, a needle."
That's from the Signet Classics edition of Les Misérables by Victor Hugo ("new unabridged translation by Lee Fabnestock and Norman MacAfee, based on the classic C. E. Wilbour translation," so they say, and Signet is an imprint of the American Library which is somehow part of Penguin, and this edition was published in 1987), pp 369-70.
May. 6th, 2008 @ 06:07 am
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| » strange light in a strange room |
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Strange light in a strange room
How do you get to that bright light? You have to turn around, and then you find it, but when you do, it no longer looks as it did when first you saw it.
Because...
The kettle's reflecting the light from the door... but it looks different in the kettle, the way sometimes light looks different in a mirror, too. If you could go through the door in the kettle, it would be to an outdoors that's different from the outdoors you get to by turning around and leaving through the real door.
Outside, though the ordinary door, the wren is back, his whole throat shaking as he sings, and today with heyes, I heard the first orioles.
( directions to Walk for Hunger photos )
May. 5th, 2008 @ 03:29 pm
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| » Back from the Walk for Hunger |
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Back all soaked and blistered but cheerful. More anon.
May. 4th, 2008 @ 06:46 pm
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| » the transformation stump |
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There is a magical stump visible from my window. If you stand on it, you can transform yourself. Observe:
It has been a remarkable day. Remarkable. I got an e-mail from Appleseed Records. I don't believe I've ever purchased anything from Appleseed records, but the thing is, I intend to... so, what? Is the Internet reading my mind now? And I received an 18-minute piece of remarkable ghost music from sovay that promises to haunt both waking and sleeping hours. Best of all, my favorite pirate folksinger may make a video singing "Wake Up" or "Drowsy Sleeper," thanks to prompting from a devoted fan.
It looks like the Walk for Hunger will be cold and rainy--20 miles of cold and rainy! This Sunday. You can console me with a donation, here.
May. 2nd, 2008 @ 08:00 pm
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| » 102 years old |
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Yesterday, in clouds and rainy weather, Little Springtime and I went to help celebrate my grandmother's 102nd birthday**. Both on the way there and on the way back, we heard "Time after Time," once the cover version by Quietdrive and once the Cyndi Lauper original.
It seemed a good theme song.
You say go slow
I fall behind
The second hand unwinds
And then these lines that I find supremely comforting
If you're lost, you can look, and you will find me
Time after time
If you fall, I will catch you, I will be waiting
Time after time
The sky ocean on the way home looked like this:
We listened to the radio and sometimes sang along. Here are 16 seconds of the journey:
**I should note that my grandmother shares a birthday with the Shôwa emperor, otherwise known as Hirohito, and so her birthday is a national holiday in Japan. He was born in 1901; she was born in 1906.
Apr. 30th, 2008 @ 01:09 pm
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| » and more from the superlative Tim Eriksen |
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The murder ballad "Omie Wise"
Which is one of my favorites from Tim Eriksen.
Sung against a background of spring peepers. And with church bells at the end.
Apr. 29th, 2008 @ 05:40 pm
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| » the inestimable watermelontail |
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is quite a storyteller. Unfortunately his entries are mainly locked, and a writer needs privacy, anyway, when writing, but perhaps he wouldn't mind if I shared this:
He's writing one now about the Red Hem Archer, whose arrows have square notches, such that "threads that bind a person to that which they love will catch in those notches and break; Red Hem shot the lover from her beloved, the businessman from his money, parent from child, drunk from drink."
Reminds me of these lines from "The Sisters of Mercy," by Leonard Cohen:
It's you who must leave everything
That you cannot control
It begins with your family
But soon it comes round to your soul
One day, I hope, watermelontail will finish his story and it will be published.
Apr. 29th, 2008 @ 05:35 pm
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| » The Oracle |
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Yes, I have oracles on the mind. The story I'm writing with an eye toward Coyote Wild's YA issue is about what happens when a young oracle comes out with an unpopular pronouncement.
I think it's going to end up a little long (judging by how many words I have so far), but I will write it until it's done, and then see about cutting down, if need be.
Just today I figured out how the end will work. I took Molly-the-dog and the umbrella crow for a walk to the post office, and on the way, it all came clear (and the secret lay in the oracular pronouncement, after all--as one might expect).
Gosling is the pet name for the oracle; it's what his family always called him before he was discovered to be the oracle. Five is his older sister, who is now his attendant at the temple of the spirits. Guess what her birth place was in the family. Whose futures depend on how Gosling's pronouncement is interpreted? Well, pretty much everyone in the kingdom known as Gate of the Mountain. Who else has an interest in it? The petitioning party from the Kingdom of the Plains, which is a much bigger kingdom and has an agenda.
I had better earn my keep, now, for a bit, however.
Apr. 28th, 2008 @ 10:10 am
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| » what gold is hidden here? |
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Marsh marigold!
There are flashes of this gold all through the marsh:
The birds are singing its location (26 seconds):
Apr. 27th, 2008 @ 03:39 pm
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| » green and water, bright and dark |
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A photo of duccio's made me think about how the light at certain times of day can affect how time itself seems... and this seemed so appropriate, since light's the vehicle of time and the measure of time, in a sense. There's more to light than meets the eye, but oh, what meets the eye pleases in so many ways.
Light and shadow please, for instance:
 .
On another walk, I found this oracular stick. Is there a culture anywhere that reads these signs and tells fortunes? I see here a princess and a dragon, a wise mouse and a coastline. But how this bodes for the future, I can't say.
And then, the ninja girl brought me a peach blossom and a cherry blossom. They are so fragile and beautiful; to be brought these things is a gift indeed. Here they sit like sisters.
Apr. 25th, 2008 @ 02:44 pm
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| » Playlist for Y |
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1. George Collins (Cordelia’s Dad)
2. Rainin’ in Paradize (Manu Chao)
3. Dil Hi to Hai (Chitra Singh)
4. Tijaniyya (Youssou N’Dour)
5. Apsaras (Apsaras)
6. Alpha (Vangelis)
7. Viridissima (Jocelyn Montgomery)
8. Un Ange Qui Passe (Annie Villeneuve)
9. Caresse Sur L’ocean (Bruno Coulais)
10. There She Is!! (Witches)
11. Hope (Tim Eriksen)
12. Kingsfold (Bobby Fisher)
13. Alba (Mediavel Baebes)
14. Irish Mass-Credo (Gilles Mathieu)
Languages: English, Urdu/Hindi, Wolof, Latin, French, Korean ... Religions: Christianity, Islam, Buddhism
Two of these songs I found through last fm, five came from friends or family, including one from Y himself, one I remembered from childhood, one came from church, two I found on the Internet, one I heard on the radio in Canada, one came from a movie, and one came, indirectly, from an NPR story.
Tomorrow I stick the CD in the mail and send it express.
Apr. 24th, 2008 @ 08:05 pm
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| » art from littlemetaldrop |
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Click to see it larger--it's "rock, paper, scissors," for a contest on Deviant Art.
Jan-Ken-Pon by ~TinSil on deviantART
Apr. 24th, 2008 @ 03:28 am
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| » sun-stained |
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Three hundred and sixty degree awareness--up there a crow has nesting materials in its beak, over there are house sparrows and blue jays; the hills are a soft rainbow of colors; where yesterday no flower buds were visible on the crab apple, today there are buds amid the leaves.
Yesterday I went to shape-note singing in Northampton--first time in this location--where we sang some I recognized, like "Return Again" and "Idumea" (people sang that with great fervor), but also some new ones, including "Vernon," which had a great tune (minor key, of course) and these simply amazing words:
Come, O Thou traveler unknown
Whom still I hold, but cannot see;
My company before is gone,
And I am left alone with Thee.
With Thee all night I mean to stay,
And wrestle till the break of day.
In vain thou strugglest to get free,
I never will unloose my hold;
Art Thou the Man that died for me?
The secret of Thy love unfold.
Wrestling, I will not let Thee go,
Till I Thy name, Thy nature know.
(Charles Wesley, 1742)
Never mind Jacob wrestling the angel, try wrestling Jesus! And there's a certain ardor there that slides toward romantic--I could well imagine singing this to a mortal beloved instead of a divine one.
By completely random train of thought, no pirate singers were present at this particular gathering, so I sang undistracted.
Apr. 23rd, 2008 @ 04:34 pm
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