#february excerpts

[prettylittlelyres]

February Excerpts - 13th February

Violins and Violets - Book One

Chapter Twenty-Five

It hurt to pull my hands free of hers, and it hurt my chest to pull it away from hers. "Don't make me this person," I whispered. "What person?" She reached for my hand, but I pulled it free again. "The person who waits for someone to leave their beau. Or their belle, in Herr Schneider's case." I made for the door. "I don't want to be the other woman. I won't do it for a man, and I won't do it for you."

I’m sharing excerpts of my first two “Violins and Violets” every day in February, at 8am and 8pm GMT. Stay tuned, dear friends!

[shisasan]

𝙵𝚎𝚋𝚛𝚞𝚊𝚛𝚢 𝟷, 𝟷𝟿𝟸𝟸 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙳𝚒𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝙾𝚏 𝙵𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚣 𝙺𝚊𝚏𝚔𝚊, 𝟷𝟿𝟷𝟺-𝟷𝟿𝟸𝟹

[ID: February 1. Nothing, merely tired. END ID]

[fairydrowning]

– Ritika Jyala, excerpt from "The Flesh I Burned"

– Much Ado About Nothing, Play by "William Shakespeare"

– Terri Guillemets

– Charmaine J Forde

– Roses by the Stream, Book by Hua Bing

[universe-friday]

*; ALERT: goblins have found their way into HQ.., do not listen to anything they say (!! ANYTHING !!/)

[friday-answers]

doing my annual radio silence reread has become incredibly useful in terms of universe friday... i'm getting all the lore in check

and i am already finding things i did not remember!!! example: RADIO'S LUNAR BIKE???????

can't believe i could've forgotten something so cool like that. dw i'm making notes and annotating, tabbing everything i didn't remember to make sure details are up to date in universe friday!!!!!!!

[derangedrhythms]

The poem shapes itself in tears.

Boris Pasternak,  20th Century Russian Poetry: Silver and Steel, from ‘February...’, tr. Yakov Hornstein

[fatehbaz]

[D]omesticated attack dogs [...] hunted those who defied the profitable Caribbean sugar regimes and North America’s later Cotton Kingdom, [...] enforced plantation regimens [...], and closed off fugitive landscapes with acute adaptability to the varied [...] terrains of sugar, cotton, coffee or tobacco plantations that they patrolled. [...] [I]n the Age of Revolutions the Cuban bloodhound spread across imperial boundaries to protect white power and suppress black ambitions in Haiti and Jamaica. [...] [Then] dog violence in the Caribbean spurred planters in the American South to import and breed slave dogs [...].

---

Spanish landowners often used dogs to execute indigenous labourers simply for disobedience. [...] Bartolomé de las Casas [...] documented attacks against Taino populations, telling of Spaniards who ‘hunted them with their hounds [...]. These dogs shed much human blood’. Many later abolitionists made comparisons with these brutal [Spanish] precedents to criticize canine violence against slaves on these same Caribbean islands. [...] Spanish officials in Santo Domingo were licensing packs of dogs to comb the forests for [...] fugitives [...]. Dogs in Panama, for instance, tracked, attacked, captured and publicly executed maroons. [...] In the 1650s [...] [o]ne [English] observer noted, ‘There is nothing in [Barbados] so useful as … Liam Hounds, to find out these Thieves’. The term ‘liam’ likely came from the French limier, meaning ‘bloodhound’. [...] In 1659 English planters in Jamaica ‘procured some blood-hounds, and hunted these blacks like wild-beasts’ [...]. By the mid eighteenth century, French planters in Martinique were also relying upon dogs to hunt fugitive slaves. [...] In French Saint-Domingue [Haiti] dogs were used against the maroon Macandal [...] and he was burned alive in 1758. [...]

Although slave hounds existed throughout the Caribbean, it was common knowledge that Cuba bred and trained the best attack dogs, and when insurrections began to challenge plantocratic interests across the Americas, two rival empires, Britain and France, begged Spain to sell these notorious Cuban bloodhounds to suppress black ambitions and protect shared white power. [...] [I]n the 1790s and early 1800s [...] [i]n the Age of Revolutions a new canine breed gained widespread popularity in suppressing black populations across the Caribbean and eventually North America. Slave hounds were usually descended from more typical mastiffs or bloodhounds [...].

---

Spanish and Cuban slave hunters not only bred the Cuban bloodhound, but were midwives to an era of international anti-black co-ordination as the breed’s reputation spread rapidly among enslavers during the seven decades between the beginning of the Haitian Revolution in 1791 and the conclusion of the American Civil War in 1865. [...]

Despite the legends of Spanish cruelty, British officials bought Cuban bloodhounds when unrest erupted in Jamaica in 1795 after learning that Spanish officials in Cuba had recently sent dogs to hunt runaways and the indigenous Miskitos in Central America. [...] The island’s governor, Balcarres, later wrote that ‘Soon after the maroon rebellion broke out’ he had sent representatives ‘to Cuba in order to procure a number of large dogs of the bloodhound breed which are used to hunt down runaway negroes’ [...]. In 1803, during the final independence struggle of the Haitian Revolution, Cuban breeders again sold hundreds of hounds to the French to aid their fight against the black revolutionaries. [...] In 1819 Henri Christophe, a later leader of Haiti, told Tsar Alexander that hounds were a hallmark of French cruelty. [...]

---

The most extensively documented deployment of slave hounds [...] occurred in the antebellum American South and built upon Caribbean foundations. [...] The use of dogs increased during that decade [1830s], especially with the Second Seminole War in Florida (1835–42). The first recorded sale of Cuban dogs into the United States came with this conflict, when the US military apparently purchased three such dogs for $151.72 each [...]. [F]ierce bloodhounds reputed to be from Cuba appeared in the Mississippi valley as early as 1841 [...].

The importation of these dogs changed the business of slave catching in the region, as their deployment and reputation grew rapidly throughout the 1840s and, as in Cuba, specialized dog handlers became professionalized. Newspapers advertised slave hunters who claimed to possess the ‘Finest dogs for catching negroes’ [...]. [S]lave hunting intensified [from the 1840s until the Civil War] [...]. Indeed, tactics in the American South closely mirrored those of their Cuban predecessors as local slave catchers became suppliers of biopower indispensable to slavery’s profitability. [...] [P]rice [...] was left largely to the discretion of slave hunters, who, ‘Charging by the day and mile [...] could earn what was for them a sizeable amount - ten to fifty dollars [...]'. William Craft added that the ‘business’ of slave catching was ‘openly carried on, assisted by advertisements’. [...] The Louisiana slave owner [B.B.] portrayed his own pursuits as if he were hunting wild game [...]. The relationship between trackers and slaves became intricately systematized [...]. The short-lived republic of Texas (1836–46) even enacted specific compensation and laws for slave trackers, provisions that persisted after annexation by the United States.

---

All text above by: Tyler D. Parry and Charlton W. Yingling. "Slave Hounds and Abolition in the Americas". Past & Present, Volume 246, Issue 1, February 2020, pages 69-108. Published February 2020. At: doi dot org/10.1093/pastj/gtz020. February 2020. [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me. Presented here for commentary, teaching, criticism purposes.]

[indecentpause]

A Playlist For Josephine and Mai Ly

Mai Ly was sitting in the game room at the con when she walked in. Tall, willowy, with beautiful curly black hair that went all the way down to her mid-back (how long must she have had to spend on it every morning!?). Beautiful dark brown skin, lovely wide brown eyes, a flowy peasant top instead of the t-shirts or cosplay most people wore. Mai Ly’s eyes went wide, trailing the woman through the room as she walked from game to game to see what, or if, she wanted to play. She was so beautiful it hurt Mai Ly in her chest.

mary lambert - know your name // // tessa violet - crush // king princess - 1950 // corrinne bailey rae - turn your records on // lily allen - who’d have known // hayley kiyoko - pretty girl // janelle monae - make me feel // ratwyfe - why didn't i kiss her (the useless lesbian song) // betty who - somebody loves you // taylor swift - 22 // teddybears feat. sthlm - yours to keep // zolita - come home with me // the pipettes - call me // the butchies - send me you // meaghan smith - a little love // jen foster - she // icona pop - girlfriend

[listen]

Josephine tag

Mai Ly tag

Sheraton Academy tag

happy valentine's day <3

[twoleggedalien]

My dearest prospect, 

You’ll have to know me better than I know myself. I suffer from a debilitating self-awareness that stumps me and holds me down most of the time. I am entranced by my complexities as despondent. My feverish spirits only rise when I’m with anger. The emotion fills my heart and body and tires my soul. But that’s not to say I am without joy and peace. Feelings negative and positive don’t attempt to evade me, I dare say they pursue me everyday. I am restless both inside the house and outside. And to tell you a truth that not many know, a shameful secret I keep to myself, I know much and nothing at all, but don’t dare presume I know nada. I may, or may not, be willing to listen, I may be persuaded and collect newfound views but I will do it grudgingly. 

In my short time on Earth many things have happened, I keep this in mind most days. In view of myself and others yet sometimes it becomes a blind spot. It’s not that I am judgmental because rarely do I feel hatred in my soul for just anyone or anything. Words might slip from my tongue or come out in incomprehensible determinations that I might never follow through. My mind is preoccupied with the to-do’s and needs of the days that I hardly have time for much else. You’ll need to be understanding of me. I mean no harm except for the times I do. Which are fleeting moments. Throwing something to the ground because my muscles need a release, or my tongue may betray me in the sense that I always feel horrid for my atrocious behaviors because is that who I am? Consider sensibly as I have, that as it appears my flaws are affixed to me as much as my strengths.

Know I am driven by love. My heart is not big but it is full. I do not understand unwise judgments and do not participate in activities that put me in a state of silence. I rarely add fuel to a fire, but be supportive and add to mine when think fit. But you must think fit. Common sense only neglects me in the room temperature moments, like forgetting to buy a stamp for a package and throwing it with the rest of the mail, dressing up in  my way afar, forming societal expectations for socially manufactured spaces and affairs, butting my way in, and having more than my share.

My values are instilled in me, but rarely thought of. I’d say my biggest focus is on my philosophy. How I go on about the world, for why I do things and confined myself to what enthralls me. My life is my pleasure to feel. For the love of God, you must keep up. I chide many things, most of them are proven to be for the worse so I criticize for the better. What good would it do us it you can’t abide by the times of day I am most sentient. Early mornings get the worm and all that, I say it’s true. Eating breakfast, having snacks throughout the day, minding a sleep routine is all proven to be good. I refuse to be the only one who minds these things. With that said, do not know better and disregard execution and accomplishment. 

Now now, this is not to say to not be you. Though often I have thought to date myself, I believe I would be my perfect match up to a point, it is ultimately impossible. The closest I could get to that scenario is being with myself which I do very well already. Differences do not perturb me, rather they are something to be excited about. While I won’t budge that orange juice is better than apple juice (though I drink both), one does not need to like every single eatery (because honestly, they might sell the same stuff, but they are not the same), that day is better than night (to be productive), my adverse contempt for capitalism and this modernistic colonialism, and even my mourning for what a simple life under my own restrictions, proposal, and doctrines I could live. I lack the passion to grip things by the collar and speedboat that shit. While I often mourn for that too, my deficiency in executing, I can be influenced by a fiery heart, upbeat soul, a sculpted physique and a promising smile.

I have many loves and felt many heartbreaks. I have sought help when in the midst of drowning and helped myself to keep afloat. I am the youngest daughter with many shortcomings  yet treated as the most matured of all as if I was not still ripening. It��s not complete fabrication, what they say, but to state it so outspokenly as though cooking and cleaning and taking care of oneself is something one does when reaching the age of thirty and some. While regarding that much of what I’ve learned has been from being on my own devices again and again since childhood. 

Thus I wish you the bestest luck, my aspirant paramour. May you be a gentle caller of great endurance, appeal, and wisdom to embark on this endeavor. Elseway, I fear my disinterest will never retire and leave me missing the essence of a spirit never in existence and you without a single attachment to me.

With a heavy heart I leave it up to you. Can you bear such a task as forging a spot in my heart?

If it’s any consolation, I think you can. It’s not a day's labor and might be a bit of a messy business, but it’ll be fruitful as the wait for spring. 

Yours honestly, 

[RETRACTED]

[corazon-sanador]

13.02.23

I went for a walk last night. I hoped you would join me, but I never asked. I was never quite good at that, asking for what I wanted. But you were never good at knowing what I wanted to begin with. So I walked alone. I retraced the steps of our first walk together. I recounted the smiles and nervous laughter, the small talk before we finally felt comfortable enough to share parts of our souls. I stopped halfway towards my destination and looked up at the sky. There was no moon, there were no stars, not like the night we went, do you remember the stars? How beautifully they danced above us as we sat on a bench shivering from the cold but refusing to go back because we never wanted the night to end ? I do. All it takes is one glance at that bench and I can see us so vividly, before the fights and the heartbreak, before the deafening silence and harsh words, before the tears. When the only thing I cared about was showing you the constellations, learning about how you were afraid of the dark but with me you felt safe. I miss that. I miss you. But that you. I never finished the walk, after I stopped I asked myself what I was doing, why I was doing this. It’s clear isn’t it ? I’m still searching for you. I’m still trying to find a reason to stay, proof that this was a mistake and that there is still hope for us. But there isn’t and I’ve finally accepted that. We’re too different now, we’ve changed too much. It’s all for the better, I’m proud of who you’ve become and I’m sure you’re proud of me too, or at least you were. There is just no more room to grow together, we need to finish this journey alone. You know it’s true even if you hate me right now. Even if you hate me forever. You’ll forgive me one day. Please forgive me.

[words-and-coffee]

It’s all about sex and territory, which are what will finish us off in the long run.

Margaret Atwood, Morning in the Burned House: February

[prettylittlelyres]

February Excerpts - 2nd February

Violins and Violets - Book One

Chapter Three

He opened his trunk as wide as it would go, and gestured to it. "Get in, then," he said, "And I'll take you with me."

"Oh, what, all the way to Vienna in your trunk?" I laughed. "Papa would never allow it."

"What would Papa even know about it until it was too late?" He mimed looking around, and theatrically exaggerated Papa's voice. ""Oh, where is Käthe? She should be here to say goodbye to Hans. But I can't see her anywhere. Here, Hänschen, let me help you with this heavy trunk. What on earth do you have in here?"" He grinned.

I'm sharing excerpts of my first two "Violins and Violets" every day in February, at 8am and 8pm GMT. Stay tuned, dear friends!

[shisasan]

February, 1932 The diary of Anaïs Nin [Volume One: 1931-1934]

[fairydrowning]

"February is nearly always melancholy."

– Anna de Noailles, tr. by Norman R. Sharpiro, from "Your Hidden Fleshly Grace"

[universe-friday]

EXCERPT #1:

Hello. I hope somebody is listening.

I’ve had a tough week. Not like I compare the days anymore, as I did when I first found myself in the City; writing, describing, counting all the horrors I saw each day, how this one cyborg was particularly resilient… These interactions have become monotonous for me now.

Something that is forever changing around here, however… The air. Besides its dreadful quality from day one, the metallic dust clusters more and more everyday, making particular spots worse than others. You never realise you may be walking through a bad spot until you suddenly start coughing, almost wishing you had listened to your parents and brought that old inhaler with you. I truly think my asthma might be coming back. The only guidance for your guaranteed escape is the blinding, bright lights of the City’s street lamps and advertisements…

I keep wishing that one of these days, I’ll follow a light and it will lead me to you, February. You truly do shine brighter than the others.

[...]

But, February, I’m scared I’m losing sight of you. The lights, the air… I see one less star in the night sky as each day passes. I almost hope its pollution worsening my view, because if not, the exploded stars must have finally finished travelling to earth, and I’m caught up to the present.

I don’t like it.

I’ve decided I will forever live in the past, where you are February, and maybe, one day, we will see each other again. If I remain in the present, who knows what will come of the sky. I witness its losses of its sparkle the longer I am here.

How do I know, February, that you are still with me? How do I know you haven’t left? It would be nice to hear from you. When we last saw each other, you shone so bright. Would you burn as bright in the sky in Universe City? You never did like the City either. I only wish to get out just as you did.

Perhaps I was right. Perhaps you already have exploded. I would’ve expected you to shine forever. Or perhaps the City has destroyed our contact too. My contact. It was almost parasocial. Voyeuristic. Though I do wonder if you were ever looking for me too.

Is it too ambitious? To hope you still see me? To hope you still care? To hope you never left me in the first place? Perhaps I am too ambitious, perhaps I shouldn’t get ahead of myself. But I could only wish to fly too close to the sun.

Because maybe I’d get a glimpse of you, February, in my final seconds.

[…]

[friday-answers]

i have been listening to a lot of hozier recently and i don’t know if anyone cares but i, carrion (icarian) is literally february friday talking to radio/carys talking to aled .

february is literally described as a star/exploded star and has a lot of wording to do with burning, because of the burning of carys’ clothes right before she ran away

radio talks to february as if they are in the City’s atmosphere, watching over them from afar in the sky… and radio sings their praises and wonders where they are as they haven’t heard anything. meanwhile, carys had ran away and had their contact to aled intercepted in reality by their mother.

radio sees february as such a high spirited person perhaps even with such importance and height as a star or an angel. realistically, carys is just trying to make ends meet by herself and would not see herself at all to be such an inspiring figure for her sibling.