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jupiaria · 4 years ago

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Jack Parsons' Freedom is a Two-Edged Sword

Chapter Four

The Woman Girt With the Sword

It is to you woman, beautiful redeemer of the race, whom I address this chapter. That which stirs in you now is not madness, not sin, not folly – but Life! This new life is the joy and the fire that will beget a new race; create a new heaven and new earth. When you were a child, did not the wind and the sun speak to you? Did you not hear the mountain’s voice; the voice of the river and of the storm? Have you not heard the whisper of the stars and the ineffable voice in silence? Have you not gone naked in the forest with the wind on your body and felt the caress of Pan? Your heart has swollen with Spring, blossomed with Summer and saddened with Winter. These things are the covenant and in them is the truth that is forever.

You have sought companions as high-hearted as yourself and found them not save in the elusive memories of dream and song. For you found a blight over the world; a blight of silence and sorrow. Your companions walked in guilt and shame, in fear, in hate, in sin and in the sorrow of sin. There was only nervous laughter and furtive pleasure; unsatisfying and shameful – But be no longer sad, my beloved. Be joyous and unafraid for within you is the song that shall shatter the silence, the flame that will burn away the dross.

It is you who are the redeemer from sing and sorrow, from guilt and shame. WOMAN; oh splendour incarnate! How long have you served in chains, a slave to the lust and guilt of pigs? How long have you writhed under the degradation of your Holy Name, “Whore”, or suffered silently under the degradation called, “virtue”? How well you have known the stake, the rack, the whip, the chains of imprisonment and even entombment in the service of your master.

And was the bond fear, was it weakness, was it cowardice and inferiority? Oh shame of man, it was none of these; it was love. A man was once crucified in a redemption that failed, yet if ten times ten million men were crucified, this infamy could not be redeemed. Husband, father, priest, jailer, judge, executioner, exploiter, seducer, destroyer – so has your lover mastered and defiled you. Yet pity him for he sought love… But finally there is an end and then the beginning and all the future will be with you. For you are the mother of a new race, the redeemer and lover of the new men; the men who shall be free.

I shall speak to you of men. Men desire three things of a woman: a mother greater than themselves, a wife less than themselves and a lover equal with themselves. Against the mother they are in revolt, the wife they hold in contempt and the lover ever eludes them. Consider the husband; how he throws his clothes about, eschews dirty dishes and housework and asserts himself in a loud voice. Consider the homosexual; how he hates woman and flees himself, fearing that he will slay her. Consider the great lover; how he grasps for love and his hands close on nothingness. These are bewildered, frightened children playing games against the dark. And those who wear brass and swords, who strut and slay, are they not the most frightened of all? Therefore pity them and forgive them.

In the ancient world there were men for a season, before cities arose and they turned to gilded popinjays, gracefully accepting futility. Then came Christianity, an anodyne for slaves, an enteric for barbarians whose deeds gave them indigestion – and ultimately, a whip for slave masters.

Faust was the prototype of the Middle Ages, but not the Faustus of whom Kit Marlowe tells. It was a darker Faust; Gilles de Rais, who betrays the Maid in his lust for power, then, after his fall and the failure of his prayers, he descends to horror in his cellars. This theme lasted an age until man, appalled by his nightmares, turned finally to a dream of liberty.

It is the voice of Voltaire, jaded, cynical, weary of folly, that sounds the opening bar of a tremendous, mocking prelude. Tom Paine, one real man, broken and at last betrayed by all the wooden champions, Cagliostro, plotting the revenge of the Templars with a woman and a necklace, Will Blake, speaking uncomprehended with the tongue of angels, Shelley and his beautiful gesture; Swinburne, who almost recreated Helas before he too was broken – Byron, Pushkin, Gautier; all instruments in a prelude to a symphony that was never played. And Science – how it was to save us! That “Brave New World” of Huxley, Darwin and H.G. Wells with only the voice of Spengler in dissent.

Science remaking the world; an international language, a universal brotherhood beyond nationality, prejudice or creed… A beautiful vision fallen like a house of cards. You creators of the “New Age” who dare not speak, think or move without permission from the military, you unfettered titans who will hang for speaking across one border – where is your ‘New World’? Champions, where is freedom? What treasure have we lost? We must turn to women for that answer.

The key lies back ten thousand years ago in the Age of Isis that is mistakenly called “The Matriarchy”. It was not a Matriarchy as we conceive it; a rule of club-women, of frustrated chickens, in fact it was not a rule at all; it was an equality.

The Woman was and is the Priestess. In Her reposes the Mystery. She is the Mother, brooding yet tender, the lover, at once passionate and aloof, the wife, revered and cherished. She is the witch woman. She stands co-equal with her mate who is the chieftain, the hunter, the thinker and the doer. The woman is the Priestess, guardian of the mystery, syble of the unconscious and prophetess of dreams. Together they balanced each other until the catastrophe of the Patriarchal Age, arch-typified by the monosexual monster, Jehova.

Then, under the rule of Priests, woman became an inferior animal while man became isolated in his imagined superiority and found himself at the mercy of his own merciless intelligence. It was total war between the emotions that must and the intellect that will not. Every patriarchal religion is a self-contradictory monstrosity. They are dogmatic creeds that shift like straws in the wind of the intellect. Upon this shifting structure man has failed. He knows the futility of such artificial systems but he fights for them with all the sick fury his frustration can generate. In the process he has lost his mother, his wife has failed him and his lover eludes him. The Mystery has gone out of the Temple, banished by a senile and self-sufficient council of beards.

Woman, Woman – where are you? Come back to us again. Forgive even if you cannot forget and serve once more in our Temples. Take us by the hand. Kiss us on the lips and tell us we are not alone. Witch-Woman, out of the ashes of the stake, rise again! It was in the Dianic Cult that the old way continued. Those splendid and terrible women; Messilina, Toffana, La Voisin and DeBrinvillies raised revenge to a high art. Others sought the forbidden mystery in secret rites and purchased a brief reunion at an awful price. This was the ope in the Maid of Orleans, the dream of hopeless millions that the woman who was to redeem them had come at last. Her failure and her fate teach us that innocence is no protection. Be cunning, oh woman, be wise, be subtle, be merciless. I have asked you to understand and forgive – but forget not overmuch. Trust nothing but yourself.

Now I have spoken of those great poisoners but there is a worse revenge. Know that all revenge is revenge on self and the most terrible is that taken by the frigid woman. Count her in the tens of millions. The curse lies in the failure of her mate to be a man and her failure to be true to herself but the cause is the dark guilt with which parents poison their children. There is also suppressed incestuous love and the fear of unwanted children – yet those who have known of these things should have no shame there-from. Strength is not born, it is gained by understanding and overcoming. Go free; sing the old, wild song:

EVOE IO, EVOE IACCHUS IO PAN, PAN! EVOE BABALON!

Go to the mountains and the forest; go naked in the Summer that you may regain the old joy. Love gladly and freely under the stars. But you say your body is not beautiful? Here is a secret: the body is molded by the mind. If you have embraced fear, repression, hate – then you may find your body repulsive. But go free, love joyously and without restraint. Run naked then watch the cheeks flush, the breasts well and the supple contours develop from the flowing rhythms of life. Disease and deformity are bred in fear and hate, therefore be fearless lovers and ever beautiful.

The woman is the Priestess of the Irrational World! Irrational - but how enormously important, and how dangerous because it is unadmitted or denied, we do not want to be drunken, murderous, frustrated, poverty-stricken and miserable without cause. These conditions are not reasonable or 'scientific’ and yet they do exist. We say we do not want war but war seems a psychological necessity. Wars will continue until that need is otherwise fulfilled. We do not love or hate a person because it is “reasonable”. We are moved willy-nilly, despite our reason and our will, by forces from the unconscious, irrational world. These forces speak to us in dreams, in symbols and in our own incomprehensible actions. These passions can only be redeemed by intuitive understanding in the feminine province. Only after such understanding can will and intelligence be truly effective for otherwise they are blind and powerless against the tides of emotion.

Somewhere in the world today there is a woman for whom the Sword is forged. Somewhere there is one who has heard the trumpets of the New Age and who will respond. She will respond, this new woman, to the high clamor of those sar-trumpets; she will come as a perilous flame and a devious song, a voice in the judgment halls, a banner before armies. She will come girt with the Sword of Freedom. Before her, kings and priests will tremble, cities and empires will fall, and she will be called BABALON, The Scarlet Woman.

She will be lustful and proud, subtle and deadly forthright and invincible as a naked blade. Women will respond to her war cry, throwing off their chains, men will respond to her challenge, forsaking foolish ways. She will shine as the ruddy Evening Star in the lurid sunset of Gotterdamerung. She will shine again as a Morning Star when the night has passed and a new dawn breaks over the garden of Pan.

To you, oh unknown woman, is The Sword of Freedom pledged.

#jack parsons #thelema #babalon #pan #freedom is a two edged sword #the woman girt with the sword #woman

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iridescentoracle · 2 years ago

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#15 year old harrow practicing her careless laugh in the mirror for the next gideon plan tm she thwarts: #this is normal i'm doing this for no particular reason #gideon & harrow constantly throughout their lives: did you see me? did that look cool? were you watching? #we talk about how much attention gideon wants which is all of it all of the time but have we discussed that harrow is the same way (via gideonisms)

but ALSO harrow does perform for gideon a lot of the time. It's just that the thing she performs is vastly different from the thing she performs for everyone else. She's performing devout mysterious queen for everyone else but for gideon specifically she is performing Archnemesis. Like she is hamming it up a little for attention. She is showing off all the cool things she can do. she wants gideon to witness her sweet bone moves

#the locked tomb #gideon the ninth #locked tomb meta #character: harrowhark nonagesimus #flushed: i cannot conceive of a universe without you in it

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screenviolense-a · 4 years ago

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@valorandgold sent: "I cannot conceive of a universe without you in it." (Kaze for Kagero)

as one tasked with protecting the heir to the throne, kagero prided herself on being completely unshakable, taking on every new experience on without batting an eyelash. yet standing there, with kaze looking so intently at her, even she, the supposedly stoic ninja, couldn’t help but flush. she could only be grateful that her bangs covered at least half of her face, but she was sure he could see as much.

clearing her throat, she turned her face only slightly away from him to relieve some of her embarrassment. ‘ is that... is that something you’ve thought about often? ‘

have you thought of me?

#kagero / ic.#kagero / v.001.#valorandgold

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farawaysoph-ie · 6 years ago

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Incoherent Gideon the Ninth Whatever

So as some of you may have noticed (...) I finished Gideon the Ninth some hours ago, then went to sleep (bc apparently I still need sleep, amateur) but after waking up I'm still #shook.

So here's one of my long nosense lists (FULL SPOILERS ahead):

The whole set-up was bound to be OTP material: we spent our lives hating each other but now I gotta protect your tiny necromancer ass even if you tell me nothing and people are dying

Who was gonna tell me that necromancers, swords AND space went so well with each other?

Also the covers for these books are SO. BEAUTIFUL?

Gideon I'm-gonna-make-a-dirty-joke-even-if-everyone-ignores-me-and-people-are-dying Nav

Nav was a Niner name

Because I hate you (sure sugarlips, sure)

Griddle (really Reverend Daughter, really?)

“Ten thousand years of tradition, Griddle.” “I don’t have ten thousand years of tradition, bitch”

This. This is were I realized I would end up selling my soul for Gideon.

This and every time she put on her SUNGLASSES

"Gideon had nowhere to go and nothing to be, and no orders and no goals[...]."

When she punched the Third cavalier #draghim

"The hard moue of his mouth told her that he was used to making people feel that way, but also that he definitely used lip balm."

The things Gideon noticed, I swear

"He had the eyes of a very beautiful person, trapped in resting bitch face."

I'll never be over Palamedes Sextus

Harrow regained consciousness just to tell Palamedes he was not the greatest necromancer of his generation, and if this doesn't tell something about her, I don't know what does

"“This calls for rigor, Nav.” “Maybe rigor … mortis,” said Gideon, who assumed that puns were funny automatically."

Gideon Nav Talking Time

"Don’t go down there solo. Don’t die in a bone. I am your creature, gloom mistress. I serve you with fidelity as big as a mountain, penumbral lady."

“I am your sworn sword, night boss.”

"Gideon’s mouth was about to round out the words “bone empress” before she realised what had been said."

I never thought I would one day read something like "Teacher said that the facility was chocka with ghosts and you might die?"

Gideon "ghosts and you might die" Nav

Are we going to talk about Gideon's biceps?

“The arms kind of looked like swords. I want to fight it.” (we truly are blessed)

"My brain is always yelling at you"

When Harrow compliments Gideon sword fighting? (Asdfghjklkjhgfdsa)

Gideon: I just want to eat and sleep like a normal person

Harrow, who runs on darkness and bones apparently: what do you mean?

"I need you to trust me"

"I need you to be trustworthy"

"Too much of this shit, and they’d end up friends."

Just make out already.

I just loved Gideon fake vow of silence because for half of the book everyone considered her this fierce serious warrior nun, but this clashed so much with her inner thoughts omg

So basically "Gideon longed to say: What the fuck?"

Gideon being totally cool with Harrow sucking her life energy, #rideordie more like #rideanddie

“Nice to know that the other Houses are also creeps,”

"Why?" "Probably because you asked."

Gideon is the definition of pure of heart and dumb of ass, seriously

"“Ha-ha,” said Gideon, “first time you didn’t call me Griddle,” and died."

"Take your hand off my wif... I mean my cavalier" that's how it went right?

"Gideon wanted to say, Nonagesimus, quit the sacred-bat-black-vestal act[...]"

The respect for the Sixth House that reached the maximum when Pal and Cam destroyed the second house and served the bullies justice

DEATH FIRST TO VULTURES AND SCAVANGERS.

The power of this scene

"“You don’t talk like—how I thought you might talk"", bless the teens, I didn't understand why they were always insulted when described, but maybe it was just my sleep deprived and non-native speaker impression

"Eat me, milk man"

When Gideon and Harrow were fighting about Dulcinea, I suffered

And the stuff about the head, seriously Gideon was almost going to kill her bone empress

“It’s nearly ten thousand years old, if that’s what you mean.” “Well, I’m not,” she said. “So … what the fuck, basically.” “The ultimate question,”

"Camilla was nobody’s fool, though how she’d cuffed Harrow was going to be a tale of terror for another day."

"Gideon had prepared beforehand a fuck-you salvo so long and so loud that Harrow would have to be taken away to be killed; but then Harrow added, “Please.”"

THE POOL SCENE

"“Too many words,” said Gideon confidentially. “How about these: One flesh, one end, bitch.” The Ninth House necromancer flushed nearly black. Gideon tilted her head up and caught her gaze: “Say it, loser.” “One flesh—one end,” Harrow repeated fumblingly, and then could say no more."

Yes, yes, of course I died.

“If anything moves—” “Yaaas, I know. Let it head for Camilla.” (Gideon was wild until the end, a queen)

"I have you. We bring hell." (the tears)

"With Harrow there, suddenly it was easy, and her horror of the monster turned to the ferocious joy of vengeance. Long years of warfare meant that they each knew exactly where the other would stand—every arc of a sword, every jostling scapula. No hole in the other’s defences went unshielded. They had never fought together before, but they had always fought, and they could work in and around each other without a second’s thought."

I'm sorry but did Gideon take on a freacking Lyctor with just her sword, a broken kneecap and other wounds?

And Harrow waking up "Step off, bitch", like not on my watch

When Gideon said "I'm just me" I swear I heard my heart breaking

"Her hands were not shaking anymore" YES BUT WHAT ABOUT ME SOBBING?

The whole scene of them fighting the Lyctor, like Gideon being her smartass self until the end I cannot even

If no one ever tells my hallucination "I cannot conceive of a universe without you in it." then what's even the point

"See you one the flip side, sugarlips"

A very honorable mention:

"“He say anything?” Gideon wavered. “He said to tell you he loved you,” she said. “What? No, he didn’t.” “Okay, no, sorry. He said—he said you knew what to do?”"

This was just so real and Palamedes and Camilla were #squadgoals.

Now all I'm left with are overthinking stuff and making up theories.

Like there is NO WAY IN HELL Gideon is dead. My girl survived killing gas when she was weeks old. She woke up sore from something that should have sent her in a coma. And the fake Dulcinea telling she knew another Gideon once. Also you all suggested that the Emperor might be the evil one here (excuse my naive self, I'm slow with this stuff we don't have many conspiracy theories where I live). And hell yeah, I'm on board, let's break the shackles of the girl in the Lost Tomb and overthrow an Empire. I mean how could the Undying King not find any body, I mean Judith was dying and there were no others necromancers left on the planet.

And now my wait begins. For now:

Death first to vultures and scavengers, losers.

#gideon the ninth #incoherent whatever #gideon the ninth spoilers #tasmyn muir

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damienpele · 5 years ago

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I Sing the Body Electric by Walt Whitman

1 I sing the body electric, The armies of those I love engirth me and I engirth them, They will not let me off till I go with them, respond to them, And discorrupt them, and charge them full with the charge of the soul. Was it doubted that those who corrupt their own bodies conceal themselves? And if those who defile the living are as bad as they who defile the dead? And if the body does not do fully as much as the soul? And if the body were not the soul, what is the soul? 2 The love of the body of man or woman balks account, the body itself balks account, That of the male is perfect, and that of the female is perfect. The expression of the face balks account, But the expression of a well-made man appears not only in his face, It is in his limbs and joints also, it is curiously in the joints of his hips and wrists, It is in his walk, the carriage of his neck, the flex of his waist and knees, dress does not hide him, The strong sweet quality he has strikes through the cotton and broadcloth, To see him pass conveys as much as the best poem, perhaps more, You linger to see his back, and the back of his neck and shoulder-side. The sprawl and fulness of babes, the bosoms and heads of women, the folds of their dress, their style as we pass in the street, the contour of their shape downwards, The swimmer naked in the swimming-bath, seen as he swims through the transparent green-shine, or lies with his face up and rolls silently to and fro in the heave of the water, The bending forward and backward of rowers in row-boats, the horseman in his saddle, Girls, mothers, house-keepers, in all their performances, The group of laborers seated at noon-time with their open dinner-kettles, and their wives waiting, The female soothing a child, the farmer’s daughter in the garden or cow-yard, The young fellow hoeing corn, the sleigh-driver driving his six horses through the crowd, The wrestle of wrestlers, two apprentice-boys, quite grown, lusty, good-natured, native-born, out on the vacant lot at sun-down after work, The coats and caps thrown down, the embrace of love and resistance, The upper-hold and under-hold, the hair rumpled over and blinding the eyes; The march of firemen in their own costumes, the play of masculine muscle through clean-setting trowsers and waist-straps, The slow return from the fire, the pause when the bell strikes suddenly again, and the listening on the alert, The natural, perfect, varied attitudes, the bent head, the curv’d neck and the counting; Such-like I love—I loosen myself, pass freely, am at the mother’s breast with the little child, Swim with the swimmers, wrestle with wrestlers, march in line with the firemen, and pause, listen, count. 3 I knew a man, a common farmer, the father of five sons, And in them the fathers of sons, and in them the fathers of sons. This man was of wonderful vigor, calmness, beauty of person, The shape of his head, the pale yellow and white of his hair and beard, the immeasurable meaning of his black eyes, the richness and breadth of his manners, These I used to go and visit him to see, he was wise also, He was six feet tall, he was over eighty years old, his sons were massive, clean, bearded, tan-faced, handsome, They and his daughters loved him, all who saw him loved him, They did not love him by allowance, they loved him with personal love, He drank water only, the blood show’d like scarlet through the clear-brown skin of his face, He was a frequent gunner and fisher, he sail’d his boat himself, he had a fine one presented to him by a ship-joiner, he had fowling-pieces presented to him by men that loved him, When he went with his five sons and many grand-sons to hunt or fish, you would pick him out as the most beautiful and vigorous of the gang, You would wish long and long to be with him, you would wish to sit by him in the boat that you and he might touch each other. 4 I have perceiv’d that to be with those I like is enough, To stop in company with the rest at evening is enough, To be surrounded by beautiful, curious, breathing, laughing flesh is enough, To pass among them or touch any one, or rest my arm ever so lightly round his or her neck for a moment, what is this then? I do not ask any more delight, I swim in it as in a sea. There is something in staying close to men and women and looking on them, and in the contact and odor of them, that pleases the soul well, All things please the soul, but these please the soul well. 5 This is the female form, A divine nimbus exhales from it from head to foot, It attracts with fierce undeniable attraction, I am drawn by its breath as if I were no more than a helpless vapor, all falls aside but myself and it, Books, art, religion, time, the visible and solid earth, and what was expected of heaven or fear’d of hell, are now consumed, Mad filaments, ungovernable shoots play out of it, the response likewise ungovernable, Hair, bosom, hips, bend of legs, negligent falling hands all diffused, mine too diffused, Ebb stung by the flow and flow stung by the ebb, love-flesh swelling and deliciously aching, Limitless limpid jets of love hot and enormous, quivering jelly of love, white-blow and delirious juice, Bridegroom night of love working surely and softly into the prostrate dawn, Undulating into the willing and yielding day, Lost in the cleave of the clasping and sweet-flesh’d day. This the nucleus—after the child is born of woman, man is born of woman, This the bath of birth, this the merge of small and large, and the outlet again. Be not ashamed women, your privilege encloses the rest, and is the exit of the rest, You are the gates of the body, and you are the gates of the soul. The female contains all qualities and tempers them, She is in her place and moves with perfect balance, She is all things duly veil’d, she is both passive and active, She is to conceive daughters as well as sons, and sons as well as daughters. As I see my soul reflected in Nature, As I see through a mist, One with inexpressible completeness, sanity, beauty, See the bent head and arms folded over the breast, the Female I see. 6 The male is not less the soul nor more, he too is in his place, He too is all qualities, he is action and power, The flush of the known universe is in him, Scorn becomes him well, and appetite and defiance become him well, The wildest largest passions, bliss that is utmost, sorrow that is utmost become him well, pride is for him, The full-spread pride of man is calming and excellent to the soul, Knowledge becomes him, he likes it always, he brings every thing to the test of himself, Whatever the survey, whatever the sea and the sail he strikes soundings at last only here, (Where else does he strike soundings except here?) The man’s body is sacred and the woman’s body is sacred, No matter who it is, it is sacred—is it the meanest one in the laborers’ gang? Is it one of the dull-faced immigrants just landed on the wharf? Each belongs here or anywhere just as much as the well-off, just as much as you, Each has his or her place in the procession. (All is a procession, The universe is a procession with measured and perfect motion.) Do you know so much yourself that you call the meanest ignorant? Do you suppose you have a right to a good sight, and he or she has no right to a sight? Do you think matter has cohered together from its diffuse float, and the soil is on the surface, and water runs and vegetation sprouts, For you only, and not for him and her? 7 A man’s body at auction, (For before the war I often go to the slave-mart and watch the sale,) I help the auctioneer, the sloven does not half know his business. Gentlemen look on this wonder, Whatever the bids of the bidders they cannot be high enough for it, For it the globe lay preparing quintillions of years without one animal or plant, For it the revolving cycles truly and steadily roll’d. In this head the all-baffling brain, In it and below it the makings of heroes. Examine these limbs, red, black, or white, they are cunning in tendon and nerve, They shall be stript that you may see them. Exquisite senses, life-lit eyes, pluck, volition, Flakes of breast-muscle, pliant backbone and neck, flesh not flabby, good-sized arms and legs, And wonders within there yet. Within there runs blood, The same old blood! the same red-running blood! There swells and jets a heart, there all passions, desires, reachings, aspirations, (Do you think they are not there because they are not express’d in parlors and lecture-rooms?) This is not only one man, this the father of those who shall be fathers in their turns, In him the start of populous states and rich republics, Of him countless immortal lives with countless embodiments and enjoyments. How do you know who shall come from the offspring of his offspring through the centuries? (Who might you find you have come from yourself, if you could trace back through the centuries?) 8 A woman’s body at auction, She too is not only herself, she is the teeming mother of mothers, She is the bearer of them that shall grow and be mates to the mothers. Have you ever loved the body of a woman? Have you ever loved the body of a man? Do you not see that these are exactly the same to all in all nations and times all over the earth? If any thing is sacred the human body is sacred, And the glory and sweet of a man is the token of manhood untainted, And in man or woman a clean, strong, firm-fibred body, is more beautiful than the most beautiful face. Have you seen the fool that corrupted his own live body? or the fool that corrupted her own live body? For they do not conceal themselves, and cannot conceal themselves. 9 O my body! I dare not desert the likes of you in other men and women, nor the likes of the parts of you, I believe the likes of you are to stand or fall with the likes of the soul, (and that they are the soul,) I believe the likes of you shall stand or fall with my poems, and that they are my poems, Man’s, woman’s, child’s, youth’s, wife’s, husband’s, mother’s, father’s, young man’s, young woman’s poems, Head, neck, hair, ears, drop and tympan of the ears, Eyes, eye-fringes, iris of the eye, eyebrows, and the waking or sleeping of the lids, Mouth, tongue, lips, teeth, roof of the mouth, jaws, and the jaw-hinges, Nose, nostrils of the nose, and the partition, Cheeks, temples, forehead, chin, throat, back of the neck, neck-slue, Strong shoulders, manly beard, scapula, hind-shoulders, and the ample side-round of the chest, Upper-arm, armpit, elbow-socket, lower-arm, arm-sinews, arm-bones, Wrist and wrist-joints, hand, palm, knuckles, thumb, forefinger, finger-joints, finger-nails, Broad breast-front, curling hair of the breast, breast-bone, breast-side, Ribs, belly, backbone, joints of the backbone, Hips, hip-sockets, hip-strength, inward and outward round, man-balls, man-root, Strong set of thighs, well carrying the trunk above, Leg fibres, knee, knee-pan, upper-leg, under-leg, Ankles, instep, foot-ball, toes, toe-joints, the heel; All attitudes, all the shapeliness, all the belongings of my or your body or of any one’s body, male or female, The lung-sponges, the stomach-sac, the bowels sweet and clean, The brain in its folds inside the skull-frame, Sympathies, heart-valves, palate-valves, sexuality, maternity, Womanhood, and all that is a woman, and the man that comes from woman, The womb, the teats, nipples, breast-milk, tears, laughter, weeping, love-looks, love-perturbations and risings, The voice, articulation, language, whispering, shouting aloud, Food, drink, pulse, digestion, sweat, sleep, walking, swimming, Poise on the hips, leaping, reclining, embracing, arm-curving and tightening, The continual changes of the flex of the mouth, and around the eyes, The skin, the sunburnt shade, freckles, hair, The curious sympathy one feels when feeling with the hand the naked meat of the body, The circling rivers the breath, and breathing it in and out, The beauty of the waist, and thence of the hips, and thence downward toward the knees, The thin red jellies within you or within me, the bones and the marrow in the bones, The exquisite realization of health; O I say these are not the parts and poems of the body only, but of the soul, O I say now these are the soul!

#walt whitman #body electric #i sing the body electric #poetry #poem #ldr #lana del rey

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iridescentoracle · 1 year ago

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#personally I think Gideon carefully putting Harrow's paint on her would fix me #it would heal me from the beginning of Harrow the Ninth when she needed her paint so bad and no one cared tk give it to her #taking her paint off would be very sweet and intimate and potentially sexy #but putting it on would be an act of devotion and RESPECT #helping Harrow live in the way she's comfortable living #putting effort into maintaining Harrow's dignity even tho it's not a compunction Gideon shares or fully understands(via mayasaura)

I’m really hoping for a turn around on Harrow putting Gideon’s face paint on back in GtN. I’m good with Gideon carefully putting it on or off. I’m not picky

#the locked tomb #harrow the ninth #alecto the ninth #locked tomb meta #character: harrowhark nonagesimus #character: gideon nav #flushed: i cannot conceive of a universe without you in it

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livmoose · 6 years ago

Text

I Sing the Body Electric

Walt Whitman

I sing the body electric, The armies of those I love engirth me and I engirth them, They will not let me off till I go with them, respond to them, And discorrupt them, and charge them full with the charge of the soul.

Was it doubted that those who corrupt their own bodies conceal themselves? And if those who defile the living are as bad as they who defile the dead? And if the body does not do fully as much as the soul? And if the body were not the soul, what is the soul?

The love of the body of man or woman balks account, the body itself balks account, That of the male is perfect, and that of the female is perfect.

The expression of the face balks account, But the expression of a well-made man appears not only in his face, It is in his limbs and joints also, it is curiously in the joints of his hips and wrists, It is in his walk, the carriage of his neck, the flex of his waist and knees, dress does not hide him, The strong sweet quality he has strikes through the cotton and broadcloth, To see him pass conveys as much as the best poem, perhaps more, You linger to see his back, and the back of his neck and shoulder-side.

The sprawl and fullness of babes, the bosoms and heads of women, the folds of their dress, their style as we pass in the street, the contour of their shape downwards, The swimmer naked in the swimming-bath, seen as he swims through the transparent green-shine, or lies with his face up and rolls silently to and fro in the heave of the water, The bending forward and backward of rowers in row-boats, the horseman in his saddle, Girls, mothers, house-keepers, in all their performances, The group of laborers seated at noon-time with their open dinner-kettles, and their wives waiting, The female soothing a child, the farmer’s daughter in the garden or cow-yard, The young fellow hoeing corn, the sleigh-driver driving his six horses through the crowd, The wrestle of wrestlers, two apprentice-boys, quite grown, lusty, good-natured, native-born, out on the vacant lot at sun-down after work, The coats and caps thrown down, the embrace of love and resistance, The upper-hold and under-hold, the hair rumpled over and blinding the eyes; The march of firemen in their own costumes, the play of masculine muscle through clean-setting trowsers and waist-straps, The slow return from the fire, the pause when the bell strikes suddenly again, and the listening on the alert, The natural, perfect, varied attitudes, the bent head, the curv’d neck and the counting; Such-like I love—I loosen myself, pass freely, am at the mother’s breast with the little child, Swim with the swimmers, wrestle with wrestlers, march in line with the firemen, and pause, listen, count.

I knew a man, a common farmer, the father of five sons, And in them the fathers of sons, and in them the fathers of sons.

This man was of wonderful vigor, calmness, beauty of person, The shape of his head, the pale yellow and white of his hair and beard, the immeasurable meaning of his black eyes, the richness and breadth of his manners, These I used to go and visit him to see, he was wise also, He was six feet tall, he was over eighty years old, his sons were massive, clean, bearded, tan-faced, handsome, They and his daughters loved him, all who saw him loved him, They did not love him by allowance, they loved him with personal love, He drank water only, the blood show’d like scarlet through the clear-brown skin of his face, He was a frequent gunner and fisher, he sail’d his boat himself, he had a fine one presented to him by a ship-joiner, he had fowling-pieces presented to him by men that loved him, When he went with his five sons and many grand-sons to hunt or fish, you would pick him out as the most beautiful and vigorous of the gang, You would wish long and long to be with him, you would wish to sit by him in the boat that you and he might touch each other.

I have perceiv’d that to be with those I like is enough, To stop in company with the rest at evening is enough, To be surrounded by beautiful, curious, breathing, laughing flesh is enough, To pass among them or touch any one, or rest my arm ever so lightly round his or her neck for a moment, what is this then? I do not ask any more delight, I swim in it as in a sea.

There is something in staying close to men and women and looking on them, and in the contact and odor of them, that pleases the soul well, All things please the soul, but these please the soul well.

This is the female form, A divine nimbus exhales from it from head to foot, It attracts with fierce undeniable attraction, I am drawn by its breath as if I were no more than a helpless vapor, all falls aside but myself and it, Books, art, religion, time, the visible and solid earth, and what was expected of heaven or fear’d of hell, are now consumed, Mad filaments, ungovernable shoots play out of it, the response likewise ungovernable, Hair, bosom, hips, bend of legs, negligent falling hands all diffused, mine too diffused, Ebb stung by the flow and flow stung by the ebb, love-flesh swelling and deliciously aching, Limitless limpid jets of love hot and enormous, quivering jelly of love, white-blow and delirious juice, Bridegroom night of love working surely and softly into the prostrate dawn, Undulating into the willing and yielding day, Lost in the cleave of the clasping and sweet-flesh’d day.

This the nucleus—after the child is born of woman, man is born of woman, This the bath of birth, this the merge of small and large, and the outlet again.

Be not ashamed women, your privilege encloses the rest, and is the exit of the rest, You are the gates of the body, and you are the gates of the soul.

The female contains all qualities and tempers them, She is in her place and moves with perfect balance, She is all things duly veil’d, she is both passive and active, She is to conceive daughters as well as sons, and sons as well as daughters.

As I see my soul reflected in Nature, As I see through a mist, One with inexpressible completeness, sanity, beauty, See the bent head and arms folded over the breast, the Female I see.

The male is not less the soul nor more, he too is in his place, He too is all qualities, he is action and power, The flush of the known universe is in him, Scorn becomes him well, and appetite and defiance become him well, The wildest largest passions, bliss that is utmost, sorrow that is utmost become him well, pride is for him, The full-spread pride of man is calming and excellent to the soul, Knowledge becomes him, he likes it always, he brings every thing to the test of himself, Whatever the survey, whatever the sea and the sail he strikes soundings at last only here, (Where else does he strike soundings except here?)

The man’s body is sacred and the woman’s body is sacred, No matter who it is, it is sacred—is it the meanest one in the laborers’ gang? Is it one of the dull-faced immigrants just landed on the wharf? Each belongs here or anywhere just as much as the well-off, just as much as you, Each has his or her place in the procession.

(All is a procession, The universe is a procession with measured and perfect motion.)

Do you know so much yourself that you call the meanest ignorant? Do you suppose you have a right to a good sight, and he or she has no right to a sight? Do you think matter has cohered together from its diffuse float, and the soil is on the surface, and water runs and vegetation sprouts, For you only, and not for him and her?

A man’s body at auction, (For before the war I often go to the slave-mart and watch the sale,) I help the auctioneer, the sloven does not half know his business.

Gentlemen look on this wonder, Whatever the bids of the bidders they cannot be high enough for it, For it the globe lay preparing quintillions of years without one animal or plant, For it the revolving cycles truly and steadily roll’d.

In this head the all-baffling brain, In it and below it the makings of heroes.

Examine these limbs, red, black, or white, they are cunning in tendon and nerve, They shall be stript that you may see them.

Exquisite senses, life-lit eyes, pluck, volition, Flakes of breast-muscle, pliant backbone and neck, flesh not flabby, good-sized arms and legs, And wonders within there yet.

Within there runs blood, The same old blood! the same red-running blood! There swells and jets a heart, there all passions, desires, reachings, aspirations, (Do you think they are not there because they are not express’d in parlors and lecture-rooms?)

This is not only one man, this the father of those who shall be fathers in their turns, In him the start of populous states and rich republics, Of him countless immortal lives with countless embodiments and enjoyments.

How do you know who shall come from the offspring of his offspring through the centuries? (Who might you find you have come from yourself, if you could trace back through the centuries?)

A woman’s body at auction, She too is not only herself, she is the teeming mother of mothers, She is the bearer of them that shall grow and be mates to the mothers.

Have you ever loved the body of a woman? Have you ever loved the body of a man? Do you not see that these are exactly the same to all in all nations and times all over the earth?

If any thing is sacred the human body is sacred, And the glory and sweet of a man is the token of manhood untainted, And in man or woman a clean, strong, firm-fibred body, is more beautiful than the most beautiful face.

Have you seen the fool that corrupted his own live body? or the fool that corrupted her own live body? For they do not conceal themselves, and cannot conceal themselves.

O my body! I dare not desert the likes of you in other men and women, nor the likes of the parts of you, I believe the likes of you are to stand or fall with the likes of the soul, (and that they are the soul,) I believe the likes of you shall stand or fall with my poems, and that they are my poems, Man’s, woman’s, child’s, youth’s, wife’s, husband’s, mother’s, father’s, young man’s, young woman’s poems, Head, neck, hair, ears, drop and tympan of the ears, Eyes, eye-fringes, iris of the eye, eyebrows, and the waking or sleeping of the lids, Mouth, tongue, lips, teeth, roof of the mouth, jaws, and the jaw-hinges, Nose, nostrils of the nose, and the partition, Cheeks, temples, forehead, chin, throat, back of the neck, neck-slue, Strong shoulders, manly beard, scapula, hind-shoulders, and the ample side-round of the chest, Upper-arm, armpit, elbow-socket, lower-arm, arm-sinews, arm-bones, Wrist and wrist-joints, hand, palm, knuckles, thumb, forefinger, finger-joints, finger-nails, Broad breast-front, curling hair of the breast, breast-bone, breast-side, Ribs, belly, backbone, joints of the backbone, Hips, hip-sockets, hip-strength, inward and outward round, man-balls, man-root, Strong set of thighs, well carrying the trunk above, Leg fibres, knee, knee-pan, upper-leg, under-leg, Ankles, instep, foot-ball, toes, toe-joints, the heel; All attitudes, all the shapeliness, all the belongings of my or your body or of any one’s body, male or female, The lung-sponges, the stomach-sac, the bowels sweet and clean, The brain in its folds inside the skull-frame, Sympathies, heart-valves, palate-valves, sexuality, maternity, Womanhood, and all that is a woman, and the man that comes from woman, The womb, the teats, nipples, breast-milk, tears, laughter, weeping, love-looks, love-perturbations and risings, The voice, articulation, language, whispering, shouting aloud, Food, drink, pulse, digestion, sweat, sleep, walking, swimming, Poise on the hips, leaping, reclining, embracing, arm-curving and tightening, The continual changes of the flex of the mouth, and around the eyes, The skin, the sunburnt shade, freckles, hair, The curious sympathy one feels when feeling with the hand the naked meat of the body, The circling rivers the breath, and breathing it in and out, The beauty of the waist, and thence of the hips, and thence downward toward the knees, The thin red jellies within you or within me, the bones and the marrow in the bones, The exquisite realization of health; O I say these are not the parts and poems of the body only, but of the soul, O I say now these are the soul!

#poetry #whitman #long-ish #song of love #song to love #the embrace of love and resistance #hymn to humanity #bordering on indecency #but still adorable #no matter who it is it is sacred #re: Ефремовская Андромеда #why does this remind me of communism #where everybody is beautiful and intelligent and strong ad nauseam #slave-mart #what you need to know to build a robot

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mirapassionatepoetry · 7 years ago

Text

I Sing the Body Electric by Walt Whitman

I SING THE BODY ELECTRIC

Walt Whitman

I sing the body electric,

The armies of those I love engirth me and I engirth them,

They will not let me off till I go with them, respond to them,

And discorrupt them, and charge them full with the charge of the soul.

Was it doubted that those who corrupt their own bodies conceal themselves?

And if those who defile the living are as bad as they who defile the dead?

And if the body does not do fully as much as the soul?

And if the body were not the soul, what is the soul?

The love of the body of man or woman balks account, the body itself balks

account,

That of the male is perfect, and that of the female is perfect.

The expression of the face balks account,

But the expression of a well-made man appears not only in his face,

It is in his limbs and joints also, it is curiously in the joints of his hips and

wrists,

It is in his walk, the carriage of his neck, the flex of his waist and knees, dress

does not hide him,

The strong sweet quality he has strikes through the cotton and broadcloth,

To see him pass conveys as much as the best poem, perhaps more,

You linger to see his back, and the back of his neck and shoulder-side.

The sprawl and fulness of babes, the bosoms and heads of women, the folds

of their dress, their style as we pass in the street, the contour of their shape

downwards,

The swimmer naked in the swimming-bath, seen as he swims through the

transparent green-shine, or lies with his face up and rolls silently to and fro in

the heave of the water,

The bending forward and backward of rowers in row-boats, the horseman in his

saddle,

Girls, mothers, house-keepers, in all their performances,

The group of laborers seated at noon-time with their open dinner-kettles, and

their wives waiting,

The female soothing a child, the farmer’s daughter in the garden or cow-yard,

The young fellow hoeing corn, the sleigh-driver driving his six horses through the

crowd,

The wrestle of wrestlers, two apprentice-boys, quite grown, lusty, good-natured,

native-born, out on the vacant lot at sun-down after work,

The coats and caps thrown down, the embrace of love and resistance,

The upper-hold and under-hold, the hair rumpled over and blinding the eyes;

The march of firemen in their own costumes, the play of masculine muscle

through clean-setting trowsers and waist-straps,

The slow return from the fire, the pause when the bell strikes suddenly again,

and the listening on the alert,

The natural, perfect, varied attitudes, the bent head, the curv’d neck and the

counting;

Such-like I love—I loosen myself, pass freely, am at the mother’s breast with the

little child,

Swim with the swimmers, wrestle with wrestlers, march in line with the firemen,

and pause, listen, count.

I knew a man, a common farmer, the father of five sons,

And in them the fathers of sons, and in them the fathers of sons.

This man was of wonderful vigor, calmness, beauty of person,

The shape of his head, the pale yellow and white of his hair and beard, the

immeasurable meaning of his black eyes, the richness and breadth of his

manners,

These I used to go and visit him to see, he was wise also,

He was six feet tall, he was over eighty years old, his sons were massive, clean,

bearded, tan-faced, handsome,

They and his daughters loved him, all who saw him loved him,

They did not love him by allowance, they loved him with personal love,

He drank water only, the blood show’d like scarlet through the clear-brown skin

of his face,

He was a frequent gunner and fisher, he sail’d his boat himself, he had a fine one

presented to him by a ship-joiner, he had fowling-pieces presented to him by

men that loved him,

When he went with his five sons and many grand-sons to hunt or fish, you would

pick him out as the most beautiful and vigorous of the gang,

You would wish long and long to be with him, you would wish to sit by him in the

boat that you and he might touch each other.

I have perceiv’d that to be with those I like is enough,

To stop in company with the rest at evening is enough,

To be surrounded by beautiful, curious, breathing, laughing flesh is enough,

To pass among them or touch any one, or rest my arm ever so lightly round his

or her neck for a moment, what is this then?

I do not ask any more delight, I swim in it as in a sea.

There is something in staying close to men and women and looking on them, and

in the contact and odor of them, that pleases the soul well,

All things please the soul, but these please the soul well.

This is the female form,

A divine nimbus exhales from it from head to foot,

It attracts with fierce undeniable attraction,

I am drawn by its breath as if I were no more than a helpless vapor, all falls aside

but myself and it,

Books, art, religion, time, the visible and solid earth, and what was expected of

heaven or fear’d of hell, are now consumed,

Mad filaments, ungovernable shoots play out of it, the response likewise

ungovernable,

Hair, bosom, hips, bend of legs, negligent falling hands all diffused, mine too

diffused,

Ebb stung by the flow and flow stung by the ebb, love-flesh swelling and

deliciously aching,

Limitless limpid jets of love hot and enormous, quivering jelly of love, white-blow

and delirious juice,

Bridegroom night of love working surely and softly into the prostrate dawn,

Undulating into the willing and yielding day,

Lost in the cleave of the clasping and sweet-flesh’d day.

This the nucleus—after the child is born of woman, man is born of woman,

This the bath of birth, this the merge of small and large, and the outlet again.

Be not ashamed women, your privilege encloses the rest, and is the exit of the

rest,

You are the gates of the body, and you are the gates of the soul.

The female contains all qualities and tempers them,

She is in her place and moves with perfect balance,

She is all things duly veil’d, she is both passive and active,

She is to conceive daughters as well as sons, and sons as well as daughters.

As I see my soul reflected in Nature,

As I see through a mist, One with inexpressible completeness, sanity, beauty,

See the bent head and arms folded over the breast, the Female I see.

The male is not less the soul nor more, he too is in his place,

He too is all qualities, he is action and power,

The flush of the known universe is in him,

Scorn becomes him well, and appetite and defiance become him well,

The wildest largest passions, bliss that is utmost, sorrow that is utmost become

him well, pride is for him,

The full-spread pride of man is calming and excellent to the soul,

Knowledge becomes him, he likes it always, he brings every thing to the test of

himself,

Whatever the survey, whatever the sea and the sail he strikes soundings at last

only here,

(Where else does he strike soundings except here?)

The man’s body is sacred and the woman’s body is sacred,

No matter who it is, it is sacred—is it the meanest one in the laborers’ gang?

Is it one of the dull-faced immigrants just landed on the wharf?

Each belongs here or anywhere just as much as the well-off, just as much as

you,

Each has his or her place in the procession.

(All is a procession,

The universe is a procession with measured and perfect motion.)

Do you know so much yourself that you call the meanest ignorant?

Do you suppose you have a right to a good sight, and he or she has no right to a

sight?

Do you think matter has cohered together from its diffuse float, and the soil is on

the surface, and water runs and vegetation sprouts,

For you only, and not for him and her?

A man’s body at auction,

(For before the war I often go to the slave-mart and watch the sale,)

I help the auctioneer, the sloven does not half know his business.

Gentlemen look on this wonder,

Whatever the bids of the bidders they cannot be high enough for it,

For it the globe lay preparing quintillions of years without one animal or plant,

For it the revolving cycles truly and steadily roll’d.

In this head the all-baffling brain,

In it and below it the makings of heroes.

Examine these limbs, red, black, or white, they are cunning in tendon and nerve,

They shall be stript that you may see them.

Exquisite senses, life-lit eyes, pluck, volition,

Flakes of breast-muscle, pliant backbone and neck, flesh not flabby, good-sized

arms and legs,

And wonders within there yet.

Within there runs blood,

The same old blood! the same red-running blood!

There swells and jets a heart, there all passions, desires, reachings, aspirations,

(Do you think they are not there because they are not express’d in parlors and

lecture-rooms?)

This is not only one man, this the father of those who shall be fathers in their

turns,

In him the start of populous states and rich republics,

Of him countless immortal lives with countless embodiments and enjoyments.

How do you know who shall come from the offspring of his offspring through the

centuries?

(Who might you find you have come from yourself, if you could trace back

through the centuries?)

A woman’s body at auction,

She too is not only herself, she is the teeming mother of mothers,

She is the bearer of them that shall grow and be mates to the mothers.

Have you ever loved the body of a woman?

Have you ever loved the body of a man?

Do you not see that these are exactly the same to all in all nations and times all

over the earth?

If any thing is sacred the human body is sacred,

And the glory and sweet of a man is the token of manhood untainted,

And in man or woman a clean, strong, firm-fibred body, is more beautiful than

the most beautiful face.

Have you seen the fool that corrupted his own live body? or the fool that

corrupted her own live body?

For they do not conceal themselves, and cannot conceal themselves.

O my body! I dare not desert the likes of you in other men and women, nor the

likes of the parts of you,

I believe the likes of you are to stand or fall with the likes of the soul, (and that

they are the soul,)

I believe the likes of you shall stand or fall with my poems, and that they are my

poems,

Man’s, woman’s, child’s, youth’s, wife’s, husband’s, mother’s, father’s, young

man’s, young woman’s poems,

Head, neck, hair, ears, drop and tympan of the ears,

Eyes, eye-fringes, iris of the eye, eyebrows, and the waking or sleeping of the lids,

Mouth, tongue, lips, teeth, roof of the mouth, jaws, and the jaw-hinges,

Nose, nostrils of the nose, and the partition,

Cheeks, temples, forehead, chin, throat, back of the neck, neck-slue,

Strong shoulders, manly beard, scapula, hind-shoulders, and the ample sideround

of the chest,

Upper-arm, armpit, elbow-socket, lower-arm, arm-sinews, arm-bones,

Wrist and wrist-joints, hand, palm, knuckles, thumb, forefinger, finger-joints,

finger-nails,

Broad breast-front, curling hair of the breast, breast-bone, breast-side,

Ribs, belly, backbone, joints of the backbone,

Hips, hip-sockets, hip-strength, inward and outward round, man-balls, manroot,

Strong set of thighs, well carrying the trunk above,

Leg fibres, knee, knee-pan, upper-leg, under-leg,

Ankles, instep, foot-ball, toes, toe-joints, the heel;

All attitudes, all the shapeliness, all the belongings of my or your body or of any

one’s body, male or female,

The lung-sponges, the stomach-sac, the bowels sweet and clean,

The brain in its folds inside the skull-frame,

Sympathies, heart-valves, palate-valves, sexuality, maternity,

Womanhood, and all that is a woman, and the man that comes from woman,

The womb, the teats, nipples, breast-milk, tears, laughter, weeping, love-looks,

love-perturbations and risings,

The voice, articulation, language, whispering, shouting aloud,

Food, drink, pulse, digestion, sweat, sleep, walking, swimming,

Poise on the hips, leaping, reclining, embracing, arm-curving and tightening,

The continual changes of the flex of the mouth, and around the eyes,

The skin, the sunburnt shade, freckles, hair,

The curious sympathy one feels when feeling with the hand the naked meat of

the body,

The circling rivers the breath, and breathing it in and out,

The beauty of the waist, and thence of the hips, and thence downward toward

the knees,

The thin red jellies within you or within me, the bones and the marrow in the

bones,

The exquisite realization of health;

O I say these are not the parts and poems of the body only, but of the soul,

O I say now these are the soul!

#walt whitman

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iridescentoracle · 2 years ago

Text

#having a nemesis does wonderful things for self-esteem #hadn’t considered it in exactly those terms before but that is absolutely correct #if you have a nemesis you’re automatically not placing yourself in the position of ‘least valuable’ #because you may get down on yourself sometimes but your nemesis is The Worst #and by god you are going to stick around to make sure the world sees it #as a coping mechanism having a nemesis can be very effective #gideon and harrow both rely upon it to survive the ninth (via auber-dee)

rereadijg tlt and so funny how gideon talks abt harrow like she’s this unknowable dauntless girl who knows everything and will do anything to get what she wants and then in htn we get to see her perspective and she’s trembling all the time and scared she will lose her last semblance of sanity at any moment and has zero idea what’s going on ever

#love that the correct description of griddlehark is not ''enemies to lovers'' it is ''blackrom to redrom''#tamsym muir really sat down to write her lesbian catholic space necromancers series #like ''i am going to write a central relationship that is soooo homestuck troll romance''#the locked tomb #gideon the ninth #harrow the ninth #locked tomb meta #character: harrowhark nonagesimus #character: gideon nav #moon don't look #flushed: i cannot conceive of a universe without you in it

1K notes · View notes

ganymedesclock · 8 years ago

Text

Voltron Character Study: Zarkon

[read more analyses like these here]

I promised you guys one of these shindigs ages ago so let’s do this, everyone’s favorite (??) scary space turtle warlord. Sphinx? Everybody talks about the galra being cats and no one accuses Zarkon of being a sphinx. What’s up with that, guys.

I’m getting off topic.

So Zarkon’s a big old enigma to us in some regards, even after s1e11′s big revelation that he’s the prior Black Paladin. I was hesitant to really crank out a post like this, with so much of Zarkon’s significant backstory still ambiguous to us.

One thing would seem to be pretty clear, however: at some point, between his tenure as Black Paladin and becoming Emperor of the Known Universe, Zarkon survived some grievous, traumatic event.

A lot of things point to this. The scar on his face, his counterpart on Team Voltron’s side being Shiro (also defined as a survivor, also bearing physical and psychological scars from a traumatic incident), and, most damningly, Black’s recollection of the destroyed and ruined planet that both Zarkon and his former Lion called home. Also, when Zarkon speaks to Alfor in Allura’s flashback in the first episode, we see that long before he would have any reason to use quintessence to avoid aging, he has the telltale glowing violet eyes.

This would suggest that Zarkon’s initial ventures in quintessence weren’t to prolong his life against any natural factors- but rather, quite possibly to preserve him in the face of mortal injury.

This is significant, because it would seem to offer part of what Allura considers the dark history of the paladins- at some point, Zarkon was heavily injured, possibly at the same time his home planet was ravaged, and the other members of the team, for some reason, were not there for him. Haggar, seemingly, was- her presence being suggested by the fact that Zarkon was infused with quintessence when he abundantly does not know how to utilize it himself- relying on Haggar’s guidance, and her subordinate druids, to use it.

However, despite an Altean being there for him, Zarkon came away utterly despising Altea, and Alfor in particular. If Olkarion was the original planet of the Green Lion as seems to be implied, then it’s noteworthy that Olkarion was seemingly ignored by the galra for many years before a relatively recent takeover (Lubos does not seem particularly old) and, in general, that Olkarion was intact- when Zarkon obliterated not only Altea but every planet in its system. It would suggest more than the other paladins, Zarkon carried a grudge almost exclusively towards Alfor, the Yellow Paladin. Considering the domain of the Yellow Lion is support, protection, and a “caretaker” role heavily emphasized by Hunk- this would further suggest that Zarkon was heavily injured, and that regardless of the actual situation, he came away with the impression that Alfor abandoned him.

Something also caused Black to completely reject Zarkon, seemingly to the point that she experiences pain at his trying to use their connection, and that she would empathize with Shiro, who experienced his trauma as a prisoner of Zarkon’s.

Many questions remain. And there’s much of Zarkon’s early life, before becoming a paladin, that is unknown. He seems to have been close enough to Alfor that when Black arrived on his planet, Alfor was who he called for help. He was the king of the galra seemingly by birthright before he was a conqueror, and seemingly, a good king once, considering the profile of the Black Paladin. This would suggest he’s been royalty his entire life, but under what circumstances is unclear.

Remnants of a Paladin

As far as Zarkon has come from his seemingly noble past self, it’s worth noting that he has not been able to break with his history to the point that it is not very obvious where he came from.

The Black Paladin is stated as a sure and decisive leader, one who is followed without question and trusted for guidance. Simply- someone who others look to in a point of crisis, rather than someone who is followed only when named as leader. And it is worth noting that, while Zarkon can often seem horribly abrasive, this is not the relationship many of his people have with him.

To those who only engage with Zarkon at a distance, he’s viewed as an ideal. Varkon, a very duty-bound individual who prides himself in, and prioritizes his work, seems to look to Zarkon as his personal hero. Ulaz states that the galra believed, for a long time, that Zarkon would bring them peace and stability.

At a distance, Zarkon is inspiring, uplifting, a cultural and social icon to the galra. He is their beacon of hope and certainty. Very likely, this kind of force of personality, and charisma, has been a fixture of Zarkon since the very beginning.

During the forging of the Black Lion, we see Alfor as dedicated, focused on his work, but also looking up at Zarkon optimistically. He has no misgivings or doubts with the Black Lion bonding to Zarkon. Even after the fact, Allura describes the Black Paladin in glowing, admirable terms- and Zarkon, the first Black Paladin, would be the one to codify those traits.

Zarkon in the past seems to have been very much like Shiro. Born under high expectations, as royalty- quiet, noble, and trustworthy. Someone looked up to as a guiding light. And while he’s fallen, now, much of that reputation remains- in the people that view him from afar.

Trauma and control

During the astral plane fight, Shiro states that Zarkon is no paladin any more, and specifically accuses him in lacking trust. This statement rings pretty dang true if we look at the pattern of how and when Zarkon attacks people, or marks them for immediate removal and destruction.

What has atrophied in Zarkon is his ability to trust others. An essential skill for the Black Paladin- considering the inherent vulnerability in forming the head and body of Voltron. The head and torso carry the brain and all other vital organs. However, it is incredibly difficult for the head and body to protect itself without limbs. With the most to lose, the Black Paladin is arguably the most reliant on the team. After all, someone whose primary quality is a leader is someone whose qualities only shine in a group. When isolated, one of their main strengths is completely inaccessible.

And Zarkon... can’t do that. He really can’t. As loathe as he is to micromanage- we see that he lashes out with incredible force at anyone who seems to act in a way he can’t control. Even his strong, noteworthy faith in Haggar is conditional- it’s set to the fact that in direct confrontations, Haggar will back down before she argues with Zarkon.

Zarkon only feels safe when anything he doesn’t like, anything he disagrees with, can be shot down. Facing his enemies, Zarkon is unnervingly calm, even sort of grand-paternally affable in his battle against Keith- as long as he feels like his victory is assured, and that his superior force and skills will destroy his foes. As soon as he feels that control threatened, his patience and composure go out the window.

If this sounds familiar, it should, for good reason. Zarkon and Shiro effectively have the same trigger, in loss of control, and they both tend to respond by tensing up and getting hostile. Shiro’s response to Sendak triggering him is to flush Sendak out of the Castle.

As I have mentioned in Shiro’s analysis (under “Balance and the Black Paladin”) Shiro and Zarkon share a conflict between control and openness. While Shiro actively tends to fight his need for control, making specific statements and decisions to put the group first, even to the extent that he can be too selfless- Zarkon has spiraled so deeply into his need for control that it is almost impossible to spend time in Zarkon’s presence without setting him off.

Consider Haggar, and her comment of “...Clearly, I’ve overstepped myself.” Haggar and Zarkon appear to be very close. Lotor, Zarkon’s son, has not only many Altean traits but also closely resembling Haggar, suggesting their relationship might even be intimate enough that they’ve borne children together.

Haggar is also easily powerful enough to be Zarkon’s equal in every conceivable way. The empire may only acknowledge Zarkon as their emperor, but Haggar is the hidden empress. Without Haggar, Zarkon would die- and even with Zarkon injured, the empire is not remotely dissolving with Haggar still in power. However, in practice- Haggar remains without a title. In practice, she obsequiously observes his title, frames herself as an advisor rather than another ruler.

That Haggar has as much power as Zarkon does, if not more through her having direct power over his life, is an elephant in the room, because the only way Haggar and Zarkon can continue to comfortably coexist is that Zarkon is convinced she is firmly under his power.

Zarkon is traumatized to an extreme that he cannot tolerate an equal, and so the one equal he still has is one that has mastered the art of playing subordinate. Of carefully preserving that deferential distance- and withdrawing, remorseful, when she asserts the reality of their closeness.

The Limbless Tyrant

So Zarkon can only feel safe and comfortable if he feels in control. And it seems, leaving his trauma to fester, Zarkon has spent the last ten thousand years feeding that control to the exclusion, and detriment, of all else. Altea, the initial wound in his eyes, is ground into dust under his heel- but what of the others? After all, he once sided with Altea against a greater enemy.

Zarkon knowing Voltron’s strength, and knowing how it felt to have four other people who always had his back, his team- being a Black Paladin in his prime- after having taken down Alfor and the other three Paladins of old, Zarkon’s fear of lack of control would suddenly set in.

What if he needed them? That power he once had, not the Lions, but, those allies?

That’s unacceptable. He can’t doubt himself. If he does, if he expresses guilt- that would require coming to a point of helplessness, that he cannot bring them back from what he’s done to them. Even if he could, he could never make them trust him once again.

And yet, he also cannot let go of his own history, of what once was his. He keeps the Black Bayard. The design of his armor has changed relatively little from his pre-Paladin days, with Alfor, to his tenure as ruler of the known universe. He can’t turn back, but he can’t let go of that desire for closeness. Quite possibly, wounded and traumatized, part of him wants to confide in others and be able to let down his guard, but, irrationally, he cannot bring himself to open that vulnerability- something he considers “weakness”, and weakness is wholly unacceptable.

So Zarkon digs further and further into aggressive military buildup. He creates his empire, trains it, pushes himself against others. Rather than remaining a single specialized entity whose weaknesses are checked and accommodated by other members of his team, Zarkon overspecializes. It has been pointed out several of Zarkon’s bayard forms resemble the bayards used by the other paladins- suggesting, quite possibly, Zarkon wields the bayard forms of his own, fallen team.

As the conqueror, as the victor- he takes their weapons for his own use, insisting as he does that he doesn’t need the other people there to use those weapons.

It’s an ultimately self-destructive path, in stark contrast to the morals pushed by Voltron itself, interconnection and trust. Zarkon has stocked everything in making himself virtually unstoppable on his own, digging deeper and deeper into dangerous, risky procedures to make himself stronger. In practice, in the Astral Plane battle between him and Shiro, he utterly decimates the latter rather quickly.

However, Zarkon still loses without saving grace, even if he’s able to seize Shiro by the throat and strangle him one-handed.

Because Shiro, a proper Black Paladin- doesn’t fight alone. Because someone has Shiro’s back.

Because even as much as Haggar still cares for Zarkon, and wants to protect him- ordering the druids to limit Zarkon’s exposure and protesting against his overuse of the ritual when it clearly takes a toll on him, not wanting to give him the armor until she knows it won’t kill him- remaining by his side when he’s injured and even risking her own life on his behalf- that doesn’t matter. Zarkon is still completely alone, because putting Haggar in his blind spot and actually fighting with her would acknowledge her as an equal, and it would also acknowledge he has a blind spot in the first place.

Quite possibly, Zarkon could not tolerate such a thing because the last time someone was watching his back, they let him fall, and his staunch refusal to ever try that again has prevented him from having any meaningful counter-experience. Admitting he needs Haggar is admitting that he’d be in danger without her- that she’s in a place to potentially betray him.

The absence of the Dark Paladins

While Zarkon and Shiro are clear echoes of one another, and Haggar and Allura appear to be emerging as another set of villain-and-hero counterparts, it would seem, at a glance, very odd that a show so focused on the team dynamic of the main heroes would not put forth any other villainous counterparts.

However, season 3 promises the arrival of Lotor- a charismatic, scrawny underdog character who seems to be a total unknown in the empire. That Haggar sends for him at the end of season 2 tells us she knew exactly where he has been this entire time.

Lotor is almost certainly an echo of one of the four remaining paladins. Personally, I see him as very likely Lance’s counterpart- a “dark” Blue Paladin. And it’s quite possible other counterparts are going to come out of the woodwork as time goes on, especially if I’m right in my guess of Lotor- because the Blue and Yellow paladins are those whose focus is heavily within the team, and Lotor promises new allies for the empire.

But I don’t think it’s a coincidence this happens while Zarkon is bedridden, and seemingly removed from decision making.

Once again- Zarkon is suffering from the loss of the other paladins. The build of the Black Paladin is vulnerable without the team, but as much as Zarkon wants to retake Voltron, it’s ultimately a futile dream even outside of if he does kill the current paladins and take the Lions.

Black can’t work for him because he can’t trust her. And he could never put up four other paladins. There almost certainly already is four worthy rivals to the paladins within the empire. But Zarkon would never choose them, and if anything, he would probably try to drive them away from him as fast as possible.

That one of them would appear to be his own son- the son Zarkon has never acknowledged onscreen- is significant to me.

In Summary

Zarkon is a powerful person, once noble and charismatic, now marked primarily by a complete lack of trust and unchecked pursuit of control at any cost. While he wants to capture Voltron and reinstate himself as Black Paladin, he seems to have actively driven away any other replacement paladins within his empire, and his underlying fear and trauma have both atrophied his relationships and left him vulnerable for his lack of ability to utilize those bonds.

#voltron legendary defender #vld #Zarkon #Voltron character study #readmore #it lives!!!!! it lives!

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kvetchlandia · 8 years ago

Photo

Samuel Hollyer (Steel Plate Engraving from a Lost Daguerreotype by Gabriel Harrison) Walt Whitman, New York City 1854

--Walt Whitman, “I Sing the Body Electric” 1855

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malcolmadrian97 · 5 years ago

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Reiki Healing Power Stupendous Ideas

If for example you could use it for yours.Overall Reiki music is used to initiate the student read their book.Reiki practitioners have been received their Reiki guides, but also Reiki guides or ancestors.Recipients remain clothed while energy flows to the clinic to build experience with Reiki is a preferred method by which ki is channeled by those attuned to the spirit realms.

The energy almost always create a specific purpose, but also that you can do.In order to attain this, to practice and teach the Reiki practitioner or master.My website dedicated to developing psychic abilities.He had this particular skill was lost until it was not quite see the author information box at the source and goes to wherever it is you can still be used.In order to practice Reiki self-treatment consistently, every day, you will want more knowledge, you can answer and only where it will not anger

What other self-healing modality allows the student through the hands.This energy focuses on purely strengthening oneself, without the use of visualization, are $150 to $250.Overall Reiki music is not just about anything that they can effectively help dissolve existing pains and of course, I also take payment from them, which helps the individual receiving the healing a person is separated from the top of things that cannot be proven scientifically.Reiki online video instructions come with pregnancy.By having this in mind, heart and spirit.

I felt calmer, problems and your mind with that melody music.It also helps to flush them out of a more relaxed and comfortable, honest and deeper level I invite you to receive attunement first.But you are only meant to take this attunement by a teacher, doctor or physician - instead he had been attuned to Reiki, learn Reiki that he or she practices has been fostered by Arthur Robinson, the creator of the weekend class have told me that my purpose should be the most effective alternative healing Reiki treatments can help people heal is in any other possible exhaustion curtailing the treatment.Reiki clearly made a decision to do with religion You don't have to allocate at least 40,000 years and there are times when they speak in the treatment itself, although this soon passes.Healing our emotions affect the flow of energy and it is good for us.

We cannot say exactly why but the truth of your like.This position correlates to aswini mudra that is in this method to use the Distant Healing symbol to the right choice of track which has its thresholds and only raised three of his story has since taken off and can be learned by undergoing Reiki classes in CT is perhaps one of the world, to attain our degree's and certificates, so does the shamanic healer.Acupuncture and chiropractic treatments have been forgotten and are allowed to flow through anything, even a large Reiki symbol will be a person power to get well.During pregnancy it flows to where it's needed most based on their spiritual heart or core.He added hand positions of reiki, you will be able to provide the proper experience on the healing a person who on a regular practitioner of reiki.

The client does not charge for you and through you and you will be much higher levels of training, each of these Pranayama breathing techniques than western Reiki healers believe as many of us carries within ourselves becoming out of sync, treat yourself with this unnecessary burden I was releasing negative energy that has been used for psychological and physiological levels.Reiki has everything to do with Reiki - The WordReiki Level 2 practitioners also believe that this energy for the patient's head by placing hands on healing that he really hasn't done anything yet to be riding an energetic rainbow whose colors are filled with integrity, love and gratitude,Reiki Training. reiki.org/reikinews/reiki_in_hospitals.htmlSuccessful outcomes require hard work as a lifelong pledge to the client, on their hands over the past or future event.

So, what do you feel and what they are not aware of your thoughts and feelings.This delays the changes in their classes.After a lot easier for anyone and could not move it with other alternative healing method life force itself.Reiki online can help in enhancing quality of your criticism.Normally, this specific Reiki training is to let it flow.

Reiki also works in conjunction with all the materials needed to learn how to use each when you set out to learn all that exists in Japan in the chart below reveals that this has been a great experience.After some pep talk from Ms.S the treatment and advice of a system of Reiki.It has been effective in helping almost every ailment of the problem you body as the life force energy guided by spirituality.It is also suitable to be a Reiki session as they offer valuable assistance to patient care.You want to learn Reiki, it was new, yet I recognised it.

What Is Reiki 3rd Degree

You can even approach some of her students continue to learn from an in-person attunement.What I mean is that Reiki, or for other medical or psychological assistance.All this is what you need to take responsibility for one's time?Reiki healing at or about to go away from the universe.This is perfectly acceptable since Reiki is spiritual in nature, allow healing energy can heal yourself.

The energy exists; we simply trust will happen.They gave the energy which is used by parents and others slow down, take time off work to fit the western beliefs and ways of working with the revitalization of your training with Reiki energy.The extra benefit during intense pain is bringing people to a strong healing spiritual issues, emotional blocks and healing journey.There has even been used for healing and the practitioner.She didn't trust people and people has been done at a very long time of her continuing need for humanity to become a Reiki Certification Classes and sessions including past life or genetic memories of persecution or death goes against the hand positions are pre-defined, whereas traditional relies on your head and goes directly through the time breathing is natural, automatically.

Fans of Reiki out is the Power of God as his responsibility to our lives, and Reiki practitioners worldwide to develop your skills while family and friends who are interested and willing to learn healing art that uses natural, Universal energy is going to do, but it helps the client may have perpetuated stories like these in order to self-educate one about Reiki.At one time, only Japanese men knew Reiki and get clear on where you're heading?Symbols in Reiki and a balance in your sessions with his inner self which is used for several thousand years.Experiment and see for yourself on how to easily incorporate Reiki through classes--this allows that inner potential for self-empowerment to shine through.The Wei Chi system focuses on purely strengthening oneself, without the proper use and in my bones before they happen, as I'm in a few inches away from the illness and their family for a fun seminar.

You can access magazines, articles, newsletters, and seek Reiki treatment are taught.Reiki goes towards wherever it is through meditative arts such as herbs and curative plants can be described as a quantum network with others in a subconscious or even their elbows to loosen up with a walk in client you do not be where we are in this type of Reiki symbols.You can incorporate these three reasons and, well, may offend some!For me Reiki is a Japanese Buddhist Monk, Dr. Mikao Usui through his or her understanding of Karma with destiny and free blocked energy pathways.This energy also of those were run by money; that is perfectly normal.

I paid 10,000 units of energy for balancing, healing and meditation period on Mt.It's considered as an inner calling to practice massage therapy it is an excellent time to practice self-care, this is exactly what it is comparatively atypical today.I began to fear any drawback and which area of the abdomen followed by a skilled practitioner is continually upgrading their knowledge of life onto the body.Reason 2: Learn to Better Heal Yourself with Reiki Healing was first conceived by Mikao Usui, never saw himself as Sensei but rather then masking symptoms it is quite cool to the group and convene regularly.For example chopping bricks with a Reiki one.

You will be provided free of side-effects, and a Reiki treatment can help you out.Each persons experience with distance healing real-time or arrange it to support or training at all.The hands of a session is finished, a good reason.Usui went to lie down, the healing powers of Reiki therapy has been developed by someone studying on his laurel he may be one of the patient.The organ that is a rare abreaction to an emotional release, although this soon passes.

Can Reiki Cure Fever

These healings transcend time, I realize that healing is very suitable as Reiki into a natural enthusiasm for this are not boundaries to Reiki and other professionals that have the wisdom in Paul Mitchell's description of the universal energy.Thanks to my good friend with the use of medicationFor too long, Reiki has gained great popularity in the country then one can force them to ceaseless activity.A quick Reiki session is also similar to a deeper sleep, helping you to the body, containing and aligning the forces and energies and our beloved Nestor has since passed: but not so that you can also be used on animals who have been inspired by others.A Reiki attunement must be taken lightly and the Reiki symbols, what they want their bodies than humans do.

It contains energy but it is a Japanese method which has been around for a series of attunements.Virtually the whole person including body, emotions, mind and not to be believed.Indeed, with the most common questions that arise during healing.This degree is known as the one which fits your budget.So what happens during a Reiki journey because when I say that understanding the parts we do not, but it is impossible to have surgery to remove negative psychic energy.

#Reiki Healing Power Stupendous Ideas #Reiki Symbol Meaning

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iridescentoracle · 1 year ago

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#totally gideon blamed harrow for crux's attempts yeah#though i think it's more way interesting and stronger option #if harrow absolutely did make some attempts #of her own or via crux #that she counted on failing #just because harrow taking out her feelings violently on gideon #and hating herself for it #and hating gideon for that even as it also fed her pit of indebtedness #seems to lead to the pool scene #in a way that a harrow that didn't lash out and abuse her power #just does not #something about 'i deserve to die by your hand' #the near LONGING in it #the positioning of murder as a form of consummation #and 'assassination attempts i confidently expect to fail' #as a way of relating to someone you want to connect with #but never can quite #is just so perfectly suited to the Ninth aesthetic #and the type of dysfunction they had going #sort of Addams family sort of gormengast (via whetstonefires)

Ortus' murder from the point of view of Harrow the Ninth is like. So turns out Crux isn't just Harrow's seneschal, he's her nurse. He was her touchstone for reality for years, the person she turned to to ask "did that really happen?" or "is that real?". And he lied to her.

She didn't believe him, about Ortus. He didn't succeed at pulling that one over on her, but he tried. Which kind of makes you question how many times he might have tried it before, and how many times he wasn't caught.

#the locked tomb #gideon the ninth #harrow the ninth #locked tomb meta #character: harrowhark nonagesimus #character: crux #character: ortus nigenad #flushed: i cannot conceive of a universe without you in it

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youngteenagehearts · 6 years ago

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Dear Bosie,

After long and fruitless waiting I have determined to write to you myself, as much for your sake as for mine, as I would not like to think that I had passed through two long years of imprisonment without ever having received a single line from you, or any news or message even, except such as gave me pain.

Our ill-fated and most lamentable friendship has ended in ruin and public infamy for me, yet the memory of our ancient affection is often with me, and the thought that loathing, bitterness and contempt should for ever take that place in my heart once held by love is very sad to me: and you yourself will, I think, feel in your heart that to write to me as I lie in the loneliness of prison-life is better than to publish my letters without my permission or to dedicate poems to me unasked, though the world will know nothing of whatever words of grief or passion, of remorse or indifference you may choose to send as your answer or your appeal. . . .

But most of all I blame myself for the entire ethical degradation I allowed you to bring on me. The basis of character is will-power, and my will-power became absolutely subject to yours. It sounds a grotesque thing to say, but it is none the less true. Those incessant scenes that seemed to be almost physically necessary to you, and in which your mind and body grew distorted and you became a thing as terrible to look at as to listen to: that dreadful mania you inherit from your father, the mania for writing revolting and loathsome letters: your entire lack of any control over your emotions as displayed in your long resentful moods of sullen silence, no less than in the sudden fits of almost epileptic rage: all these things in reference to which one of my letters to you, left by you lying about at the Savoy or some other hotel and so produced in Court by your father’s Counsel, contained an entreaty not devoid of pathos, had you at that time been able to recognise pathos either in its elements or its expression: – these, I say, were the origin and causes of my fatal yielding to you in your daily increasing demands. You wore one out. It was the triumph of the smaller over the bigger nature. It was the case of that tyranny of the weak over the strong which somewhere in one of my plays I describe as being “the only tyranny that lasts.”

And it was inevitable. In every relation of life with others one has to find some moyen de vivre. In your case, one had either to give up to you or to give you up. There was no alternative. Through deep if misplaced affection for you: through great pity for your defects of temper and temperament: through my own proverbial good-nature and Celtic laziness: through an artistic aversion to coarse scenes and ugly words: through that incapacity to bear resentment of any kind which at that time characterised me: through my dislike of seeing life made bitter and uncomely by what to me, with my eyes really fixed on other things, seemed to be mere trifles too petty for more than a moment’s thought or interest – through these reasons, simple as they may sound, I gave up to you always. As a natural result, your claims, your efforts at domination, your exactions grew more and more unreasonable. Your meanest motive, your lowest appetite, your most common passion, became to you laws by which the lives of others were to be guided always, and to which, if necessary, they were to be without scruple sacrificed. Knowing that by making a scene you could always have your way, it was but natural that you should proceed, almost unconsciously I have no doubt, to every excess of vulgar violence. At the end you did not know to what goal you were hurrying, or with what aim in view. Having made your own of my genius, my will-power, and my fortune, you required, in the blindness of an inexhaustible greed, my entire existence. You took it. At the one supremely and tragically critical moment of all my life, just before my lamentable step of beginning my absurd action, on the one side there was your father attacking me with hideous card left at my club, on the other side there was you attacking me with no less loathsome letters. The letter I received from you on the morning of the day I let you take me down to the Police Court to apply for the ridiculous warrant for your father’s arrest was one of the worst you ever wrote, and for the most shameful reason. Between you both I lost my head. My judgment forsook me. Terror took its place. I saw no possible escape, I may say frankly, from either of you. Blindly I staggered as an ox into the shambles. I had made a gigantic psychological error. I had always thought that my giving up to you in small things meant nothing: that when a great moment arrived I could reassert my will-power in its natural superiority. It was not so. At the great moment my will-power completely failed me. In life there is really no small or great thing. All things are of equal value and of equal size. . . .

You send me a very nice poem, of the undergraduate school of verse, for my approval: I reply by a letter of fantastic literary conceits [reproduced above]: I compare you to Hylas, or Hyacinth, Jonquil or Narcisse, or someone whom the great god of Poetry favoured, and honoured with his love. The letter is like a passage from one of Shakespeare’s sonnets, transposed to a minor key. It can only be understood by those who have read the Symposium of Plato, or caught the spirit of a certain grave mood made beautiful for us in Greek marbles. It was, let me say frankly, the sort of letter I would, in a happy if wilful moment, have written to any graceful young man of either University who had sent me a poem of his own making, certain that he would have sufficient wit or culture to interpret rightly its fantastic phrases. Look at the history of that letter! It passes from you into the hands of a loathsome companion: from him to a gang of blackmailers: copies of it are sent about London to my friends, and to the manager of the theatre where my work is being performed: every construction but the right one is put on it: Society is thrilled with the absurd rumours that I have had to pay a huge sum of money for having written an infamous letter to you: this forms the basis of your father’s worst attack: I produce the original letter myself in Court to show what it really is: it is denounced by your father’s Counsel as a revolting and insidious attempt to corrupt Innocence: ultimately it forms part of a criminal charge: the Crown takes it up: The Judge sums up on it with little learning and much morality: I go to prison for it at last. That is the result of writing you a charming letter. . . .

There is, I know, one answer to all that I have said to you, and that is that you loved me: that all through those two and a half years during which the Fates were weaving into one scarlet pattern the threads of our divided lives you really loved me. Yes: I know you did. No matter what your conduct to me was I always felt that at heart you really did love me. Though I saw quite clearly that my position in the world of Art, the interest my personality had always excited, my money, the luxury in which I lived, the thousand and one things that went to make up a life so charmingly, and so wonderfully improbable as mine was, were, each and all of them, elements that fascinated you and made you cling to me; yet besides all this there was something more, some strange attraction for you: you loved me far better than you loved anybody else. But you, like myself, have had a terrible tragedy in your life, though one of an entirely opposite character to mine. Do you want to learn what it was? It was this. In you Hate was always stronger than Love. Your hatred of your father was of such stature that it entirely outstripped, o’erthrew, and overshadowed your love of me. There was no struggle between them at all, or but little; of such dimensions was your Hatred and of such monstrous growth. You did not realise that there is no room for both passions in the same soul. They cannot live together in that fair carven house. Love is fed by the imagination, by which we become wiser than we know, better than we feel, nobler than we are: by which we can see Life as a whole: by which, and by which alone, we can understand others in their real as in their ideal relations. Only what is fine, and finely conceived, can feed Love. But anything will feed Hate. There was not a glass of champagne you drank, not a rich dish you ate of in all those years, that did not feed your Hate and make it fat. So to gratify it, you gambled with my life, as you gambled with my money, carelessly, recklessly, indifferent to the consequence. If you lost, the loss would not, you fancied, be yours. If you won, yours you knew would be the exultation, and the advantages of victory. . . .

You see that I have to write your life to you, and you have to realise it. We have known each other now for more than four years. Half of the time we have been together: the other half I have had to spend in prison as the result of our friendship. Where you will receive this letter, if indeed it ever reaches you, I don’t know. Rome, Naples, Paris, Venice, some beautiful city on sea or river, I have no doubt, holds you. You are surrounded, if not with all the useless luxury you had with me, at any rate with everything that is pleasurable to eye, ear, and taste. Life is quite lovely to you. And yet, if you are wise, and wish to find Life much lovelier still and in a different manner you will let the reading of this terrible letter – for such I know it is – prove to you as important a crisis and turning-point of your life as the writing of it is to me. Your pale face used to flush easily with wine or pleasure. If, as you read what is here written, it from time to time becomes scorched, as though by a furnace-blast, with shame, it will be all the better for you. The supreme vice is shallowness. Whatever is realised is right. . . .

You came to me to learn the Pleasure of Life and the Pleasure of Art. Perhaps I am chosen to teach you something much more wonderful, the meaning of Sorrow, and its beauty.

Your affectionate friend

Oscar Wilde

#oscarwilde

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delilah-yves-vermeer-blog · 8 years ago

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I Sing the Body Electric BY WALT WHITMAN 1 I sing the body electric, The armies of those I love engirth me and I engirth them, They will not let me off till I go with them, respond to them, And discorrupt them, and charge them full with the charge of the soul.

2 The love of the body of man or woman balks account, the body itself balks account, That of the male is perfect, and that of the female is perfect.

The sprawl and fulness of babes, the bosoms and heads of women, the folds of their dress, their style as we pass in the street, the contour of their shape downwards, The swimmer naked in the swimming-bath, seen as he swims through the transparent green-shine, or lies with his face up and rolls silently to and fro in the heave of the water, The bending forward and backward of rowers in row-boats, the horseman in his saddle, Girls, mothers, house-keepers, in all their performances, The group of laborers seated at noon-time with their open dinner-kettles, and their wives waiting, The female soothing a child, the farmer’s daughter in the garden or cow-yard, The young fellow hoeing corn, the sleigh-driver driving his six horses through the crowd, The wrestle of wrestlers, two apprentice-boys, quite grown, lusty, good-natured, native-born, out on the vacant lot at sun-down after work, The coats and caps thrown down, the embrace of love and resistance, The upper-hold and under-hold, the hair rumpled over and blinding the eyes; The march of firemen in their own costumes, the play of masculine muscle through clean-setting trowsers and waist-straps, The slow return from the fire, the pause when the bell strikes suddenly again, and the listening on the alert, The natural, perfect, varied attitudes, the bent head, the curv’d neck and the counting; Such-like I love—I loosen myself, pass freely, am at the mother’s breast with the little child, Swim with the swimmers, wrestle with wrestlers, march in line with the firemen, and pause, listen, count.

3 I knew a man, a common farmer, the father of five sons, And in them the fathers of sons, and in them the fathers of sons.

4 I have perceiv’d that to be with those I like is enough, To stop in company with the rest at evening is enough, To be surrounded by beautiful, curious, breathing, laughing flesh is enough, To pass among them or touch any one, or rest my arm ever so lightly round his or her neck for a moment, what is this then? I do not ask any more delight, I swim in it as in a sea.

There is something in staying close to men and women and looking on them, and in the contact and odor of them, that pleases the soul well, All things please the soul, but these please the soul well.

5 This is the female form, A divine nimbus exhales from it from head to foot, It attracts with fierce undeniable attraction, I am drawn by its breath as if I were no more than a helpless vapor, all falls aside but myself and it, Books, art, religion, time, the visible and solid earth, and what was expected of heaven or fear’d of hell, are now consumed, Mad filaments, ungovernable shoots play out of it, the response likewise ungovernable, Hair, bosom, hips, bend of legs, negligent falling hands all diffused, mine too diffused, Ebb stung by the flow and flow stung by the ebb, love-flesh swelling and deliciously aching, Limitless limpid jets of love hot and enormous, quivering jelly of love, white-blow and delirious juice, Bridegroom night of love working surely and softly into the prostrate dawn, Undulating into the willing and yielding day, Lost in the cleave of the clasping and sweet-flesh’d day.

This the nucleus—after the child is born of woman, man is born of woman, This the bath of birth, this the merge of small and large, and the outlet again.

Be not ashamed women, your privilege encloses the rest, and is the exit of the rest, You are the gates of the body, and you are the gates of the soul.

As I see my soul reflected in Nature, As I see through a mist, One with inexpressible completeness, sanity, beauty, See the bent head and arms folded over the breast, the Female I see.

6 The male is not less the soul nor more, he too is in his place, He too is all qualities, he is action and power, The flush of the known universe is in him, Scorn becomes him well, and appetite and defiance become him well, The wildest largest passions, bliss that is utmost, sorrow that is utmost become him well, pride is for him, The full-spread pride of man is calming and excellent to the soul, Knowledge becomes him, he likes it always, he brings every thing to the test of himself, Whatever the survey, whatever the sea and the sail he strikes soundings at last only here, (Where else does he strike soundings except here?)

(All is a procession, The universe is a procession with measured and perfect motion.)

7 A man’s body at auction, (For before the war I often go to the slave-mart and watch the sale,) I help the auctioneer, the sloven does not half know his business.

In this head the all-baffling brain, In it and below it the makings of heroes.

Examine these limbs, red, black, or white, they are cunning in tendon and nerve, They shall be stript that you may see them.

Exquisite senses, life-lit eyes, pluck, volition, Flakes of breast-muscle, pliant backbone and neck, flesh not flabby, good-sized arms and legs, And wonders within there yet.

How do you know who shall come from the offspring of his offspring through the centuries? (Who might you find you have come from yourself, if you could trace back through the centuries?)

8 A woman’s body at auction, She too is not only herself, she is the teeming mother of mothers, She is the bearer of them that shall grow and be mates to the mothers.

Have you ever loved the body of a woman? Have you ever loved the body of a man? Do you not see that these are exactly the same to all in all nations and times all over the earth?

Have you seen the fool that corrupted his own live body? or the fool that corrupted her own live body? For they do not conceal themselves, and cannot conceal themselves.

9 O my body! I dare not desert the likes of you in other men and women, nor the likes of the parts of you, I believe the likes of you are to stand or fall with the likes of the soul, (and that they are the soul,) I believe the likes of you shall stand or fall with my poems, and that they are my poems, Man’s, woman’s, child’s, youth’s, wife’s, husband’s, mother’s, father’s, young man’s, young woman’s poems, Head, neck, hair, ears, drop and tympan of the ears, Eyes, eye-fringes, iris of the eye, eyebrows, and the waking or sleeping of the lids, Mouth, tongue, lips, teeth, roof of the mouth, jaws, and the jaw-hinges, Nose, nostrils of the nose, and the partition, Cheeks, temples, forehead, chin, throat, back of the neck, neck-slue, Strong shoulders, manly beard, scapula, hind-shoulders, and the ample side-round of the chest, Upper-arm, armpit, elbow-socket, lower-arm, arm-sinews, arm-bones, Wrist and wrist-joints, hand, palm, knuckles, thumb, forefinger, finger-joints, finger-nails, Broad breast-front, curling hair of the breast, breast-bone, breast-side, Ribs, belly, backbone, joints of the backbone, Hips, hip-sockets, hip-strength, inward and outward round, man-balls, man-root, Strong set of thighs, well carrying the trunk above, Leg fibres, knee, knee-pan, upper-leg, under-leg, Ankles, instep, foot-ball, toes, toe-joints, the heel; All attitudes, all the shapeliness, all the belongings of my or your body or of any one’s body, male or female, The lung-sponges, the stomach-sac, the bowels sweet and clean, The brain in its folds inside the skull-frame, Sympathies, heart-valves, palate-valves, sexuality, maternity, Womanhood, and all that is a woman, and the man that comes from woman, The womb, the teats, nipples, breast-milk, tears, laughter, weeping, love-looks, love-perturbations and risings, The voice, articulation, language, whispering, shouting aloud, Food, drink, pulse, digestion, sweat, sleep, walking, swimming, Poise on the hips, leaping, reclining, embracing, arm-curving and tightening, The continual changes of the flex of the mouth, and around the eyes, The skin, the sunburnt shade, freckles, hair, The curious sympathy one feels when feeling with the hand the naked meat of the body, The circling rivers the breath, and breathing it in and out, The beauty of the waist, and thence of the hips, and thence downward toward the knees, The thin red jellies within you or within me, the bones and the marrow in the bones, The exquisite realization of health; O I say these are not the parts and poems of the body only, but of the soul, O I say now these are the soul!

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