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THESE PHOTOS ARE KILLING ME
#i would watch the lord of the rings so many times over if these were my legolas and my gimli#why did he have to make dj look so squat here 😭#so small..#the different kinds of lesbians u can see#wandering around the forest#like deer#tall leg lesbian was trying to wrap her skinny long arms around a tree to hug it as good use of her slenderman nature#but accidentally crushed five spiders and some ants in the process so now shes contemplating burning the whole place down#nature lover but the kind of lover that observes rather than partakes#gimli lesbian does not fear though#she marches steadfast through the swamp with her picnic basket#and her little legs#she is become death#sauce slicing his leggings so he can show off his fuzzy legs lol#these are literally two types of my fav shapes on display LMAO#pg and anthony edwards...#the photographer said THIS is for TED!!!!#and then captioned it something hideous but we're not gonna focus on that rn#this photo is literally so girlfriend... it makes being a jets fan a little more bearable. still burns tho#(we're in hell)#sauce
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In the Stairwell (Kissing Prompt 20)
Request: Kissing prompt #20 for Haruhi Fujioka x Nb reader? 👉👈
Title: In the Stairwell (Kissing Prompt 20)
Genre: floofy and romantic, ohohoo
Pairing: Haruhi Fujioka x NB!Reader
Notes: When I saw this, I was kind of floored. I’ll admit, when I decided to partake in the prompt list, I didn’t read through every single prompt. I saw a request, though, and I got really excited. When I checked the prompt number, though, I just straight up GUSHED. The ideas that hit me square in the face were too good to even think of passing up!
That said, I didn’t know what type of request you wanted anon, but I hope a short scenario will suffice! I also found this to be a slightly touchy prompt to write, and since I don’t want to offend anyone with this work, I left the pronouns as ‘they’ and provided instances in which you could choose.
“20. Kissing in a stairwell, giving them an artificial height difference. “
Below the cut!
The day flew by. Everything seemed to be somewhat calm all day, and the academy was much more mellow than the halls typically allowed. Your classes flew by, Haruhi’s classes flew by, and the club activities had gone by just as smoothly - or, rather, that they were the same as normal.
She had decided to stop by your after-school club, (club), but that got held up when Tamaki had stopped her. Haruhi’s time was held back. All she really wanted to do at the moment was see her ‘soulmate’, as coined by the twins.
(Y/n), on the other side of the school, was prepped and ready to do the same. They had all of their things packed and ready, their uniform shoved away in a spare bag, and their cell in their hand. The way to the stairs was already spotted from her perch below a nearby balcony, and despite the confusing nature of the prestigious academy, their path was already very clear.
Haruhi had managed to slip away from her senior soon enough, hoping to find (Y/n) before they left school grounds. Though this didn’t happen normally, she still wanted to make sure that she could reach them before they reached her.
This was normal, but their height was a primary reason for this. (Y/n) was the taller of the two, while Haruhi rested on the shorter side. When they would try to make a game out of who could find the other first, (Y/n)’s height had been an advantage that they had simply laughed at and commented how “cute you had been” to Haruhi.
She didn’t mind the jokes, but every once in a while, she’d try her damnedest to reach them first, just to prove that her height didn’t mean that she couldn’t reach them first.
Hence why this scene was so shocking. The couple were both determined to reach the other, so when they met eyes from different leveled staircases, they rushed to reach each other before the other did.
Haruhi had been standing and watching the stairs below her while (Y/n) had been viewing the decor of the school as they practically marched up the said steps Haruhi was watching. “(Y/n)?”
“Hmm?” they muttered, their (deep/high) voice ringing through the silent halls. It wasn’t until they looked up that they realized the shorter female was watching them. “Are we gonna do this, Haruhi?”
Said female shrugged. “I don’t know, are we?” (Y/n) rolled their eyes and walked faster. Haruhi had began to sprint down the stairs, and despite her lack of stamina, the momentum that had been provided from the slope of the stairs let her speed up with little consequence.
The chase was on, and against the time and feel of the day, the two were laughing like toddlers as they were targeting the other. It wasn’t until they met on middle ground, another staircase.
Haruhi, for once, had been able to wait for (Y/n), and her reaction was exhilarating for her viewing. She’d won! Finally!
She stood there, slightly out of breath, as said lover slowly reached her. “Damn, you beat me. Great job, Haru.”
“Mhm, now I can say that I’m taller than you for once.”
“Oh really?”
“Yep, sure am.”
(Y/n) observed the scene, and at the sight of the setting sun starting to fall that cast a glow upon the short-haired female’s frame in front of her, they were overcome with the sudden urge to kiss her. Her big brown eyes were sparkling, and with the way that she had started to lean down, (Y/n) could only suspect that she felt the same.
So Haruhi, in all her temporarily-taller glory, leant down and locked her lips with her significant other on the second step below her. It was slow, it was soft, and it contradicted their interaction of the past few minutes, but it was all that they could ask for.
A kiss as the sun falls into the horizon? Perfect.
#ohshc#ouranhighschoolhostclub#ouran high school host club#ohshcxreader#ohshc x reader#haruhifujioka#haruhi fujioka#haruhixreader#haruhi x reader#haruhifujiokaxreader#haruhi fujioka x reader#ouranhighschoolhostclubxreader#ouran high school host club x reader#ohshcharuhi#ohshc haruhi#ohshcharuhixreader#ohshc haruhi x reader#nbreader#nb reader
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Decebal Avram Chirilă Symbols
Swords/Twin Swords/Crossed Swords
“Passion is the sword of love that pierces through the wall of fears that hold us back.”
~Lewis Howes
The sword has lots of meanings; Aggression, Protection, Courage, Strength, Action, Unity, Justice, Leadership, Decision, Duplicity.
The saying “double-edged sword” simplifies the complex nature of the mind and ultimately of what we manifest in our lives. Positive thoughts lead to positive actions lead to positive results, and vice-versa. For Decebal is kind of a paradox, because he tries to think positive, always putting on a smile or grin, laughing in the face of danger, but his actions are despicable, thus leading to the life he has. Most view his style of life as horrible and dangerous, but the Outlaw views the full part of the glass, seeing his freedom.
The two swords represent two parts of his mind and persona; he can be your friend, your protector, your lover, your everything. Then the other part, if you cross the line with Decebal. He can turn into your biggest enemy, slicing, and dicing or even simply turning his back to you in a situation that is a life or death end, giving you a final lesson about back-stabbing.
These twin swords are divided yet again into two symbols, respectively two animals.
Lynx
"His sight was so good that he saw through all the lies and facade other people put on a show; through the darkness, he saw the prey from miles away."
-Anonymous
Decebal's eyes resemble much of the Lynx's sight. Some people call the Lynx “The Silent Witness.” The moniker originates from the fact that Lynx has exceptional night vision, remarkable hearing, and incredible instincts. The spiritual lesson Lynx carries to you is a reminder to partake of quiet observance, remembering there’s more to the world than what’s accessible through the physical eyes and ears alone. The quietness only applies to Decebal during the assassination mission, where he has to be incredibly stealthy and quiet.
Lynx can also jump upwards of 22 feet; here, the creature’s tree-climbing and jumping skills give it ties to the Air Element. Decebal is a very good climber and he has powerful long legs that helped him a lot during running, jumping from trucks to trucks during traveling, climbing into buildings or houses to kill his targets. Decebal and this animal have the Air Element in common, the signs of air.
Air signs are a little hard to nail down, much like the wind. Air signs are very social, adapt to new situations very easily, because of their open perspective, but also sometimes are a little lost in their own mind, not having their legs grounded and rather they prefer to go where the wind takes them. That's how Decebal is; very easy around people, charming, and always ready to make conversation, but also harbors strong emotions that make him lose reality, a prospect that leads him face to face with death many times.
The Lynx as a spirit animal sometimes comes to people who have forgotten the benefits of playing. The world contains many stressors which, if not released, end up destroying your progress. Lighthearted play will lift your spirits and liberate your mind. It helps clear your head and leads to a brighter perspective. That's how Decebal is when he comes into someone's life, even if it's for a few days or more, depending here on how he views you. He will make you forget about your problems, teach you to enjoy each moment, and cherish it because life is too short to be all tense and stressed.
Tiger
Time is the substance from which I am made. Time is a river which carries me along, but I am the river; it is a tiger that devours me, but I am the tiger; it is a fire that consumes me, but I am the fire.
-Jorge Luis Borges
The primary meaning of the tiger is courage, willpower, determination, personal strength; something that Decebal didn't have when he was young and now he loves the feeling of it, but here also comes a downside. The tiger is also a shadow or part of you that you would normally try to hide or reject; Unpredictability in life, actions, or feelings.
As a positive part, the presence of the tiger spirit animal could connect with your appetite for life and sensuality, two main characteristics of Decebal who embraces life to the fullest and emanates sensuality like a volcano.
The tiger is a solitary animal and so is Decebal, but this characteristic clashes with his fully social side. One moment he can be all over you, the next he simply disappeared. He is a person that yearns for adventure.
The symbol of the tiger and Decebal being a hitman. It is heard that one single tiger killed 436 people in Nepal and India, and let's just say that Decebal lost count of how many people he killed.
They also say that the tiger is also one of the most vengeful animals on the planet and this characteristic applies to Decebal, because he isn't one to forget so easily. To understand this vengeful side better I am gonna tell you the most famous tiger revenge story. Russian poacher, Vladimir Markov, who in the winter of 1997, wounded a tiger and stole parts of his kill. The respective tiger found the poacher's cabin, destroyed his belongings, and waited half a day for the man's return, then killed and ate him.
Decebal, in a funny way, acts exactly like a tiger in mating. The male tiger does the deed with the female then leaves for good. That's how Decebal is in pretty much every one-night stand, leaving before the partner could wake up, but if you are lucky enough to make this man catch feelings for you... Well... I should probably ask you how do you tame a tiger?
I chose the tiger as a symbol for Decebal, along with the Lynx mostly because these are the two sides of him; he can be quite playful and childish, perfect sight in the night like a Lynx, but also very unpredictable, deadly along with a paw of pure courage like a Tiger.
Take it like this; as your friend, he will be a mischievous tomcat, but as your enemy, just like the tiger... chances are that you won't make it out alive.
#Decebal Avram Chirilă#Original characters#slasher oc#hitman#animal symbol#killer#tiger#lynx#asassin
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TITLE: A Super Solid History of the “Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy(s),” c. The Beginning (or There About) to Now-ish
SUMMARY: Human beings are absolute fools when it comes to love. It’s largely the reason why God, in all Her infinite wisdom, so cleverly decided that the beings in Her employ (and thereafter) would have nought to do with such petty, earthly matters. Not they had seen a memo or anything, but it merely seems obvious, does it not? (Ao3)
NOTES: Hello, hello! Here be my very first Good Omens fic. Please note that I have only just started the novel and so this is mostly a product of my having watched the series several times over.
. . .
+ Perhaps one of the cruelest tricks that God has ever played (and the list was indeed long) was in allowing angels to believe they were incapable of love. There is some amount of debate as to whether or not this was entirely by accident. She was a busy woman after all━perhaps that was why it, the question of whether or not angels were truly capable of love, had slipped through one of her metaphysical cracks (of which, admittedly, there were many). Those who managed to refrain from falling had quite an easier time believing this particular theory to be very much the case. A largely unspoken, slightly offended, “She would never,” followed by an affirmation of the belief in the long held assumption that they were above such things anyway, so really, what did it even matter, and can we please return to the task at hand?
Those who did happen to fall on the other hand, went in rather the opposite direction. In a somewhat convoluted fashion (they were technically still angels after all), demons argued that, no, celestial beings had never been capable of love, and, yes, this was done with abundant amounts of purpose. Not to mention the longstanding rumor that perhaps they were always capable, which served the purpose of both dividing and controlling the heavenly population by means of dispensing vague, unverified information. And to the more skeptical among them they might say, “Well, she’s God isn’t she? It’s not as if she lacks the ability.”
In point of fact, they were both wrong.
From the very moment they had begun their stint upon the Earth, Aziraphale had often pondered the nature of love. They had heard the rumors, of course, not that they held much affinity for such behavior. No good has ever come from a rumor, they thought, particularly when their mind was especially prone to recalling those terrible centuries of heavenly warfare. No taste for it━the whispering between nebulas; the speculating of who would be staying and who would be going. Aziraphale had often suspected that it was part of the reason why Crowley had ended up doing… what he did. That perhaps the assumption they would fall did more to provoke the descent than anything else. It was a shame, but it had been so long ago, and there didn’t seem to be much to do about it now, at any rate.
Regardless, the question of love as it pertained to earthly beings, that made rather a bit more sense. Not to the humans themselves of course, but to Aziraphale, and even to Crowley, the emotion was in fact easily explained and somewhat predictable when applied in almost every conceivable situation. Usually.
“There is no possible way that girl is worth so few goats.”
Aziraphale had never felt truly comfortable with early human rituals as they pertained to establishing their various relationships. The use of the dowry, for example, particularly when a father might value a herd of sheep over the life of his child (and at this point in time, rather too young, in their estimation), stirred something… untoward in their gut.
“She’s a bit young, don’t you think?”
Even then, Crowley had possessed the somewhat uncanny ability to speak the words that Aziraphale often thought but feared to say aloud, and while a part of them was grateful to hear them spoken, the other part was curious as to how their supposed enemy could be so well-attuned to their thoughts. Could be the point, I suppose, they thought, looking quickly away before Crowley could notice, to catch us unawares with their deceptive bouts of intimacy.
“Well there, Aziraphale, how ‘bout it? Can I count on you?”
“Oh, um, my apologies,” they stammered, unfamiliar fleshy fingers tangling together, “count on me for what?”
“Your discretion,” Crowley reiterated with an air of unrepentant espionage curling around the crown of their head, “she is worth far more goats than... that.”
Aziraphale envied the demon’s seemingly instinctive use of their own hands; tossed about in the air, waved vaguely in the direction of the unfortunate scene which played out before them. How did one use one’s own hands as a means of further emphasizing their point? Marvelous. They would have to spend more time working on that.
“ Aziraphale ,” Crowley repeated, one eyebrow raised smartly above their golden eye, “I know you can’t be a fan of this either.”
“Well, no,” they admitted, “but I am merely here to observe, and I did promise myself that last time would be the last time.”
Crowley hummed with a mildly infuriating tone of knowing skepticism (which Aziraphale didn’t much appreciate), “Alright, well, if you’re here to observe and all, I guess there’s nothing you’d be able to do about this.”
Aziraphale was, as it turned out, not quite quick enough in noting that, as a matter of fact, yes, they would be well within their rights to interfere when a demon was involved, but by that point Crowley had vanished from their side, and a slithering serpent had already begun making its way towards the feet of the large old bearded gentleman who had offered far too few goats for so young and bright a person.
. . .
It was right around the time human beings started getting rather more polite with their food that Aziraphale managed to develop a fair higher degree of grace with his own hands. Rather difficult to eat a steaming bowl of noodles without the use of… “chop-sticks.” Gracious, Gabriel would be horrified by the very idea. Not just by the “sullying of the vessel,” but the notion that one might do so with sticks? Unthinkable. Regardless, it all came fairly easy after that (the hands); throwing a pair of dice, holding a quill or a pair of knitting needles. After a time he discovered that he very much enjoyed the tactility━the variety of sensations felt on the surface of the skin he had been ordered to have.
He had also, around this time, begun to go about being referred to as “he.” Moreso to blend in than anything else. It was hard to pin down when exactly, but at some point humanity became far more reliant upon noting the difference. It made a certain kind of sense, he supposed, if they were going to insist upon such hierarchical-like systems to survive.
“They are Her creations after all,” Crowley reasoned, casually (almost certainly, casually) observing Aziraphale’s hands as they cupped his bowl of broth.
Aziraphale made a somewhat half-hearted attempt to cool his soup, lest the demon sitting across from him note his discomfort. In as polite a fashion as possible, so as not to rock any proverbial boats, he made the potentially ill-advised decision to be predictable and “play dumb.”
“And,” with a mild stutter, “and what is it you mean by that?”
“Oh, don’t be dense, Angel, you know exactly what I mean by that.”
He hated when their conversations took these kinds of turns. When their differences became undeniable and he was forced to reconcile with the truth of their circumstances: That all evidence to the contrary, the demon sitting across from him was supposed to be his mortal enemy━and for what? Some… pesky disagreement? An oversimplification to be sure, it must be conceded, but all the same, for… what, exactly? What had it all been for?
Having accepted the frequent refrain of Aziraphale’s silence in moments such as these, Crowley had returned to his own drink; a sharp yet sweet rice wine that Aziraphale had recommended. All the better for his own sanity, for his own return to his hot bowl of flavorful broth (with some kind of... fish base, in which large pieces of seaweed, accompanied by smaller cubes of to-fu floating alongside; absolutely fascinating, by the way), and unsettling, unwelcome questions that did little good for him to ponder over. But ponder he inevitably would, and he felt it prudent to admit that he had himself often wondered what might have happened if he had been more… present during the whole debacle (the war, as it were), or even if he had known Crowley at the time━would the outcome have been the same?
It doesn’t seem a particularly worthy avenue of thought to continue shambling down, especially if one were to consider the fact that it was all decided upon long, long ago; but as he sneaks a glance upwards, to the sight of a demon sat across from him at a table, taking careful sips of a rice wine he has no reason to drink (other than to acquiesce to Aziraphale’s own enthusiastic request) he does have to wonder, How bad can they really be?
It’s on this particular evening that Aziraphale and Crowley happen to “brush hands” for the very first time. Azirphale had, on occasion, been made aware of the concept, but had yet to fully partake in such an episode. Human beings seemed to make quite a to-do of the whole affair. He had borne witness to such things with his own eyes, and was rather struck by the intensity of something that seemed so bafflingly simple. But then again, that seemed to be the nature of love. At least as it pertained to human beings. Angels were immune to such things, clearly.
They had both reached for the bottle at the same time, is all. Nothing to fuss over. It was bound to happen sometime━trapped as they were in these rather cumbersome… things; adjusting to the speed and the space of it all. Moving with both certainty and uncertainty, holding things too tightly or not tightly enough. Silly, unreliable things. You had to wonder what She’d been thinking (not that Aziraphale would ever say so, of course).
The poets will speak of a spark, but Aziraphale didn’t much know about all of that. He could acknowledge a warmth, perhaps even a… tingle? In retrospect he might even recall a raising of the soft hairs along his arms. But really, there’s not much to say about it. Other than the fact that from the perspective of an outsider there was perhaps an unnatural pause. A stiffness that mortal beings struggled to find. Most living, physical beings required breath you see━they are frequently at the whims of their world; it is, quite nearly, impossible not to be in motion for any extended period of time. That was just the way She wanted it. The unrepentant motion. The force. The push forwards. Don’t stop, never stop. Until, you know, She says so.
These two beings, however, they weren’t human beings. They were created by God, of course, but they were relatively new to this “body,” business, and as such they still seemed to be encountering the unfortunate and inconvenient side effects. Touch being just one of many. Angels didn’t really touch in the same way humans did. Their natural forms failed to really give them the ability. They did in fact… collide with each other from time to time, but it was limitless. There was no barrier. If anything, it was a bit unpleasant━the lack of boundaries. Something about “seamless teamwork,” is what Aziraphale could recall from his discussions with Gabriel, or Michael. It was difficult to tell the difference sometimes. Regardless (or perhaps irregardless), human touch would appear to be quite a bit different. Because there was a pretty significant boundary, and for whatever reason that Aziraphale had yet to identify, it felt somehow more intimate than the traditional, angelic “brushing of hands,” as it were.
Crowley, in a rare moment of clumsiness, must have felt similarly because in his shock had pulled his hand back so swiftly that he managed to knock the half-empty bottle to the table with a soft snick, with a gentle, rhythmic dripping of the remaining wine to follow.
“Oh, dear,” Aziraphale muttered, moving quickly to right the bottle and dab at the developing stain. Crowley had stood rather abruptly after that, and not in the smooth, serpent-like manner that Aziraphale had become accustomed to, and with hardly a “so long,” turned and fled the scene. They would never mention that particular moment again, but Aziraphale, to his great, great consternation, did struggle to put it entirely out of his mind.
. . .
Oh, centuries pass. Not entirely unlike an unfathomably long sigh, the world continues as the world often does. As do the angels and the demons playing their parts in some… hip yet indescribably vague off-broadway production (with no discernible plot) written by and for an audience of precisely one. Maybe. Probably. Over the course of The Great Exhale (™), Aziraphale observes. He learns. Which should be obvious, as that was something of the job assigned to him in the first place, but he really takes a genuine interest in the task. So much so that he keenly starts to observe other observers, humans who frequently come to be called “authors.” Authors are truly outstanding observers in their own right; even going so far as to record their observations in impressively long works of art━in letters and in image, the authors and artists in question lend a helpful amount of weightiness to a position he had come to doubt on occasion.
“They see things in ways we can’t, you see,” Aziraphale had tried explaining to Gabriel during one unexpected (and painfully awkward) meeting. As he had come to expect, Gabriel listened with a look of mild confusion (and pity), but it didn’t bother Aziraphale all that much. He had his books. “You can tell the others there’s no reason to worry,” he continued quickly, hoping their conversation had reached its conclusion, “I have all we need right here.”
“No surprises, Aziraphale,” Gabriel warned in goodbye, slipping out the door, “and remember, they can’t see nearly as well as we can.”
“Well, we know that’s not true.”
The surprising (yet unmistakable) tenor of Crowley’s voice echoed from the darkness of Aziraphale’s office, which had been empty the last he checked. The angel in question could do little to prevent the slight hitch in his breathing, concerned with not only the unexpected appearance of a demon, but so quickly after the departure of an angel that would certainly see said demon immediately and irrevocably smited.
“That’s cheeky,” Aziraphale mumbled as Crowley sauntered out of the back room, his hair in its usual impeccable coif.
Shortly after Aziraphale acquired the bookshop, and not without some degree of honest ignorance as to why, Crowley did what he unfortunately happened to do best, and asked Aziraphale precisely what was the point of it all? And as had become usual practice, Aziraphale had a maddeningly difficult time coming up with an answer.
“You know, I’m not quite sure,” he finally admitted, “as soon as I do I shall let you know.”
“With bated breath, Angel,” Crowley had responded in distraction, his own nose lost in one of Aziraphale’s many books that he had seemingly no definitive explanation for.
. . .
The thing about Aziraphale’s exchange with the archangel Gabriel, that is the somewhat truncated version of an answer to Crowley’s “why,” was much longer and perhaps more blasphemous than Gabriel wanted to hear. But it was, possibly, exactly the kind of thing a demon (or rather, this demon) would want to hear.
Though Gabriel’s visit made for something of a stressful few hours, it was a particularly lovely day nonetheless. The leaves had begun changing their colors, but it was still pleasantly warm when standing in the sun, and should he feel just a touch too warm, a perfectly timed (some might say, miraculously timed) gust of wind would breeze on through the open window. Despite the fresh autumnal air, the smell of the books often lingered; the unmistakable scent of old paper and ink blending seamlessly with the decaying leaves which wound through the air and along the pavement.
“Do you happen to recall,” Aziraphale began, pouring Crowley an exquisitely steeped cup of Earl Grey, “when I first acquired this shop?”
In so much as Crowley could be predictable, he did, quite predictably, feign forgetfulness (not that angels or demons could forget very much by the very fact of their design). “Not certain,” he pondered theatrically, his sharp chin resting in the palm of his hand. “About what century was this, d’you think?”
Making the conscientious decision to refuse to participate in Crowley’s strange theatrics, Aziraphale continued, adjusting his vest as if it had suddenly shrunk while he was wearing it (which was certainly possible, he supposed). “Well, you had asked of me an admittedly fair question as to why I had purchased the shop at all, and I had told you I wasn’t quite certain as to why, and━”
“Yes, yes,” he interrupted, taking a sip of his tea, “let’s hear it then.”
“Well,” he began, somewhat taken aback by Crowley’s abrupt demand for an answer he had recently pretended to have forgotten, “I━I do believe it might have something to do with… love. Of all things.”
Crowley’s nose did indeed wrinkle, as if a bad sort of smell had passed beneath it from having even heard the word, but he did have a thoughtful look. If Aziraphale had to describe it, he might find himself comparing it to a rather more subdued version of the look that had passed over Crawley’s face subsequent to the infrequently mentioned Flaming Sword Incident (™). An expression of pleased surprise which, in retrospect, betrayed a yearning optimism that most demons should not, under any circumstances, possess.
See, as it happened, Aziraphale had been doing a lot of thinking as of late. Not a great habit, a stern-looking Gabriel would often scold in his head, It’s all been figured out anyway, no need to go reinventing the wheel. As it happened, Gabriel was quite unimpressed with the invention of the wheel. No great feat, in his estimation. Not that he found humans to be impressive in most cases. Aziraphale couldn’t blame him, he supposed. Gabriel hadn’t been tasked with the job Aziraphale had━maybe if he had been, he would’ve arrived at similar conclusions (likely not so, but it was hard for Aziraphale to deny giving others the benefit of the doubt).
If you were in fact playing one of the two roles assigned to you (that of Angel or Demon), you might be privy to something of a hotly debated topic. Love. What was it? Who was capable of it? Was it a uniquely human trait? Was it freely available to all beings? And of course, as was the question in most things, how in the world was God involved in all this?
“Oh, Angel, not this old… chestnut,” Crowley nearly spat. Despite the darkened frames over his eyes, Aziraphale practically felt his rolling of them.
“Now, hold on,” he continued, hoping to cut Crowley off at some self-righteous pass he knew wasn’t far behind, “just… wait.”
Obviously, it was rather difficult for anyone to speculate with any degree of certainty the true machinations of God’s mind. Whether God had designed everything (angels included) with the capability to feel and/or express love in its entirety or not, Aziraphale had begun to wonder whether or not it very much mattered (the debate, that is). You had to start with the Assumption (™).
“Which is…?”
A self-fulfilling prophecy. An angel such as Aziraphale, assuming that it didn’t much matter (whether or not God had given angels the capacity for love), which was the general opinion of the heavenly chorus━or Crowley and other demons similarly assuming it was all a vile manipulation borne of boredom and the Almighty’s irrepressible urge to have a hand (metaphorically speaking) in just about everything. All this and still the usual refrain from both sides: Humans and love, they know not what they do. As if the heavenly (or not so heavenly) were, at the very least, immune.
“It’s the isolation you see,” Aziraphale managed to somewhat tangientally conclude, “the being… trapped, as it were. In their bodies.”
It was in that moment that Aziraphale worried whether or not he had gotten a tad too close to the Spilled Wine Incident (™) which had occurred several centuries earlier ( long unspoken of). Wondered if perhaps Crowlely had, in his own time, reached a similar conclusion, and was in fact thinking the same exact thing. That of angelic… mingling and the somewhat invasive ability to see into the heart of someone’s soul, versus the perfectly human ability to hardly know a person at all except perhaps through a brief brushing of hands. The arrangement of words on a page. The splashes of color on a canvas. That perhaps God, in all her… strange, bureaucratic dereliction of parental duty had in fact given human beings one single instance of superiority.
“Love.”
In a limit imposed by God, human beings could only love one another given truly uncomfortable degrees of uncertainty, and what angel or demon had ever taken such a risk?
In case you (the reader) were wondering, interrupted God with a very gentle boom (otherwise one’s head was quite likely to explode), it’s them. The two of them. Idiots.
“So, the bookshop,” Crowley spoke, filling the void of Aziraphale’s silence, “you wanted to know more about this… Risky Business?”
There was almost certainly the undercurrent of a joke in there that Aziraphale would require an explanation for at some other juncture, but for now he merely nodded. “I believe so,” smiling into his cup, “for how valuable are our observations if we’ve only ever made them through our own omniscience?”
Long, long story, very much shortened to a far more reasonable and linear degree: Since The Beginning, angels and demons had largely felt confident in their belief that they knew far more than the average human (Agnes Nutter aside, of course); and Aziraphale, in the midst of an occasional crisis as to who knew what and how well, had, with the acquisition of his quaint little bookshop been unconsciously soothed by a truth several centuries in the making. That angels, like humans, did not in fact know everything. That they were not necessarily immune to what it was they had supposed, and that, quite blessedly, there was just… so very much to know. Even after all this time. Pages and pages and pages of things to know.
“It’s a fair point,” Crowley answered with a brief smile of his own, “never much cared for all the…” A signature wave of his free hand, bereft of his teacup, “...business anyway.” Referring of course to the traditional forms of angelic and/or demonic communication, which funnily enough, neither gentleman had experienced for quite some time.
And it was, during this particular turn in the narrative (quite nearing its conclusion, I promise you), that an angel and a demon would brush hands for a historical second time. Historic for the existence of hands, the fact of their briefly touching again, and of course the reality of their circumstances (which Aziraphale had become rather tired of noting). They both reached for the teapot at the same moment you see, which, if one were a betting man (or woman), they might imagine a divine hand or two, or several, or however many hands God might prefer to have, in the mix.
What made this particular time so different from the first was not only the fact of their very recent conversation, but the privilege of having several hundred years to have a good, rational think on the matter. So rational, in fact, that the urge to spring violently apart and knock something over seemed to be entirely absent.
“You know, I’ve often found it rather funny,” Aziraphale began quietly, painfully aware of where their fingers touched, “that despite my theory, you have often been quite good at mirroring my own thoughts.”
“Ironic,” Crowley agreed, “though you are rather easy to read I’m afraid.”
The beautiful thing about a brush is the secondary movements that might come after━particularly when the brush might provoke a pause. Most anything can occur in the midst of a pause. One might move a finger, for example, which in turn might elicit a not unpleasant shiver down one’s spine. There’s also the accompanying sound, which, for all his talk of humans being superior, it was a shame that their hearing was so dreadfully ordinary. It would be rather difficult for a human being to hear breath in the same way Aziraphale or Crowley might, sitting apart as they were. The intake and the exhale, all occurring within a brief, blissful pause which, along with their shared breath and the clinking of china, was accompanied by the continued autumnal breeze, and the scattering of dried foliage.
“I think,” Crowley continued, his hand moving, ever so slowly, to fully grasp Aziraphale’s own, “that we should consider testing your theory again.”
“Q-quite,” Aziraphale managed to answer, wonderfully overwhelmed by all the knowing (and marvelous not-knowing) occurring within the tangle of their hands. “I do enjoy a thorough undertaking of the scientific method.”
. . .
They were both wrong (the gossiping, angelic and demonic masses) because, in an infuriatingly on point God move, they were both partially right, weren’t they? Yes, of course, angels were always capable of love, but God was rather busy wasn’t She? She’s a deity just like any other━lots to do. Being in charge while also doing Her best to refrain from micromanaging, which She’d been told employees didn’t actually like, so can you really blame her for being a bit aloof sometimes? An honest mistake, really. Nothing quite so sinister as the demons might like to believe, nor so benevolent as the angels would like to think. And besides, She’d given them humanity, and She did love a good game of risk.
#good omens#good omens fic#ineffable husbands#@hencethewriter#y'all it has been#about 5 months#working on this garbage#also i wish tumblr#would fix it's fucking formatting#but we know that'll never happen so
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seventeen-relationships
→ this post is basically a natal chart analysis on the group Seventeen, about how they’d act in relationships, what would they want/need in a partner, etc. it’s entirely based on astrology, though i am no professional, i’m just doing this for fun!
ps: this post includes the members of the vocal unit only. click here to view performance unit, and here to view hip hop unit.
YOON JEONGHAN
sun in libra: love is the ultimate expression of emotion to him, and he loves being in love. he’s sensitive to the needs and feelings of others and will go out of his way to make his friends feel important, so a partner who will check on him every now and then and show him affection like he does with others is ideal.
moon in aquarius: he is observant and has a strong curiosity for people, and he’s pretty consistent. he has a strong feeling of loneliness that might be hard to shake off despite being social, so his partner should be emotionally nurturing as he doesn’t open up so easily.
mercury in libra: he loves to communicate with others and is quite easy going. he speaks with eloquence, and he is both playful yet elegant while conversing that those who talk to him end up falling for him almost every time. he has a desire to understand all sides of an argument so his partner should understand that and not feel pestered.
venus in libra: he is quite charismatic and romantic, and he loves pleasing his partner. his partner shouldn’t have a problem with skinship as he might be clingy. he is very peaceful and avoids conflict in relationships, so a calm partner would suit him well.
mars in scorpio: communication is at utmost importance to him, and he might get confrontational despite his calm nature when he senses information is withold from him. he has his defenses up and loves to challenge himself, so an open partner who is also thoughtful would help him greatly.
lilith in gemini: he is curious and mischievous, and he might get critical at times or have god-complex. his partner should be able to ground him.
HONG JISOO
sun in capricorn: he treats love seriously, meaning when he is in a relationship, he wouldn’t be found flirting with others. he expects his partner to be devoted as he is. his partner should not get discouraged from the lack of his outward emotions, as he is a passionate person inside.
moon in taurus: he is both stubborn and emotional, and he might get protective. as he likes reliability and stability in his life, he wouldn’t be so comfortable with a partner who is spontaneous.
mercury in capricorn: a very independent partner may not feel comfortable aound him as he prefers to give orders than to take them. he is a perfectionist and his logical concept is his strong suit. he is also quite sarcastic and witty, and a partner who is able to play along would suit him. as he is a tendency to get quiet at times, a talkative partner would be appreciated.
venus in aquarius: he is likely to be attracted to those with intelligent mids and he likes unusual relationships, so a person who is unconventional would strike up his interest. he is quite easygoing.
mars in capricorn: he has a desire to stay in control, and he typically subdues and controls his anger. he is determined and has a strong drive to succeed, so a partner who plays victim wouldn’t be appreciated.
lilith in gemini: he might get critical and can be dishonest at times, so a passive partner wouldn’t be appreciated.
LEE JIHOON
sun in sagittarius: knowledge is important to him as it drives his attitude to life. he is playful, flirtatious and always in control. as he is open and straightforward himself, he appreciates a partner with the bravery to make the first move. he tries to expand his knowledge with everything he does, so a partner who will broaden his horizons would be compatible.
moon in aries: he is a protective lover, and isn’t afraid to show it. he is defensive and can take things very personally, so his partner should be able to take things easy. he would also want his partner to depend on him greatly, as his happiness derives from protecting them. a potential partner shoud be able to recognize that.
mercury in sagittarius: he loves learning new things and generally has an optimistic mindset. he has a good sense of humour and has a thirst for knowledge. a partner who is into philosophy would suit him as one who can help him get organized, as he he is disorganized.
venus in libra: he is charismatic and stylish, and he looks for a partner that is similar to him in those aspects. he loves pleasing his partner, so cheapskates on dates, any kind of rude or selfish behaviour, and monosyllabic communicators would be a great turn off for him.
mars in virgo: he is practical and goal-oriented, but at the same time can be restless and intolerant, and hypercritical of himself, meaning he needs a nurturing partner. he cares about the well-being of his partner so a careless partner would be ill-suited, as he would get easily flustered.
lilith in leo: he is prideful and wants to be admired, so a person who will boast about him would be compatible with him. he can get egoistical and melodramatic at times.
LEE SEOKMIN
sun in aquarius: he is unpredictable and innovative, and as confident as he seems on the outside, he feels as if he’s misunderstoon on the inside. his ideas and values might get a little bit overwhelming for others to comprehend, so a partner who isn’t confined to their personal views would be preferable. with that, he can openly communicate.
moon in cancer: he is quite sensitive and can be found doting to those around him. family is at high importance to him, so his partner should be family oriented. he has a wonderful intuition, but may act moody and irrationally due to the fact that he is insecure. his partner should also be able to help him in this area.
mercury in aquarius: he can get quite stubborn and impatient when people do not agree with him. he is both innovative and opinionated, so his partner should be able to handle his mood swings.
venus in aquarius: he feels comfortable the most when he is familiar, but he is inventive and unique at the same time, and would like for his partner to be able to partake in spontaneous events.
mars in libra: he thinks before he acts but still is quite indecisive, so his partner should be able to talk him through his decisions. if not, he may become secretive or passive-agressive.
lilith in leo: he likes femininity and being elegant, and he would hate a partner who cussed and swore. he is melodramatic at times, so his partner should be emotionally nurturing.
BOO SEUNGKWAN
sun in capricorn: love is a serious matter to him, and he wants a partner as committed as himself. he pays close attention t the details regarding to his partner.
moon in virgo: he appreciates organization and wants an ambitious partner just like himself, but he is prone to worrying, so his partner should also be able to emotionally nurtuting.
mercury in capricorn: he expects his partner to have a similar work ethic as he has. he is a humorous character and seeks that in a potential partner, a partner who doesn’t appreciat humor wouldn’t stand a chance with him.
venus in capricorn: he wants a relationship where he is respected, and might be attracted to financial stability. he is ambitious and charming, so he looks for a soulful and ambitious partner just like him.
mars in aquarius: he isn’t shy to proclaim his love and probably prefers words rather than actions. he is creative about getting his way and is clever, but he is also calm and gentle. a loud nd/or aggressive partner woudln’t be appreciated.
lilith in libra: a public life is essential to him, as he can’t live without an audience and others. everything is just a glamorous desire for applause and accepting the love of a partner, family, friends and the entire world with him.
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Venus: The Goddess of Love
Venus rules all things beautiful in love, lust, and desire, so it only makes sense that this placement represents how you attract your lovers. This sign is where you express love in all types of relationships, such as family, friends, crushes, and significant others. When looking at compatibility between you and your love interest, combinations of both your sun and venus sign are essential to getting a better understanding of each other. Often times your venus and sun signs may be the same which in turn cause an ever bigger influence on your acts of love, but this may not happen every time. Venus rules Libra and Taurus which means both signs are associated with beauty, sensuality, and materialism. If you have Venus in Libra or Venus in Taurus these placements are comfortable here since the planets are in place with their ruler.
Venus in Aries: The admirable child-like spirit in Aries is no different in this placement. You attract your lovers with your ability to literally not give a fuck. You go after you want, no questions asked. You don’t like to waste time so anyone who plays games is getting cut off. Your actions are impulsive, almost selfish, actually very selfish, but this won’t be a problem to the person who really understands you. However, you will be attracted to many people since you get bored easily and can fall in and out of love quickly. Overall, you exude confidence, are not afraid to stand out, and you want things to be simple & direct.
Venus in Taurus: Loyalty and constant devotion are your greatest attributes with friends and family. In love you seek security and comfortability often ruling out those who are fake and filled with drama. You enjoy fine dining and fine living. You are what they call husband or wifey material because of your desire to settle down and build a home with someone, kind of like Cancer. Change does not come easy to you so you may find yourself stubborn and set in your ways when it comes to love. The strong appetite for sensual gratification in the bull reaches from the dining table to the bedroom, and they will make sure you are taken care of in both matters.
Venus In Gemini: It’s a no brainer that the way to your heart is through your mind. This Gemini is fun, flirty, and just wants to enjoy life in a number of ways. For this reason, you can only be tied down by someone who is capable of keeping you interested for, essentially, the rest of your life. It’s important for you to truly get to know a person before getting into a relationship. Otherwise, if you are not stimulated you will move on quickly. There is never a dull moment with you and you just want to be surrounded by other individuals who share this same interest. In matters of love, the dual personality shows a good side and a dark side, but this combination creates a unique, and inspiring individual.
Venus in Cancer: You are attracted to those who need you. You aim to nurture and provide an emotional blanket for your loved ones. Your intuition runs high and you use this to better take care of your partner. Although this can make them vulnerable because you might meddle into their lives to make sure you are needed. Depending on your sun or moon sign, you can be quite emotional and hurt easily but hide it well. Like any Cancer, once you get into your shell it’s hard to get you out of it. You are loyal, a great listener, and create families out of your friends. Overall, you have a big heart and this makes you very attractive.
Venus in Leo: In order for your heart’s desire to be satisfied you need to be loved at all times. Sex isn’t even all that important to you if you’re not being made the center of attention. Feelings of insecurity rise for the Leo when you are not told that you are different or special. You don’t want to be like everyone else, you want to stand out. You are loyal, generous, and love hard. You have a lust for life and surround yourself with colorful people. Your sunny personality makes you fun to be around. You live a lavish life and show off your relationships and hope to be shown off the same way. It’s important for your loved ones to express their love to you in grand gestures because you expect the royal treatment.
Venus in Virgo: Like Cancer, you want your loved ones to need you and appreciate you, this makes you happiest. You work quietly into the heart of others, taking your time getting to know people by observing them. Punctuality is important to you and you take this into matters of love as well often focusing on practical aspects of a relationship rather than being romantic. You don’t ask for much in a relationship but your partner might find it hard to satisfy what you want because you focus on small details that one can easily ignore. The pickiest of all signs, the person who wants the key to your heart has to be perfect or at least close to it. Is that too much to ask? Maybe, but you’re not willing to settle for anything less.
Venus in Libra: The world you envision is one of peace and serenity. You treat others the way you’d want to be treated. When all is well, both you and your partner are putting in the same effort into the relationship. Because of how dependent you are, you will most likely always be in a relationship. You’re all about fairness. You don’t like to stir the pot so you might conform to other people’s needs just to be likable, especially to stronger personalities that make you feel threatened. However, your personable appearance and amazing social skills cause you to be attractive to others no matter what you look like. A hopeless romantic you enjoy all the beauties of romance and want your love story to be like a fairytale.
Venus in Scorpio: Intense. Intense. Intense. The dark and mysterious qualities of Scorpio are strong in this placement since their actions are affecting their love interests. In relationships, you want all or nothing. You want someone to surrender to you and give you control. In return, you give your full attention and extreme loyalty. Consequently, you are jealous and possessive, although this can be flattering to some people. Secretive, you don’t give much away about yourself, but want to know every detail of your significant other. You can read your friends as plain as day because of how well you can pick up vibes of other people. Your strongest asset is that you are not afraid of change, in fact, you thrive on the transformation of change.
Venus in Sagittarius: Variety is the spice of life for you. You are always roaming, moving from one place to another, never really committing to anyone. Wherever you go you’re having a good time and searching for new experiences and knowledge. You’re fun to be around because of your free spirit, open-mindedness, and ability to entertain. You take pride in what you know and can be quite judgmental, but you’re very honest. You’re attracted to people of different cultures because you want to learn their different backgrounds and experiences. In love you just want someone who is going to partake in all your adventures and not ask too much of you since you value your freedom and independence.
Venus in Capricorn: Reserved and humble, you attract others by keeping to yourself. Those who are willing to get to know you will do so. Very goal oriented and smart, you hope that your friends are as hardworking as you. In relationships you want what is cautious and safe since you are willing to build a home and family with this person. Social class is important to you so you care about how much money you make and might marry into wealth if possible. Although you are guarded in public, you are able to get in tune with your emotions in private. You’re affectionate and can express your love in various ways. Creating partnerships comes natural to you and people will know you to be loyal and responsible.
Venus in Aquarius: No restrictions, no emotions, no fucks given. You basically do what you want and won’t settle for anything less. In love, however, you are committed and willing to compromise to your lover’s needs, only if they are worth it. But until then, if you are single, you are sufficient all on your own. You enjoy being eccentric and attract your crushes by making yourself stand out. Ahead of your time, you feel as though you have visionary thoughts. You are able to inspire others, although, at first they don’t understand you, but once they do, you’ve already moved on to the next thing. Your loved ones appreciate your oddities and quirks since this is what makes you special to them. Direct and honest you try to be as real as possible.
Venus in Pisces: The type of love you seek is one that is soft hearted, empathetic, and a bit sensitive. You are intuitive and able to pick up the mood of others so you’re very understanding of people’s emotions. You are attracted to those who need saving or you yourself want to be saved. Loud and abrasive people make you uncomfortable because you suffer too many moods to be dealing with insensitive people. Because of how empathetic you may be, friends or lovers may take advantage of you since you can be afraid to say no. Feelings of insecurity rise when you are not being loved the way you wish to be. Since you are able to love people so deeply you want the same in return. Three words that sum you up: compassionate, mystical, and wistful.
#venus#venus sign#aries#taurus#gemini#cancer#leo#virgo#libra#scorpio#sagitarrius#capricorn#aquarius#pisces#all signs#venus in aries#venus in taurus#venus in gemini#venus in cancer#venus in leo#venus in virgo#venus in libra#venus in scorpio#venus in sagittarius#venus in capricorn#venus in aquarius#venus in pisces#first draft
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Henry Miller: Herakleion
Henry Miller
Herakleion
I had in my pocket a card of introduction to the leading literary figure of Crete, a friend of Katsimbalis. Towards the evening I found him in the cafe where the Germans had been hatching their Wagnerian machinations.
I shall call him Mr. Tsoutsou as I have unfortunately' forgotten his name. Mr. Tsoutsou spoke French, English, German, Spanish, Italian, Russian, Portuguese, Turkish, Arabic, demotic Greek, newspaper Greek and ancient Greek. He was a composer, poet, scholar and lover of food and drink. He began by asking me about James Joyce, T. S. Eliot, Walt Whitman, Andre Gide, Breton, Rimbaud, Lautreamont, Lewis Carroll, Monk Lewis, Heinrich Georg and Rainer Marla Rilke. I say he asked me about them, much like you would ask about a relative or a mutual friend. He spoke of them as if they were all alive, which they are, thank God. I rubbed my head. He started.oft on Aragon—Had I read Le Paysan de.Paris? Did I remember the Passage Jouffroy in Paris? What did I think of St. Jean Perser. And of Nadja of Breton? Had I been to Knossus yet? I ought to stay a few weeks at least—he would take me over the island from one end to another. He was a very hale and hearty fellow and when he understood that I liked to eat and drink he beamed most approvingly. He regretted sincerely that he was not free for the evening, but hoped to see me the following day; he wanted to introduce me to the little circle of literati in Herakleion. He was excited by the fact that I came from America and begged me to tell him something about New York which I found it almost impossible to do because I had long ceased to identify myself with that odious city.
I went back to the hotel for a nap. There were three beds in the room, all of them very comfortable. I read carefully the sign warning the clients to refrain from tipping the employees. The room cost only about seventeen cents a night and I became involved willy-nilly in a fruitless speculation as to how many drachmas one would give as a tip if one could tip. There were only three or four clients in the hotel. Walking through the wide corridors looking for the W. C. I met the maid, an angelic sort of spinster with straw hair and watery blue eyes who reminded me vividly of the Swedenborgian caretaker of the Maison Balzac in Passy. She was bringing me a glass of water on a tray made of lead, zinc and tin. I undressed and as I was pulling in the blinds I observed two men with a stenographer gazing at me from the window of some outlandish commercial house across the way. It seemed unreal, this transaction of abstract business in a place like Herakleion. The typewriter looked surrealistic and the men with sleeves rolled up as in commercial houses everywhere appeared fantastically like the freaks of the Western world who move grain and corn and wheat around in carload lots by means of the telephone, the ticker, the telegraph. Imagine what it would be like to find, two business men and a stenographer on Easter Island!, Imagine how a typewriter would sound in that Oceanic silence!
I fell back on the bed and into a deep, drugged sleep. No tipping allowed-that was the last thought and a very beautiful one to a weary traveller.
When I awoke it was dark. I opened the blinds and looked down the forlorn main street which was now deserted. I heard a telegraph instrument clicking. I got into my things and hurried to the restaurant near the fountain.
The waiter seemed to expect me and stood ready to translate for me into that Iroquois English which the itinerant Greek has acquired in the course of his wanderings. I ordered some cold fish with the skin 'on it and a bottle of dark-red Cretan wine. While waiting to be served I noticed a man peering through the large plate-glass window; he walked away and came back again in a few minutes. Finally he made up his mind to walk in. He walked directly up to my table and addressed me in English.
Was I not Mr. Miller who had arrived by plane a few hours ago? I was. He begged leave to introduce himself.
He was Mr. So-and-So, the British Vice-Consul at Herakleion. He had noticed that I was an American, a writer.
He was always happy to make the acquaintance of an American. He paused a moment, as if embarrassed, and then went on to say that his sole motive for introducing himself was to let me know that as long as I remained in Crete I was to consider his humble services entirely at my disposal. He said that he was originally from: Smyrna and that every Greek" from Smyrna was eternally indebted to the American people. He said that there was no favor too great for me to ask of him.
The natural reply was to ask him to sit down and share a meal with me, which I did. He explained that he would be unable to accept the honor as he was obliged to dine in the Qosom of his family, but-would I do him the honor of taking a coffee with him and his wife at their home after dinner? As the representative of the great American people (not at all sure of the heroic role we had played in the great disaster of Smyrna) I most graciously accepted, rose, bowed, shook his hand and escorted him to the door where once again we exchanged polite thanks and mutual felicitations. I went back to the table, unskinned the cold fish and proceeded to wet my whistle.
The meal was even lousier than at noon, but the service was extraordinary. The whole restaurant was aware that a distinguished visitor had arrived and was partaking with them of their humble food. Mr. Tsoutsou and his wife appeared for just a moment to see how I was faring, commented bravely on the delicious, appetizing appearance of the skinned fish and disappeared with bows and salaams which sent an electric thrill through the assembled patrons of Herakleion's most distinguished restaurant. I began to feel as though something of vast import were about to happen. I ordered the waiter to send the chasseur out for a coffee and cognac. Never before had a vice-consul or any form of public servant other than a constable or gendarme sought me out in a public place. The plane was responsible for it. It was like a letter of credit.
The home of the vice-consul was rather imposing for Herakleion. In truth, it was more like a museum than a home. I felt somewhat hysterical; somewhat disoriented.
The vice-consul was a good, kind-hearted man but vain as a peacock. He drummed nervously on the arm of the chair, waiting impatiently for his wife to leave off about Paris, Berlin, Prague, Budapest et cetera in order to con[1]fide that he was the author of a book on Crete. He kept telling his wife that I was a journalist, an insult which normally I find hard to swallow, but in this case I found it easy not to take offense since the vice-consul considered all writers to be journalists. He pressed a button and very sententiously commanded the maid to go to the library and find him a copy of the book he had written on Crete.
He confessed that he had never written a book before but, owing to the general state of ignorance and confusion regarding Crete in the mind of the average tourist, he had deemed it incumbent upon him to put down what he knew about his adopted land in more or less eternal fashion. He admitted that Sir Arthur Evans had expressed it all in unimpeachable style but then there were little things, trifles by comparison of course, which a work of that scope and grandeur could not hope to encompass.
He spoke in this pompous, ornate, highly fatuous way about his masterpiece. He said that a journalist like myself would be one of the few to really appreciate what he had done for the cause of Crete et cetera. He handed me the book to glance at. He handed it over as it it were the Gutenberg Bible. I took one glance and realized immediately that I was dealing with one of the "popular masters of reality," a blood-brother to the man who had, painted "A Rendezvous with the Soul." He inquired in a pseudo-modest way if the English were all right, because English was not his native tongue. The implication was that if he had done it in Greek it would be beyond criticism. I asked him politely where I might hope to obtain a copy of this obviously extraordinary work whereupon he informed me that if I came to his office in the morning he would bestow one upon me as a gift, as a memento of this illustrious occasion which had culminated in, the meeting of two, minds thoroughly attuned to the splendors of, the past. This was only the beginning of a cataract of flowery horseshit which I had to swallow before going through' the motions of saying good-night. Then came the Smyrna disaster with a harrowing, detailed recital of the horrors which the Turks perpetrated on the helpless Greeks and the merciful intervention of the American people which no, Greek would ever forget until his dying day. I tried desperately, while he spun out the horrors and atrocities, to recall what I had been doing at this black moment in the history of Greece. Evidently the disaster had occurred during one of those long intervals when I had ceased to read the newspapers. I hadn't the faintest remembrance of any such catastrophe. To the best of my recollection the event must have taken place during the year when I was looking for a job without the slightest intention of taking one.
It reminded me that, desperate as I thought myself then to be, I had not even bothered to look through the columns of the want ads.
Next morning I took the bus in the direction of Knossus.
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How exactly to Become More Than Only Friends With a Girl
In some circumstances, equally companions may have knowledge with verbal supplementation; other occasions, only one partner is well-versed, as we say, on the topic. It could also be manufacturer new to both partners. Some couples might want to take part in dirty back-and-forth, while others may possibly would rather set up a speaker and a listener. There is nobody proper way with dirty talk; using it for better intercourse requires equally lovers to talk their desires and needs.
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A person may start the conversation frankly: "Are you thinking about filthy speak?" Then, the discussion may have more detailed. Is there certain phrases - for body parts or the intercourse act, as an example - the spouse is particularly fond of or uneasy with? Some lovers like mild filthy talk, sticking mostly to remark and explanation, while others like more serious forms such as for example name-calling. Some fundamental surface rules must be presented beforehand. Whatever a man does, it's important to not jump in too deep also fast. He may choose, then, to stick to observation and information to begin with. He can describe what he enjoys in the moment and how he feels. "You look lovely," "I enjoy how Personally i think inside you," "I load you therefore well" - they are warm and spicy descriptions somebody might like to hear.
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While it's most certainly not for anyone, some couples such as a little (or a great deal of) domination/submission in the mix. One part of that is giving or receiving orders. The principal spouse shows one other what direction to go, being really direct about what he or she wants. "Now put your mouth. I would like one to trip me" - they are just a couple of examples. Associates might trade functions all through playtime, or may choose to remain in a single role. Not everybody is relaxed with this, however many persons love being named names during intercourse, and these names vary from more gentle but hot phrases like "poor girl/boy" or "dirty girl/boy" to more aggressive, derogatory terms. While some people find it degrading, the others - particularly people who want to have a submissive role and offer as a kind of delight vehicle due to their associates - could get a joy using this unmatched by other forms of dirty talk. It should be noted tha
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Begin with cuddling and sexual caressing or massage. Getting the human body, licking and suckling may show up her thermostat. Carefully manipulate the nipples of her chest with your language and then repeat with a small ice dice in orally while cleaning top inside thighs and external labium along with your hand. As she starts to answer gradually transfer down the torso together with your lips and tongue. Gently---I repeat---gently lick and suckle the external labium and genital opening only passing over the clitoris in a cleaning carry or wasting on it.
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R.K.Singh In Conversation with Abnish Singh Chauhan
A poem rests
on brain signals imaged
in words and silence
one decodes with dog sense
smelling twists and turns in rhythm
that turn it prophetic. (A Poem)
The journey of poetic composition, as the poet says himself, begins with the poet and ends with the reader for which requires verbal competency, intelligence and constructive environment in order to code and decode the ‘signals’ of creative beauty in a forceful and effective manner. Since the poet is the first reader and critic of his poetic piece, he should have the capacity to articulate and interpret his own words in prose in order to judge the suitability, profundity and authenticity of his ‘signals’ in the form of emotions, ideas and images for inter-personal and intra-personal communications. T S Eliot also emphasized this in The Music of Poetry; however, in the coercive manner: “No poet can write a poem of amplitude unless he is a master of the prosaic.” Therefore, Eliot’s statement may or may not be true in the making of a poetic piece; but it is certain that command over prose is an additional advantage to the poet, particularly in conversation with himself as well as with the lovers of literature on a public platform; and it is indispensable when the poet also performs as critic for efficient and captivating criticism. Here is such an Indian poet of communicative sensibilities and critic of glittering language— Ram Krishna Singh (1950). Prof Singh, who is the contemporary of Niranjan Mohanty, Hoshang Merchant, R. C. Shukla, Gopi Krishnan Kattoor, D. C. Chambial, I. K. Sharma, Gopal Honnalgere, I. H. Rizvi, D. H. Kabadi, P. C. K. Prem, etc., knows how to raise and answer the questions about the world and its problems and how to incorporate information along with emotion in poetry and criticism in order to disseminate love and light to all the human and non-human entities of the Mother Earth through purity, charity, sacrifice and suffering: “I gave you my love/ what more do you seek/ to lighten the night/ my beloved/ let the fire burn /and consume the moth.”
Recently retired as Professor (HAG) from Indian School of Mines (now IIT), Dhanbad, Jharkhand, India, R. K. Singh has authored more than 160 research articles, 175 book reviews and 40 books, including his latest poetry collection You Can’t Scent Me and Other Selected Poems (2016) from Authorspress along with his e-book Writing Editing Publishing A Memoir (2016). He has been conferred with many awards and honours across the world. He resides at J/4 (W), Rd. No.1/Block B, Vastu Vihar Colony, N H 2, Govindpur- 828109 (Dhanbad), Jharkhand and can also be contacted at [email protected]
N.B: The profile of R K Singh is separately published in author’s corner. It may be clicked and viewed HERE.
ASC: Sir, you were born, brought up and educated in Varanasi— the seat of light and learning from the ancient times. How did it play its role in the formation of a silver tongue poet and rational critic in you?
RKS: A silver tongue poet? Hm… Thanks for the compliment Abnish. Varanasi is a complex city, a city of contradictions, even if it has ceased to be what it used to be in my formative years in the 1950s and 60s.
The city did influence my mental habits unconsciously, since I was born and raised in the lanes and by-lanes of its interior, with values such as freedom to think and pursue ones interests, tolerance for differences, broadness and openness of the mind, uninhibited sexpression, etc. The conscious creative influences must be the result of meeting many people, visiting various places, and experiencing life differently at different points of time. Also, reading and observing led to serious critical thinking, writing, debating, and corresponding. I had opportunities to work part-time and be independent to do whatever I liked. Besides writing poetry in Hindi, I had opportunities to reflect on contemporary issues and express myself in a couple of Hindi dailies and weeklies long before my graduation, just as I would actively participate in youth activities, debate and speech competitions, attend musical concerts, art exhibitions, poets’ meet etc and publish reports/reviews.
The city engaged me better than the irrelevant routines of the high school, intermediate and degree colleges. The teachers disappointed me most, from childhood to boyhood to adulthood.
I must also admit that I was not uninfluenced by the chaos and crisis of the 1960s. As a youth I had no hope, no faith, no trust in the system, nor did I know the direction of life. It was living in constant tension about the future. In fact it was a lonely struggle vis-à-vis the glaring waste of time in college and university. Given my anti-establishment attitude, I was not confident that I could ever get a job or have a career. Failure and frustration loomed large. Poetry was the only solace.
ASC: Sir, you started your career as a journalist. The job of a journalist always requires honesty, hard work, quality writing and the courage to tell the truth. But, just after a year or two you changed your job and adopted the teaching profession, which also demands proper understanding of the subject matter, wide interest, helpful attitude, love for learning, skills of classroom management and a desire to make a difference in the lives of the taughts. How much are these experiences constructive in communicating your vision and mission in your literary works and academic writings?
RKS: As I said, as a student I had very poor opinion of my teachers. I had no interest in teaching as a career, but Professor S M Pandeya, who supervised my M A thesis, insisted that I should not be drawn to the glitters of journalism, and rather take up teaching as a profession. He even helped me get the first job as a lecturer in a college in Pulgaon by writing to O P Bhatnagar, who later became a life-long friend. I was 21 years old, wanted to do Ph D in American literature from Nagpur or Bombay university, but the management won’t let me go to meet the faculty there. I resigned the job in less than six months and came back home.
After a year (or more) of unemployment—a period I spent with Dr B Chakroverty, learning the finer nuances of literary criticism (he was writing a book on Tagore, the dramatist)—I joined the District Gazetteers Dept in Lucknow as Compilation Officer. The U.P. Government’s job entailed revising and updating the old gazetteers.
I ignored the offer of working in IIT, Kanpur as a junior lecturer. It came just around the time I had made up my mind to work in Lucknow.
In the mean time, I was also selected as a journalist trainee in The Press Trust of India, New Delhi, and was keen to join the position. However, my IAS bosses in the Gazetteers Dept (as also my parents) dissuaded me, but seeing my enthusiasm, they released me, with the kind option to return to the post if not satisfied at PTI within three months.
I was happy to join my dream profession, despite monetary loss and hardships of living in Delhi. But soon I discovered I was a misfit there. I couldn’t suffer the envious colleagues and their dubious designs and practices, and so, I finally decided to quit, as soon as I got an offer from the newly set-up Royal Bhutan Polytechnic, Deothang (E. Bhutan).
I was back to teaching, which now appeared more convenient, but very demanding. The direction of my career was clear: I would professionally practice ELT/ESP, but personally pursue literature, especially Indian English poetry, and promote new/less known poets and authors by reviewing their books, writing articles about their work, and editing books and journals. It was challenging but rewarding. Learning by doing, you know. It is this that made me known all over, from a small place like Dhanbad. Indeed, all this needs a lot of labour and commitment, as you rightly observed.
ASC: Sir, how do you summon your emotions and experiences for composing a poem or other work of art? Do you respond to urgency, stipulation or passion for creative writings, which seems as real, animated and impressive as the rest of the world?
RKS: To tell you the truth, most of the poems I wrote have simply happened. The poetic mood, short-lived as it is, would help create from anything, anywhere, anytime. I can’t write a poem deliberately on a theme on demand. Nor have I been interested in didactic or moralistic writing. My emotions and experiences are, therefore, genuine and sympathetic readers can relate to them.
Personally speaking, a poem’s composition helps me get a release from myself as much as from others or whatever agitates me. I feel free by unburdening myself in verses; I experience an inner relief, a freedom from the built-up pressure, tension, unease, or whatever, you know. If it turns out to be a good poem, it offers a pleasing sensation, rest to my disturbed nerves, and peace to my inner being.
ASC: Sir, you have been regularly writing poetry with social, cultural, spiritual, ethical, mythical, erotic and aesthetic perceptions for the international audiences with the universal lessons of truth, love, compassion, pity, peace and harmony. How do you secure and evolve selfhood along with worldhood in your poetry amidst the fast changing societies and their value-systems?
RKS: Thanks for summarizing well the essential nature of my poems. I, too, think it is broad enough to appeal to audiences everywhere. Human nature is same, whatever culture, society or country, and I have tried to express what people experience universally. I don’t seek the sublime or great or ideal, you see. I am rooted in my basic nature, which has been evolving. When effective, one can physically feel it, I mean, the poet’s emotion or psychosexual sensation, and partake of his self.
There is poetry in the subtlety of awareness, as you will also agree. I feel myself in words that acquire their own existence in the process of making, in a form I may have no control over, given the pressure or urgency to express the momentness of a moment as lived, perceived, or experienced in the continuity of memory. My selfhood extends to worldhood in my expression in a timeless frame of a moment inhering the pressure of the struggle for survival, search for meaning or purpose in an otherwise very negative, frustrating, disappointing, painful existence, or social reality, if you so like.
ASC: Sir, when you talk about (even question) sense, silence, solitude, love and sex amidst the sound and serenity of pebbles, stones, rivers and the flora and fauna of the mother earth, you imbibe and inculcate man and Nature in your poetry, which is clearly recognized and understood by your readers. In spite of that, why do you rhetorically proclaim- ‘I Do Not Question’ (1994) and ‘You Can’t Scent me’ (2016)?
RKS: The answer lies in your question itself: it’s rhetorical. Philosophically, a straight forward observation of the Purush-Prakriti or Yin-Yang consciousness vis-à-vis the monotony of existence. I seek meaning of the mystery of life, its reality and pains through the eyes of Nature, metaphors of self-contradictions, intrinsic dissonance, or search for harmony and identity.
Having said this, let me also add a word of caution. I’m very poor at titling my poems. In fact I don’t believe in giving a title to my poem, nor do I give a title while composing it. Titles tell too much. In my volume of Collected Poems, you’ll find no title, unless extremely necessary for identification or other structural reasons (as in Haiku/Tanka sequences).
Without titles, the poems give readers more freedom to make their own meaning and relate to their own experiences, different from the poet’s.
ASC: In one of your interviews, you have exhorted— ‘As a poet, if I use human passion, including the sexual, I try to transmute and transmit memories of experience, possibly more with a sense of irony than erotic sexuality.’ Hence, do you think that your sexual passion expressed in your poetry is meant only for creating a sense of irony— a popular technique of poetic communication or it also stands for something else?
RKS: Sex is eternal, unchanging over time and culture. It is the basic principle of life and creation. It’s expression, therefore, calls for celebration. It is central to social harmony, emotional pleasure, and inner peace. It is not devoid of sensibility. The metaphors of sex reveal our social consciousness, our inner mind, our hidden reality. Our sexual passion is the mirror reflecting the spiritual passion; the body reveals the soul. One needs to appreciate it and relate to the pragmatics of my communication. While Jindagi Kumari’s ‘The Poetics of R.K. Singh’ is a helpful essay in this respect, Raghuvanshmani Tripathi’s ‘The Asexuality of Sex: A Study of Sex Expresion in R.K. Singh’s Poetry’ should enlighten a sympathetic reader further.
ASC: You wrote the paradox in your poem ‘Degeneration’— ‘I can’t change man or nature, nor the karmas/ now or tomorrow they all delude/ in the maze of expediency and curse/ stars, fate, destiny, or life before and after/ degenerating the mind, body, thought, and divine.’ Do they survive because they bring degeneration, and ultimately death? If so, no hope, no dream, no joy and no future?
RKS: As a poet I would prefer to refrain from interpreting my own poem for readers. I would rather leave it to them to make sense of it anyway they like. I don’t question unless it is deliberately personally offending…But, let me see it again. Firstly, the hang of the poem ‘Degeneration’ was added when I posted it online, or submitted it to some e-journal, I don’t remember now. Secondly, it was my own ‘degeneration’ – physical, mental, financial and spiritual—that afflicted my mood in June 2014 when I wrote it. Things were looking blue—the envious hostility of my junior colleagues who freely distorted facts and told outright lies, the deteriorating health condition, the bad time predicted by astrologers, and tall claims of prophet friends, tarot-card readers and fortune tellers on the net, seeking money to turn the wheel of time in my favour. Their expectation from me had in-built irony in that I couldn’t compromise my realization that best things in life come free. But people are as they are—out to grab wealth, favour, profit, promotion, whatever—by cheating, telling lies, weaving dreams, or stabbing in the back. They suffer. I can’t change my nature, and my adversaries can’t change their nature. Ultimately we are all subjected to our own karmas, our destiny, or the forces of Nature. No use cursing or abusing, if we delude ourselves. The plain truth is: if we are dishonest to ourselves, we suffer all round degeneration in the maze of our own making. The poem, however, preaches nothing, except showing a condition. The readers can draw their own conclusions.
ASC: Sir, what is your favorite technique (s) of protest against the anomalies/ grave issues of the world, party created by highly advanced machines and electronic devices and partly by man himself?
RKS: As I told you just now, portray the picture, or create the image of what obtains, and leave the rest to the readers’ imagination, or decision, if you like. No advice, no judgment. New technologies have thrown up new issues, new norms, new values. The important thing now is to communicate, to interact, to talk about whatever issues or values bother you as an individual. You can’t live by your prejudices or traditional ideas alone, if you hope to be relevant. The new age demands new language, new expression, new metaphors. You will discover the new technique to protest too. But, let’s come out of the shackles of our own making, first.
ASC: Sir, how do you characterize your Haiku and Tanka? Are they influential and beneficial to the masses to a large extent or only popular among and practiced by some selected people, especially the poets and a few others?
RKS: Let’s be clear about certain basics. Haiku is a difficult genre. It is miniature poetry, a sketch of a moment’s experience, to be filled out by the reader. It does not use sentences, nor the devices of Western poetry, nor shares its use of the sentimental and simile—preferring always contact with the real—the things of Nature and the spirit of Nature herself, the perception experience. It is down to earth; expression of what is—what you see and hear and touch; the thing itself, not a poetic or literary or philosophical view of it. In haiku we don’t elaborate or explain, only sketch our experience of the moment. ‘Haiku moment’ is the great secret.
It took me years of preparation and practice to be able to give expression to sudden or subtle moments of awareness into the nature of passing time. As H.F. Noyes commented, reading some of my haiku, simplicity and lightness should be the aim of all haiku, and detachment is desirable in our way of looking at things-- detachment, selflessness, and a sense of our oneness with all life. It is achieving the union of our minds with nature, or being in league with the five elements. It is essentially spiritual. There is God’s abundance to feel in the three lines. The briefer you become, the nearer you are to silence.
I have tried to express sensuousness in haiku. After all, it’s not just seeing and hearing that offer us reality, but touch as well.
Another Japanese poetry form, Tanka is a typical lyric poem of feeling and ideas, often involving figurative language, not used in haiku. You can say it is like a ‘long haiku’ in five lines. It addresses varied aspects of contemporary living. It shares the basic qualities of all successful poems.
But if you’re a poet, writing haiku and tanka too much can suppress some of your true poetic instincts, even if their practice should improve the quality of expression of Indian English poets. It will ensure a sense of rhythm and prevent waste of words. Many of my poems have haiku and tanka structure as stanzas.
ASC: W H Auden said, ‘Poetry makes nothing happen. One is deluded if one believes that one can actually preserve the world in words, but one is just playing games if one doesn’t try.’ Do you agree with him? If yes, why; if no, why not?
RKS: I don’t know the context in which Auden said this, but I, too, doubt poetry can make anything happen. It can’t mould a society by itself. It has no utilitarian function. As I said elsewhere, it can at best create some awareness, hone some finer feelings, present some specialist perceptions, reflect one’s mind and soul, remain part of cultural activities and a form of literary communication. But it can’t make anything happen.
Personally, I don’t practice poetry with any idealistic notion. Nor do I share the view that poetry can teach one about ethics, morality, history, politics, or revolution. It is no means for social salvation either. It might assimilate, inhere or portray a degenerating situation, but it can’t change it. My poetry commits no such obligation. Nor can poetry or criticism become a basis for societal reform.
ASC: Sir, you have been associated with the editorial activities, evaluation work of research projects and book reviews throughout your academic/literary career. Most of the times, it is observed that the authors/ researchers manipulate (also copy, cut and paste) ideas and concepts and produce them in their works. How do you, as a critic, examine and respond to such works?
RKS: What you say is true. It is indeed very disappointing that there is so much ‘recycling’ of material going on in the name of research. Scholars tend to practice short-cuts, but it is the job of the guides/supervisors and seniors to help them improve their language and literary abilities, particularly research writing skills, and make them read, interpret and evaluate the original texts. If the seniors are badly trained, their scholars will depend on, what you call, manipulation of all sorts.
To minimize this, scholars are now expected to publish research papers in standard national/foreign/Thomson-Reuter listed journals before submitting their theses just as the teachers are considered eligible for promotion only when they have publications in standard journals. We need to be sympathetic but tough in this respect. Let’s hope things improve in the years ahead.
ASC: Sir, your poetry has been translated into Italian, Japanese, Chinese, German, French and a few other languages of the world. Translation (also other creative works) is not an easy task. It requires proper understanding of the language, its socio-cultural references, trends and tendencies along with the mind and motives of the author. How much is it effective and satisfactory when the readers are less engaged and little interested in the translated works?
RKS: My poems have been translated not only into Italian, Japanese, Chinese, German and French, but also into Greek, Spanish, Portuguese, Irish, Turkish, Romanian, Crimean Tatar, Bulgarian, Slovene, Croatian, Korean, Arabic, Farsi, Serbian, Esperanto, Hindi, Punjabi, Tamil, Kannada, and Bangla. I hardly know any of the translators personally, but the availability of my poems online has helped me reach out to a larger audience. The translators must have negotiated the difficulties you mention—I can’t comment, for I do not know all these languages (except Hindi).
The problem with most of us is that we don’t read. We don’t care to appreciate others, except ourselves. We don’t bother to study and critique the fellow-travelers but expect from them to read and write about us. Additionally, because we write in English, some of us in the academia expect the native speakers of English to pat us; we value their comments/opinions, and down-rate the observations by the fellow Indians, young or old. Also, most of us don’t encourage serious academic research in writings of the new or less known Indian English authors, self-published or published by the small press. In such a situation, how do you expect translations to be undertaken or studied?
We as academics need to change our attitude if we want to be accepted within our own country, first. We can reach out to a larger audience via translation only if we accept the fact that people’s tastes in poetry differ widely, and most Indian poetry in English is generally considered naïve or oversweet. Not many literary magazines will publish translation, unless it is professionally done and it reads as good as the original (or better than the original). We need to handle several issues academically first... Frankly, I have more problems with the self-styled experts and dons than with the poets and writers who spend their own hard-earned money to publish their books and bear the cost of sharing these with them.
ASC: Sir, often it is observed that the publication and publicity (including critical appreciation) of literature are based on contact, relation, power and position. How far is it true and how can genuine authors rise and grow in such circumstances?
RKS: Internet has proved a great blessing. The age of all those few great names in Indian English writing that have been repeatedly studied and explored for academic degrees is over. Now is the time to discover new names; study new authors, new voices. We have to prove that Indian English writing is viable, potent and worth studying; that there is something different about it; that it exists and is growing. Your Creation and Criticism is doing that, isn’t it?
The institution I worked in Dhanbad is not a mainstream university, yet I could make worldwide publications from early 1980s almost regularly, without any personal contact, relation, or support. I had no short cuts except hard work, clear vision, and passion. You can see from my List of Publications how many new poets (who are now relatively better known) I talked about, not only from our country but also from outside.
When no computer or laptop was available, I would type out my manuscripts on my old typewriter and approach editors and publishers without any backing. Slowly I made my impact, despite apathy from the likes of Ezekiel, Mahapatra, Shiv K Kumar, and all those Bombay poets. I could ruthlessly challenge anyone because I never needed them for any personal favour, whatever my position. They didn’t know ESP and I didn’t care to know them (or their writings) till I started the MPhil/PhD programmes at ISM.
In fact, I won’t have time, motivation, or leave from the institution, to attend conferences, or visit other universities and develop personal relationship, except through letters. Yet, I achieved what I wanted to, and reached the highest in the academic rung, without any personal contact. Believe me, a good work will speak for itself, if one is honest and working hard. Unfortunately, in most cases today, the quality is lacking, just as friends don’t want to see beyond themselves.
ASC: Sir, what is the role of social media, especially Facebook, Twitter and Whatsapp, in promoting and presenting literature online when a few followers and fellow-travelers (online friends) just ‘like’ (though most of the times ignore the post), remark- ‘congratulation/ best wishes/ wow/ thanks/ excellent/ amazing and so on’ or rarely make some serious comment (s) on the post?
RKS: I view social media as a positive development for poets and writers to be noted, even if the members’ ‘viewing’ does not necessarily mean a post’s ‘reading’, or their ‘likes’ hardly imply something serious, except a confirmation that they saw it. If no comments are offered, it does not mean the post has ceased to exist. One’s presence on Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, LinkedIn, Google+, Youtube, Tumblr etc helps in reaching out internationally. You can develop contacts here. The search engines record what you do on these sites. It’s a matter of time, opportunity, and a little bit of luck when your work is searched or discovered by interested readers, scholars, editors, or publishers.
ASC: Sir, now-a-days, prizes, awards, honors are more lucrative and valuable than before as per the mind-set of the public. If an author is conferred with them, he is accepted and appreciated not only in the literary arena but also out of it. How do you perceive the politics of prize and placement of the author in the present scenario?
RKS: It is no doubt motivating to be honored with some prize or recognition. Better keep from it, if it comes with politics. It is also wasteful if it comes after paying money, for whatever reasons.
However, if the mainstream media – TV, newspapers, learned societies, government bodies, or publishing houses—and academia ignore me or you, it doesn’t mean we don’t exist. It’s a matter of time till we are discovered by interested readers, researchers, scholars, editors, or publishers at home or abroad. We need to keep patience and continue to do what we are doing. This is what is the biggest reward in itself in the IT-dominated present time.
ASC: Sir, do you have any desire left to be fulfilled in the coming years or fully satisfied with your karmas of an author?
RKS: Though I have minimized my academic activities and stopped teaching after retirement last December, I continue to be active as a poet and wish to be recognized as such by the mainstream media and academia. As it is, I am afraid I continue to write from the margin, and I hope, in the days ahead more scholars and critics would study and explore my poetry to strengthen creation and criticism.
ASC: Sir, would you please share your opinions about Creation and Criticism— the literary e-journal of English Language and Literature?
RKS: The e-journal is a happy development in the annals of literary publications, both creative and critical, from India. Both you and Sudhir Arora have been doing very well as editors just as your claim to be friendly to researchers and scholars is justified. The site is indeed very friendly. Kudos. You have already broken away from the past and hopefully both of you will reach much higher.
Let the journal promote studies on native Indian English poets and authors who have been active for decades from the periphery and suffering colonialist treatment in a post-colonialist environment, even after the maturity of Indian English. Let them not find themselves deprived despite merits; let them not rot in anonymity or degenerate in the politics of belonging. Let us discover (or re-discover) the neglected and promising good poets and writers and contribute to the development of art and criticism from the perspectives of the 21st century scholarship. God bless.
ASC: Thank you very much for your interesting and enlightening conversation.
RKS: It’s my pleasure.
The Interviewer:
Dr Abnish Singh Chauhan (1979) is a bilingual poet, critic, translator and editor (Hindi and English). His significant books include Swami Vivekananda: Select Speeches, Speeches of Swami Vivekananda and Subhash Chandra Bose: A Comparative Study, King Lear: A Critical Study, Functional Skills in Language and Literature, Functional English, The Fictional World of Arun Joshi: Paradigm Shift in Values and Tukda Kagaz Ka (Hindi Lyrics). His deep interest in translation prompted him to translate thirty poems of B S Gautam Anurag under the title Burns Within from Hindi into English and some poems of Paddy Martin from English into Hindi. He can be contacted at [email protected].
Published in http://creationandcriticism.com/113.html
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BLITZKRIEG
Then there will issue from the stock which had remained barren for so long, proceeding from the 50th degree, one who will renew the whole Christian Church. A great place will be established, with union and concord between some of the children of opposite ideas, who have been separated by diverse realms. And such will be the peace that the instigator and promoter of military factions, born of the diversity of religions, will remain chained to the deepest pit. And the kingdom of the Furious One, who counterfeits the sage, will be united.
Nostradamus, Epistle to King Henry II
A luminary’s life as in narratology presupposes an ending worthy of himself or of a protagonist, amnesia issues from an anemic ending, memorability from the opposite, an otherwise good story fails should its coda be infelicitous to the mythos’ style, or be it that its banality dulls the senses enough to swiftly forget what was written in spite of what perhaps may have been authored with assiduous thought. In the main, an epilogue in real life or not must jar the witness or reader lest she neither think on nor talk of, if unworthy of remembrance, the ending itself. For example, a really fine book converts an ending into some climacteric which edifies the reader as in Victor Hugo’s Hunchback of Notre-Dame where he writes, evoking love’s transcendence beyond mortality, ‘Quand on voulut le détacher du squelette qu’il embrassait il tomba en poussière’. Playwright William Shakespeare discovers tragedy alone to be the single panacea for a vendetta between two houses fraught with bloodshed, ‘For never was a story of more woe than this of Juliet and her Romeo’. Robert Sherwood’s character Myra in the film noir screenplay of Waterloo Bridge steps into an oncoming truck, years later a bereaved gentleman reads wistfully in a voice-over sequence a missive from his late inamorata, ‘I loved you, I’ve never loved anyone else, that’s the truth Roy, I never shall’.
Seeming ethereal, and something that recalls fatalism whose leitmotif typically expresses an abrupt departure of some kind by a beloved character, endings ought to eclipse their beginnings if only to teach a lesson based upon dramatic loss. Gleaned from another one of the author’s dearest films, Father O’Malley in 1944’s Going My Way shuffles off screen onto his next parish in the dark of Christmas Eve to disappear from the merrymaking and mellifluous sounds of Saint Dominic’s Church after forever changing the lives of its churchgoers for the better. Such it is that in fiction as in life no matter how treasured a person their value typically cannot be ascertained until deprivation reveals it, this is the queerness of the human condition and yet an important one to understand that without loss no lesson worth knowing can ever be learned which is oddly true with many of life’s vicissitudes. Loss epitomizes the genesis of empathy, it is the quintessential impetus to the solicitude for the welfare of others, and the meaning of life generally issues from it, from an acute and sudden emptiness in time and space, from the enigmatic loss of control to disrupt nature’s determinism, and from where the dialectic between love and loss is finally known.
The concept of love must be entertained to fully appreciate this intimation of loss wherein fondness greatly increases only after the fact. To begin, ‘Anyone who does not love does not know God, because God is love’ (1 John 4:8). The idea is not a panegyric to divinity but a cosmological truth, alas society in its infinite wisdom vulgarizes its usage to indifferently describe eros when its impression upon man or woman beggars description and makes meretricious any sort of explanation behind it. Here the author speaks of courtship, not the love of a parent nor sibling nor even the false kind of an evening’s diversion, for the latter is nothing other than a knee-jerk conquest at variance with the snug feeling from the arousal of ecstasy for another and not at all for oneself whose act binds two persons together ‘so that the two will become one flesh’ (1 Corinthians 6:16). The said emotion can be so remarkably intense, so mysterious, so heady, so otherworldly, that in absentia its toll may provoke suicide as in the literary, thespian, or cinematographic instances of star-crossed lovers above, a fact no less of how humans experience the world much differently than the animal kingdom animated by self-preservation.
In the chronicle of time has loss been wed to love in legends, tales, and folklore from which the epitome in some form or another entails sacrifice. ‘Greater love has no one than this’, Jesus imparted to the Apostles the night of his seizure, ‘that he lay down his life for his friends’ (John 15:13). The modest imitation of such selflessness in the vineyard of life includes austerity of a husband foregoing his wants and needs to pleasure and please his wife or vice versa, the asceticism of a mother to nurture her child’s growth, the stoicism from a suitor apostatizing love if it means his soulmate shall be better for it, or the repudiation of material things to serve the needy. The eudaemonism of sacrifice, to do for others more than for thyself, carries with it great weight in Christian theology, an attribute so contrary to the ethics of atheists and agnostics who confound humans with primates in their defence of sin and vice. The loss of self becomes the loftiest reaches of enlightenment as Jesus sermonizes, ‘For whoever would save his life would lose it, and whoever loses his life for my sake will find it’ (Matthew 16:24-25). Saint Augustine who enlarges upon this sacrifice of incurvatus in se observes how it outwardly manifests through the appearance of unalloyed love for a wife, husband, offspring, sibling, parent, friend, or neighbour.
For the Apostles their discipleship ended with the literal imitation of Jesus’ sacrifice whose act colours the identity of a true Christian for it is anticipated our pain shall heal rather than victimize another. The irrationality of it, far different than paganism’s cultic or ritual offerings to appease a deity as ransom, testifies to the superiority of a principled man versus the hedonism of the uncouth, to the reason why humans are not merely animals, or to the fact his self originates in the image of Father. What escapes Christian dilettantes is how, on the subject of the Crucifixion and persecution of the apostles thereafter, the crux of the doctrine pivots on sufferance. ‘If any man would come after me’, Jesus said, ‘let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me’ (Mark 8:34; Matthew 10:38; Luke 14:27; Matthew 16:24). A fellowship of twelve brothers, however agonizing it would later be, bespoke this omnipotent truth that the Church woefully communicates to its patrons today.
The word ‘sacrifice’, antagonistic to if not obsolete verbiage in a liberal culture of instant sexual gratification and material consumption which paints Jesus as a puritanical killjoy, occurs 271 times in the bible as a thanksgiving to Father, an atonement, or disavowal of selfish pleasure. The term has fallen into disuse or worse has become anathema, stigmatized by the egocentrism of the stupid, by the profligacy of spendthrifts, or by the superficiality of glamorous lifestyles hawked by tabloids, even war sacrifice from patriotism grates on the vox populi. Society derides the virtues of self-denial and abstinence, these are not only absurd by normative groupthink but commonly accepted as wrong, a true microcosm of how estranged people are from goodness. Jesus died for our sins (1 Corinthians 15:3), as much as he laid down a messianic template (John 13:14-15), however a great many Christians sensationalize the former believing themselves inoculated against comeuppance from sin if they partake in churchgoing, and belittle the latter in virtue of their arrogance and cupidity.
Widespread aversion to pain abreast of freewheeling promiscuity and gluttony have transformed sacrifice to embody the meekness of a hapless fool, a characteristic more craven than intrepid. This same narrative idolizes the Resurrection with passing regard for the Passion and Crucifixion as the theological ascendency of patripassianism suggests Jesus was not crucified at all but instead it was God. No man could be brutally scourged, disfigured, crucified, and skewered nor should any semblance of it be expected from armchair Christians, hitherto their cowardice remains unbecoming of our family. Were it not for the bloodletting and bloodsport by the Pharisees, for a memorable ending, for such ghastly torture, for an unforeseen departure, the world would believe Jesus an agitator and charlatan insofar as nothing would be reaped if it were unsown and such that the Son spoke to his disciples, ‘[U]nless a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a seed; but if it dies, it bears much fruit’ (John 12:24). It is said 53 minutes from where there rings 53 bells such a seed shall be planted once more.
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