#thread. francis&adonis

[voxvulgi]

With his heart open and his imagination paralysed, Adonis has no clue what to expect of Francis. He only knows that Francis is not a vicious man, that although he wears the sun, he does not carry the illusion of being the centre of the universe. Francis is not a man who would put his own wants and needs above someone else's. Francis is not a man who would...insist. What did that even mean?

Adonis knew that his partner's reaction to his tears and pleas would be gentle -- as gentle as his fingers on the violin and his lips on Adonis' skin. But he did not expect for Francis' hands to pull him in, mould his head into the warm welcome of his chest. Francis' heart, which Adonis already knew to be a hearth full of embers, sheltered the last bits of Adonis' sanity for mere moments. The storm in his mind, the raging and rumbling of wrath promised to him since birth, all muffled and weakened by the simple proximity to Francis' heartbeat.

And then the lips came, careful and loving on Adonis' sweaty hair. These lips kissed him as though he was whole, as though he smelled like cologne instead of sweat and sex. And even then, with every possible expression of Francis' body that promised he cared and understood, the words uttered by Francis' rosy lips surprised Adonis enough to sway him off his feet.

Yes, Adonis was on his knees as he listened to the words. I see you, Francis said. I will keep this close to my heart, he promised. But most of all--

You will be safe.

You will be safe.

A claim so giant, so grand that nobody could possibly guarantee it. Safe, a warmth and steadiness Adonis hadn't felt for a single day of his life.

And yet, when Francis said it...Adonis could do nothing but believe him.

And it wasn't a sense of being safe from what they did. It wasn't a sense of being safe from his feelings for Francis, sudden as they may be. On the contrary, Francis ensured that Adonis felt safe in what they did, in his feelings for Francis. He wouldn't be safe the moment Francis stepped out of this room or this house; rather, he felt safe here and now, with his head pressed against Francis' gigantic heart.

Somehow, fear and storm and poison all melted away, leaving Adonis' psyche with nothing but the residual love and appreciation you would expect from a morning-after. His fingers squeezed Francis' hands, and his eyes gazed through his lashes to catch Francis' sight. "I need you to know...that your touch is the best thing my body has ever felt," he confessed-- because Francis deserved to know. "I need you to know...that my family isn't aware of...my type. I need you to know that as much as I wish I could love my wife, I don't. I most likely never will." Although his voice was still wet, his face was drying, his eyes gleaming. "I need you to know that, from the depths of my heart, you feel like a fairytale. Being forbidden from you doesn't make me any less infatuated with you. I hope you know that...although every part of my body wants to consume you, my appreciation for you is not purely selfish."

            ⋆ ✰ ⋆ ─── a continuation from this post, for @voxvulgi .

         𝐈𝐅 𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒, 𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘 𝐈𝐓 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐈𝐍 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐀 𝐌𝐎𝐕𝐈𝐄 �� no, like a music box, dancing and dancing until the gear stops turning, and the music draws to a stop. The room smells of perfumed sweat and stale sex — and already, Francis knows that he and Adonis both know the rules of this game. They play the part of criminals, and now must cover up the crime that was committed simply by existing, for daring to feel. For daring to —

     His mouth is slightly parted and his expression dazed. If he dare say the word ‘love’ now, if he dare even think it — what might happen next? The script has been written out for them — and to go against it would either be very foolish, or very brave — but neither of them will dare step out of this room hand in hand. There will be no climactic performance in which Adonis leaves his home and his wife to pursue the unknown. Francis knows this, because he also knows that while the prospect of love runs deep, fear might run deeper still. The thought of falling from grace, reaching for his golden cage as he plummets from it flightless — it’s a terrifying prospect.

       So, what happens should one wake up from a dream to find it still in his grasp, hovering just on the edge of waking up, of harsh reality. Can one exist in a world where they know that they’ve lost love? What happens if the glass slipper isn’t offered to the princess? What happens if the prince hesitates on true love’s kiss? What happens if they both decide it’s just too hard? What kind of story follows. Francis doesn’t want to know. He’s always loved fairytales far too much for reality to get in the way.

     Only...

     Adonis’s hand is soft against his, gentle as he’d been with the keys on the piano the night before, and Francis can’t help but allow his long, cool fingers to curl around the warmth that his lover promises with such a touch — even knowing that it’s a promise that cannot be kept.

     He watches, almost still as Adonis — still unclothed, still beautiful — tries to slip into the veneer of ‘son to be proud of’ or, perhaps it is ‘the perfect husband’. And Francis should seize the moment and fight for love, as all great heroes do. He can still hear the music passing Adonis’s parted, kiss-swollen lips, his Adam’s apple bobbing with each note tugged from him. He can still see the way that he’d shone in the dim light like a god. Francis can still feel that body pressed so intimately to his — taste his skin, feel his body give in as it had fallen apart in Francis’s arms. Where he belongs.

      Adonis makes his plea, and Francis can feel his chest heave with the weight of his heart. His chest has been too heavy for such a long time now. He’s carried the world for so long, and he just wants to put it down. To put it down and go back to bed — to cradle Adonis and smile rather than shed tears that they’ve found something divine that feels like the greatest secret of the Universe.

     His hair is still a mess, wild with blond curls and it feels wrong to have to play a part before he’s had a chance to put himself together. He just wants to hold the man crying so desperately to just let the mask drop. Adonis has only just stood up, and Francis reaches up, pulling him back down and cradling his head against his chest, against his wrecked heart — because he’s already been so vulnerable that there’s no turning back now. “I see you,” he says, pressing his lips to a mess of hair, “You don’t have to be sorry. For a moment, we were somewhere else; but now we’re here. I will keep this close to my heart, and you will be safe.”

[voxvulgi]

an Adonis starter for @prophecyfated​

It wasn’t often that Adonis and Rose had guests staying over. Of course, they had a guest room, but that was only a formality. All in all, their house was significantly smaller than their parents’ lodgings. (Still, larger than what most people their age could afford. If people their age could afford a small villa near central Birmingham to begin with.) Guests, particularly family friends, would always book a hotel room: They could easily afford it, and it was their own, private space. Unfortunately, Francis’ flight was so last-minute and the season was so busy that he had to stay his first night in England in Adonis and Rose’s guest room.

Having guests over always made Adonis nervous regardless of who they were, but his anxiety especially spiked when the guest was a family friend. Francis was no friend of Adonis’ family – his parents knew Rose’s – but it still felt dangerous to have him around. Any mistake Adonis made might as well be a sample under a microscope, and whoever was looking would be reporting their findings to anybody in their circle who would listen. Despite Rose’s attempt at quenching Adonis’ fear (“He’s as much a softie as you are.”) Adonis couldn’t shake his anxiety off.

Ultimately, he thought that maybe if he were a little tipsy when Francis arrived, he wouldn’t be too nervous to speak. So by Tuesday sundown, Adonis had had a nice glass of whiskey and had requested wine to be had with dinner.

The horror re-settled in when, as Adonis’ chauffeur left for the airport to pick up Francis, Rose called and informed him she’ll be late due to internship-related tasks. She’d have to miss dinner – originally a dinner for three. She was leaving Adonis to dine alone with their guest. Did she do it on purpose? Had Rose, for some reason, decided she wanted to hollow out Adonis’ stomach and plant infinite spikes on his skin? Did she even have any tasks she needed to get done? Why would she leave Adonis alone to tend to a guest? A family friend? A fellow upper-class boy who’d be his parents’ pride and joy, and much better at it than Adonis could ever hope to be, no doubt? Did Rose want Adonis to hate himself? To look at this supposedly “soft” man, have a conversation with him over steak and wine, and learn of all the ways he fell short? Was this some sort of punishment?

Adonis spent all his waiting time sat on the couch, tearing at the skin around his nails, wondering what it would feel like to ditch. What if he went to bed early, claimed to be sick? The cook and housekeeper would take care of Francis well enough. He wasn’t even Adonis’ guest. He was Rose’s. She’d be the one to blame if he felt unwelcomed. She—

“Sir, Smith called to say he and your guest will arrive in fifteen minutes. Shall I start setting up the tab—”

“Yes,” Adonis said quickly, interrupting the cook mid-sentence. The sooner this dinner happened, the sooner Adonis’ stomach could stop knotting itself. “But please, keep my portions small. I don’t feel well.”

[jeanmarie-khayat]

Discover the ancient Afqa waterfalls known as Apheca or Afeka which means source. It is located in the mountains of Lebanon, about 20 kilometres from the ancient city of Byblos. It is the site of one of the finest waterfalls in the mountains of the middle east, which feeds into the Adonis river known as Abraham river. You can wander into the immense natural amphitheatre where the river emerges from a large limestone cave in the cliff wall which stores and channels water from the melted snow of the mountains before releasing it into springs and streams below.At Afqa, several watery threads flow from the cave to form numerous cataracts, a scene of great beauty.The cave has over two miles (three km) of known passageways inside. In Greek methodology, Adonis was born and died at the foot of the falls in Afqa. The ruins of the celebrated temple of Aphrodite Aphakitis are also located there. Sir Richard Francis Burton and Sir James Frazer further attribute the temple at Afqa to the honouring of Astarte or Ishtar (Ashtaroth). The remains of a Roman aqueduct that carried the waters of the River Adonis to the ancient inhabitants of Byblos are also located here. Marvin H. Pope identified the home of El in the Ugaritic texts of ca. 1200 BCE, described as "at the source[s] of the [two] rivers, in the midst of the fountains of the [two] deeps", with this famous source of the river Adonis and Yammoune, an intermittent lake on the other side of the mountain, which Pope asserted was closely associated with it in legend. @escape_intothewild 📷 #escape_intothewild #afqa #afqawaterfall #afkawaterfalls #akoura #aakoura #Lebanon #beirut #hiking #hikinglebanon #hikingtrail #hikingadventures #hikingevent #adventureseeker #adventure_time #adventure #sunset #lebanonhiking #lebanonmountains #lebanonactivities #lebanonhikingtrail #photography #landscapephotography #bluesky #blueplanet #mountains #nature #naturephotography #trees #forest (at Afqa Waterfall) https://www.instagram.com/p/CAYhkyZJaL3/?igshid=iv9r7yhu7hz1

[ebaeschnbliah]

THE  APPLETREE  ON  THE  GREEN  WALL

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ON APPLES, ROSES, MAGPIES AND THE ELEPHANT IN THE ROOM

Several times in this story Jim Moriarty has been connected to magpies. The seal on the envelope, the music, cackling birds, the wedding table cards, Sholto's MISS ME card ... and this birds flying away from the appletree behind John are definitely magpies as well. The bitds on the wall at the wedding though are not solely magpies. There are other birds too. Birds with forked tails like swallows. I tried to capture as much of the wedding birds as possibel for compaarison.

The appletree on the green wall with the red apples and all the magpies flying away from it is a very interesting detail. A lot has already been written about apples. No need for any more of that stuff one could say.

Well, maybe ... maybe not.

A green apple lies on the table of John's bedside table in ASIP

A red apple bears the marks IOU carved by Jim Moriarty

Does this mean the red apple is a symbol for Jim like the green one is a symbol for John?

JOHN OR JAMES .... SAINT OR SINNER ?

In dhristian mythology the apple is heavily coded with immortality, temptation, sexuality, sin and forbidden knowledge. 'Apple' and 'evil' even share the same latin name ... malus. This fits nicely for Jim Moriarty - the sinner man - one would think. Well, it's not that easy.

In greek mythology the apple is sacred to Aphrodite the goddes of love. The tree of life bears an golden apple and of course there is the famous apple Paris of Troy gave to Helena to choose the most beautiful woman in the world. To throw an apple at someone was meant as a declaration of love and to catch that apple was taken as a sign of acceptance. Apples are also connected to eternal youthfulness and are a symbol of fertility.  (Source)

So, maybe Jim isn't the 'red apple man' after all? What about:

JOHN AND SHERLOCK ?

As @longsnowsmoon5 pointed out (X) in the UNAIRED PILOT John's lonly flat is shown drenched in green light whereas 221b Baker Street is heavily colored in a redish pink. Is the red apple actually connected to Sherlock? Let's see:

THE RED APPLES ARE ALREADY THERE IN 221b

Jim doesn't bring the apple with him. He enters 221b and takes one of the apples from the bowl on the table. Without asking .... like Magnusson takes the olive in HLV. Jim takes it, he carves it with his pocket knive, he tastes it and then he stabbs it right into the heart. It looks like Jim kills the apple. Then he leaves the mistreated apple behind lying on Sherock's chair.

I don't think anymore the red apple symbolizes Jim. I think the red apple is Sherlock. And what Jim does to the apple .... does he want to do the same to Sherlock? But there are more things that connect Sherlock to the apple..

THE MAN WHO DOESN'T LIKE NOT KNOWING

The apple is the forbidden fruit of the tree of knowledge. Sherlock is a man who doesn't like not knowing. This is stated in TEH as well as in TAB. Sherlock wouldn't wait until someone offers him such an apple of knowledge .... he would pick it himself before anyone else could. :)

A PERFECTLY LOCKED HOUSE

An apple is a wonderful example for a thoroughly locked room or house. The Empty Houses at Leinster Gardens have no windows and the door no knob. Perfectly locked indeed.

There's a little house, five littel rooms inside and five brown boys dwelling there. No window, now door that leads inside or out. If you wanna visit them you have to eat the house.       (Old Apple riddle  my own translation)

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THE CASE OF THE DEAD APPLE

 In Appledore there is also an apple. One lonely apple all alone on a plate. Not a real apple. Not a green apple. It's not a real apple ... it's a work of art.

Is this how someone wants to have Sherlock? Isolated? Displayed like a trophy. Shown off for its beauty and uniqueness? But not alive. Just an object.

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APPLES IN MAROCCO TOO ?

The 'apples' on this plate are actually pomgranates. Although this fruit is not related to the apple it has great meaning in mythology too. In ancient Egypt it was considered a token of prosperity and ambition. In ancient greek pomgranates were believed to be sprung from the blood of Adonis and therefor known as 'fruit of the dead'. The special shape of the fruit is also seen as a surrogate for the poppy's narcotic capsule. They are symbols for abundance, fertility and good luck. In christian mythology the fruit is often displayed in the hands of Virgin Mary or the infant Jesus. Some Jewish scholars believe the pomgranate and not the apple was the forbidden fruit in the Garden of Eden.   (Source)

"Thy lips are like a thread of scarlet, and thy speech is comely: thy temples are like a piece of a pomegranate within thy locks." (Song of Solomon 4:3).

The pomgranate in this moroccan scene as a replacement for the apple is indeed an interesting and very fitting choice.

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APPLES HAVE FAMILY

The left picture shows an apple blossom, the right one is the blossom of 'Francis E. Lester' a rambling rose. Yes, both appletrees and roses are members of the same family ... of Rosaceae.

Mythology, religion, art, folklore ... for thousend of years roses have played a great role of symbolism in various cultures. Roses are linked to love and beauty, purity and innocence, desire and passion. The seafoam dripping from the body of Aphrodite as she is born turns into white roses. Her blood - shed for her wounded lover Adonis - gaave them the red color. Christians adopted the rose as a symbol of Mary, the mother of Jesus, and hence it became a symbol of motherhood and purity, But roses can also represent pain, suffering and death. The five petals symbolize the five wounds of Christ. To this day, white roses are traditionally worn at weddings in the belief they will bring happiness and security. The rose became the symbol of life -- its beauty a metaphorical representation of perfection, and the thorns a symbol for the difficulties one must overcome to reach that perfection. (Source)

And let's not forget the term 'SUB ROSA'

The Latin phrase sub rosa means "under the rose", and is used in English to denote secrecy or confidentiality, similar to the Chatham House Rule. The rose as a symbol of secrecy has an ancient history.  (X)

In The Six Thatchers Mary's true name is revealed. It is Rosamund Mary ... and the baby is given the same name. That in itself is more than strange. But be that as it may - fact is both characters share the same names. Double coding? And Mary uses her real middle name also as an alias. Triple coding then? That's indeed much, isn't it? Three times 'Mary'.

The most famous namesake for Mary is Holy Mary ... Virgin Mary (only one of many similarities Mary shares with Sherlock). As noted above the rose is a commonly known symbol for Holy Mary. The baby as well as Mary wear the name Rosamund. There is an actual rose with this name - Rosa mundi. That translates into 'Rose of the World' Molly says so during the christening. And - lucky me - this very rose grows in my garden. The rose Rosa mundi comes with a synonym - rosa versicolor - that means 'changing colors'

The elephant in the room - Mary having the gestation time of an elephant - Sherlock 'pregnant' with the revelation of his love for John - something big is coming - Mary giving life to Rosamund 'The Rose of the World' - little Rosamund the symbol for Sherlock's and John's love?    

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WHAT SHERLOCK HOLMES HAS TO SAY ON ROSES

What a lovely thing a rose is!"

He walked past the couch to the open window and held up the drooping stalk of a moss-rose, looking down at the dainty blend of crimson and green. It was a new phase of his character to me, for I had never before seen him show any keen interest in natural objects.

"There is nothing in which deduction is so necessary as in religion," said he, leaning with his back against the shutters. "It can be built up as an exact science by the reasoner. Our highest assurance of the goodness of Providence seems to me to rest in the flowers. All other things, our powers, our desires, our food, are all really necessary for our existence in the first instance. But this rose is an extra. Its smell and its colour are an embellishment of life, not a condition of it. It is only goodness which gives extras, and so I say again that we have much to hope from the flowers."

ACD, The Naval Treaty

What a lovely thing a rose is .... no, I don't think little Rosamund is coded negatively. And magpies deserting in flocks an appletree ripe with red fruits painted on a green wall seems to be a very hopeful sign as well.

(Blue fish and creepy clowns have to wait for another time)

January, 2017

Now I leave you to your own deductions.  Thanks @callie-ariane for the sripts.

@gosherlocked @isitandwonder @loveismyrevolution @tjlcisthenewsexy @tendergingergirl @monikakrasnorada @longsnowsmoon5 @yan-yae @the-7-percent-solution @skulls-and-tea @may-shepard @xistentialangst @impatient14 @mollydobby @shylockgnomes

[kvetchlandia]

Harry Redl     Allen Ginsberg Pointing at the Sir Francis Drake Hotel-Moloch, San Francisco     1958

I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness,     starving hysterical naked, dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking     for an angry fix, angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly     connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night, who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat up smoking     in the supernatural darkness of cold-water flats floating     across the tops of cities contemplating jazz, who bared their brains to Heaven under the El and saw     Mohammedan angels staggering on tenement roofs     illuminated, who passed through universities with radiant cool eyes     hallucinating Arkansas and Blake-light tragedy among the     scholars of war, who were expelled from the academies for crazy & publishing     obscene odes on the windows of the skull, who cowered in unshaven rooms in underwear, burning their     money in wastebaskets and listening to the Terror through     the wall, who got busted in their pubic beards returning through Laredo     with a belt of marijuana for New York, who ate fire in paint hotels or drank turpentine in Paradise     Alley, death, or purgatoried their torsos night after night with dreams, with drugs, with waking nightmares, alcohol and     cock and endless balls, incomparable blind streets of shuddering cloud and lightning in     the mind leaping toward poles of Canada & Paterson,     illuminating all the motionless world of Time between, Peyote solidities of halls, backyard green tree cemetery dawns,     wine drunkenness over the rooftops, storefront boroughs of     teahead joyride neon blinking traffic light, sun and moon     and tree vibrations in the roaring winter dusks of Brooklyn,     ashcan rantings and kind king light of mind, who chained themselves to subways for the endless ride from     Battery to holy Bronx on benzedrine until the noise of     wheels and children brought them down shuddering     mouth-wracked and battered bleak of brain all drained of     brilliance in the drear light of Zoo, who sank all night in submarine light of Bickford’s floated out     and sat through the stale beer afternoon in desolate     Fugazzi’s, listening to the crack of doom on the hydrogen     jukebox, who talked continuously seventy hours from park to pad to bar to     Bellevue to museum to the Brooklyn Bridge, a lost battalion of platonic conversationalists jumping down the     stoops off fire escapes off windowsills of Empire State out     of the moon, yacketayakking screaming vomiting whispering facts and     memories and anecdotes and eyeball kicks and shocks of     hospitals and jails and wars, whole intellects disgorged in total recall for seven days and     nights with brilliant eyes, meat for the Synagogue cast on     the pavement, who vanished into nowhere Zen New Jersey leaving a trail of     ambiguous picture postcards of Atlantic City Hall, suffering Eastern sweats and Tangerian bone-grindings and     migraines of China under junk-withdrawal in Newark’s bleak     furnished room, who wandered around and around at midnight in the railroad     yard wondering where to go, and went, leaving no broken     hearts, who lit cigarettes in boxcars boxcars boxcars racketing     through snow toward lonesome farms in grandfather night, who studied Plotinus Poe St. John of the Cross telepathy and     bop kabbalah because the cosmos instinctively vibrated at     their feet in Kansas, who loned it through the streets of     Idaho seeking visionary indian angels who were visionary     indian angels, who thought they were only mad when Baltimore gleamed in     supernatural ecstasy, who jumped in limousines with the Chinaman of Oklahoma on     the impulse of winter midnight streetlight smalltown rain, who lounged hungry and lonesome through Houston seeking jazz     or sex or soup, and followed the brilliant Spaniard to     converse about America and Eternity, a hopeless task, and     so took ship to Africa, who disappeared into the volcanoes of Mexico leaving behind     nothing but the shadow of dungarees and the lava and ash of     poetry scattered in fireplace Chicago, who reappeared on the West Coast investigating the FBI in     beards and shorts with big pacifist eyes sexy in their dark     skin passing out incomprehensible leaflets, who burned cigarette holes in their arms protesting the     narcotic tobacco haze of Capitalism, who distributed Supercommunist pamphlets in Union Square     weeping and undressing while the sirens of Los Alamos     wailed them down, and wailed down Wall, and the Staten     Island ferry also wailed, who broke down crying in white gymnasiums naked and     trembling before the machinery of other skeletons, who bit detectives in the neck and shrieked with delight in     policecars for committing no crime but their own wild     cooking pederasty and intoxication, who howled on their knees in the subway and were dragged off     the roof waving genitals and manuscripts, who let themselves be fucked in the ass by saintly motorcyclists,     and screamed with joy, who blew and were blown by those human seraphim, the sailors,     caresses of Atlantic and Caribbean love, who balled in the morning in the evenings in rosegardens and     the grass of public parks and cemeteries scattering their     semen freely to whomever come who may, who hiccuped endlessly trying to giggle but wound up with a sob     behind a partition in a Turkish Bath when the blond & naked     angel came to pierce them with a sword, who lost their loveboys to the three old shrews of fate the one       eyed shrew of the heterosexual dollar the one eyed shrew     that winks out of the womb and the one eyed shrew that does     nothing but sit on her ass and snip the intellectual golden     threads of the craftsman’s loom. who copulated ecstatic and insatiate with a bottle of beer a     sweetheart a package of cigarettes a candle and fell off the     bed, and continued along the floor and down the hall and     ended fainting on the wall with a vision of ultimate cunt     and come eluding the last gyzym of consciousness, who sweetened the snatches of a million girls trembling in the     sunset, and were red eyed in the morning but prepared to     sweeten the snatch of the sunrise, flashing buttocks under     barns and naked in the lake, who went out whoring through Colorado in myriad stolen     night-cars, N.C., secret hero of these poems, cocksman and     Adonis of Denver--joy to the memory of his innumerable lays     of girls in empty lots & diner backyards, moviehouses’     rickety rows, on mountaintops in caves or with gaunt     waitresses in familiar roadside lonely petticoat upliftings     & especially secret gas-station solipsisms of johns, &     hometown alleys too, who faded out in vast sordid movies, were shifted in dreams,     woke on a sudden Manhattan, and picked themselves up out     of basements hungover with heartless Tokay and horrors of     Third Avenue iron dreams & stumbled to unemployment     offices, who walked all night with their shoes full of blood on the     snowbank docks waiting for a door in the East River to open     to a room full of steamheat and opium, who created great suicidal dramas on the apartment cliff-banks of     the Hudson under the wartime blue floodlight of the moon &     their heads shall be crowned with laurel in oblivion, who ate the lamb stew of the imagination or digested the crab at     the muddy bottom of the rivers of Bowery, who wept at the romance of the streets with their pushcarts full     of onions and bad music, who sat in boxes breathing in the darkness under the bridge, and     rose up to build harpsichords in their lofts,

who coughed on the sixth floor of Harlem crowned with flame     under the tubercular sky surrounded by orange crates of     theology, who scribbled all night rocking and rolling over lofty incantations     which in the yellow morning were stanzas of gibberish, who cooked rotten animals lung heart feet tail borsht & tortillas     dreaming of the pure vegetable kingdom, who plunged themselves under meat trucks looking for an egg, who threw their watches off the roof to cast their ballot for     Eternity outside of Time, & alarm clocks fell on their heads     every day for the next decade, who cut their wrists three times successively unsuccessfully, gave     up and were forced to open antique stores where they thought     they were growing old and cried, who were burned alive in their innocent flannel suits on Madison     Avenue amid blasts of leaden verse & the tanked-up clatter of     the iron regiments of fashion & the nitroglycerine shrieks of     the fairies of advertising & the mustard gas of sinister     intelligent editors, or were run down by the drunken taxicabs     of Absolute Reality, who jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge this actually happened and     walked away unknown and forgotten into the ghostly daze of     Chinatown soup alleyways & firetrucks, not even one free     beer, who sang out of their windows in despair, fell out of the subway     window, jumped in the filthy Passaic, leaped on negroes, cried     all over the street, danced on broken wineglasses barefoot     smashed phonograph records of nostalgic European 1930s     German jazz finished the whiskey and threw up groaning into     the bloody toilet, moans in their ears and the blast of     colossal steamwhistles, who barreled down the highways of the past journeying to the     each other’s hotrod-Golgotha jail-solitude watch or     Birmingham jazz incarnation, who drove crosscountry     seventytwo hours to find out if I had a vision or you had     a vision or he had a vision to find out Eternity, who journeyed to Denver, who died in Denver, who came back to     Denver & waited in vain, who watched over Denver &     brooded & loned in Denver and finally went away to find     out the Time, & now Denver is lonesome for her heroes, who fell on their knees in hopeless cathedrals praying for each     other’s salvation and light and breasts, until the soul     illuminated its hair for a second, who crashed through their minds in jail waiting for impossible     criminals with golden heads and the charm of reality in their     hearts who sang sweet blues to Alcatraz, who retired to Mexico to cultivate a habit, or Rocky Mount to     tender Buddha or Tangiers to boys or Southern Pacific to the     black locomotive or Harvard to Narcissus to Woodlawn to the     daisychain or grave, who demanded sanity trials accusing the radio of hypnotism &     were left with their insanity & their hands & a hung jury, who threw potato salad at CCNY lecturers on Dadaism and     subsequently presented themselves on the granite steps of     the madhouse with shaven heads and harlequin speech of     suicide, demanding instantaneous lobotomy, and who were given instead the concrete void of insulin Metrazol     electricity hydrotherapy psychotherapy occupational therapy     pingpong & amnesia, who in humorless protest overturned only one symbolic pingpong     table, resting briefly in catatonia, returning years later truly bald except for a wig of blood, and     tears and fingers, to the visible madman doom of the wards of     the madtowns of the East, Pilgrim State’s Rockland’s and Greystone’s foetid halls, bickering     with the echoes of the soul, rocking and rolling in the     midnight solitude-bench dolmen-realms of love, dream of life     a nightmare, bodies turned to stone as heavy as the moon, with mother finally ******, and the last fantastic book flung out     of the tenement window, and the last door closed at 4 a.m.     and the last telephone slammed at the wall in reply and the     last furnished room emptied down to the last piece of mental     furniture, a yellow paper rose twisted on a wire hanger in the     closet, and even that imaginary, nothing but a hopeful little     bit of hallucination-- ah, Carl, while you are not safe I am not safe, and now you’re     really in the total animal soup of time-- and who therefore ran through the icy streets obsessed with a     sudden flash of the alchemy of the use of the ellipse the     catalog the meter & the vibrating plane, who dreamt and made incarnate gaps in Time & Space through     images juxtaposed, and trapped the archangel of the soul     between 2 visual images and joined the elemental verbs and     set the noun and dash of consciousness together jumping     with sensation of Pater Omnipotens Aeterna Deus to recreate the syntax and measure of poor human prose and     stand before you speechless and intelligent and shaking     with shame, rejected yet confessing out the soul to conform     to the rhythm of thought in his naked and endless head, the madman bum and angel beat in Time, unknown, yet putting     down here what might be left to say in time come after     death, and rose reincarnate in the ghostly clothes of jazz in the goldhorn     shadow of the band and blew the suffering of America’s naked     mind for love into an eli eli lamma lamma sabacthani     saxophone cry that shivered the cities down to the last radio with the absolute heart of the poem of life butchered out of their     own bodies good to eat a thousand years.

--Allen Ginsberg, “Howl- part 1,” San Francisco 1955-56

[jeanmarie-khayat]

Discover the ancient Afqa waterfalls known as Apheca or Afeka which means source. It is located in the mountains of Lebanon, about 20 kilometres from the ancient city of Byblos. It is the site of one of the finest waterfalls in the mountains of the middle east, which feeds into the Adonis river known as Abraham river. You can wander into the immense natural amphitheatre where the river emerges from a large limestone cave in the cliff wall which stores and channels water from the melted snow of the mountains before releasing it into springs and streams below.At Afqa, several watery threads flow from the cave to form numerous cataracts, a scene of great beauty.The cave has over two miles (three km) of known passageways inside. In Greek methodology, Adonis was born and died at the foot of the falls in Afqa. The ruins of the celebrated temple of Aphrodite Aphakitis are also located there. Sir Richard Francis Burton and Sir James Frazer further attribute the temple at Afqa to the honouring of Astarte or Ishtar (Ashtaroth). The remains of a Roman aqueduct that carried the waters of the River Adonis to the ancient inhabitants of Byblos are also located here. Marvin H. Pope identified the home of El in the Ugaritic texts of ca. 1200 BCE, described as "at the source[s] of the [two] rivers, in the midst of the fountains of the [two] deeps", with this famous source of the river Adonis and Yammoune, an intermittent lake on the other side of the mountain, which Pope asserted was closely associated with it in legend. @escape_intothewild 📷 #escape_intothewild #afqa #afqawaterfall #afkawaterfalls #akoura #aakoura #Lebanon #beirut #hiking #hikinglebanon #hikingtrail #hikingadventures #hikingevent #adventureseeker #adventure_time #adventure #sunset #lebanonhiking #lebanonmountains #lebanonactivities #lebanonhikingtrail #photography #landscapephotography #bluesky #blueplanet #mountains #nature #naturephotography #trees #forest (at Chîr Afqa) https://www.instagram.com/p/CAYcJZOpcDw/?igshid=dkwezuvn1a4j

[jeanmarie-khayat]

Discover the ancient Afqa waterfalls known as Apheca or Afeka which means source. It is located in the mountains of Lebanon, about 20 kilometres from the ancient city of Byblos. It is the site of one of the finest waterfalls in the mountains of the middle east, which feeds into the Adonis river known as Abraham river. You can wander into the immense natural amphitheatre where the river emerges from a large limestone cave in the cliff wall which stores and channels water from the melted snow of the mountains before releasing it into springs and streams below.At Afqa, several watery threads flow from the cave to form numerous cataracts, a scene of great beauty.The cave has over two miles (three km) of known passageways inside. In Greek methodology, Adonis was born and died at the foot of the falls in Afqa. The ruins of the celebrated temple of Aphrodite Aphakitis are also located there. Sir Richard Francis Burton and Sir James Frazer further attribute the temple at Afqa to the honouring of Astarte or Ishtar (Ashtaroth). The remains of a Roman aqueduct that carried the waters of the River Adonis to the ancient inhabitants of Byblos are also located here. Marvin H. Pope identified the home of El in the Ugaritic texts of ca. 1200 BCE, described as "at the source[s] of the [two] rivers, in the midst of the fountains of the [two] deeps", with this famous source of the river Adonis and Yammoune, an intermittent lake on the other side of the mountain, which Pope asserted was closely associated with it in legend. @escape_intothewild 📷 #escape_intothewild #afqa #afqawaterfall #afkawaterfalls #akoura #aakoura #Lebanon #beirut #hiking #hikinglebanon #hikingtrail #hikingadventures #hikingevent #adventureseeker #adventure_time #adventure #sunset #lebanonhiking #lebanonmountains #lebanonactivities #lebanonhikingtrail #photography #landscapephotography #bluesky #blueplanet #mountains #nature #naturephotography #trees #forest (at أفقا) https://www.instagram.com/p/CAYaf5QJkhD/?igshid=1pu634wtgjdw1

[jeanmarie-khayat]

Discover the ancient Afqa waterfalls known as Apheca or Afeka which means source. It is located in the mountains of Lebanon, about 20 kilometres from the ancient city of Byblos. It is the site of one of the finest waterfalls in the mountains of the middle east, which feeds into the Adonis river known as Abraham river. You can wander into the immense natural amphitheatre where the river emerges from a large limestone cave in the cliff wall which stores and channels water from the melted snow of the mountains before releasing it into springs and streams below.At Afqa, several watery threads flow from the cave to form numerous cataracts, a scene of great beauty.The cave has over two miles (three km) of known passageways inside. In Greek methodology, Adonis was born and died at the foot of the falls in Afqa. The ruins of the celebrated temple of Aphrodite Aphakitis are also located there. Sir Richard Francis Burton and Sir James Frazer further attribute the temple at Afqa to the honouring of Astarte or Ishtar (Ashtaroth). The remains of a Roman aqueduct that carried the waters of the River Adonis to the ancient inhabitants of Byblos are also located here. Marvin H. Pope identified the home of El in the Ugaritic texts of ca. 1200 BCE, described as "at the source[s] of the [two] rivers, in the midst of the fountains of the [two] deeps", with this famous source of the river Adonis and Yammoune, an intermittent lake on the other side of the mountain, which Pope asserted was closely associated with it in legend. @escape_intothewild 📷 #escape_intothewild #afqa #afqawaterfall #afkawaterfalls #akoura #aakoura #Lebanon #beirut #hiking #hikinglebanon #hikingtrail #hikingadventures #hikingevent #adventureseeker #adventure_time #adventure #sunset #lebanonhiking #lebanonmountains #lebanonactivities #lebanonhikingtrail #photography #landscapephotography #bluesky #blueplanet #mountains #nature #naturephotography #trees #forest (at Chîr Afqa) https://www.instagram.com/p/CAYKV6VJBih/?igshid=5k8nlkjg63d

[jeanmarie-khayat]

Discover the ancient Afqa waterfalls known as Apheca or Afeka which means source. It is located in the mountains of Lebanon, about 20 kilometres from the ancient city of Byblos. It is the site of one of the finest waterfalls in the mountains of the middle east, which feeds into the Adonis river known as Abraham river. You can wander into the immense natural amphitheatre where the river emerges from a large limestone cave in the cliff wall which stores and channels water from the melted snow of the mountains before releasing it into springs and streams below.At Afqa, several watery threads flow from the cave to form numerous cataracts, a scene of great beauty.The cave has over two miles (three km) of known passageways inside. In Greek methodology, Adonis was born and died at the foot of the falls in Afqa. The ruins of the celebrated temple of Aphrodite Aphakitis are also located there. Sir Richard Francis Burton and Sir James Frazer further attribute the temple at Afqa to the honouring of Astarte or Ishtar (Ashtaroth). The remains of a Roman aqueduct that carried the waters of the River Adonis to the ancient inhabitants of Byblos are also located here. Marvin H. Pope identified the home of El in the Ugaritic texts of ca. 1200 BCE, described as "at the source[s] of the [two] rivers, in the midst of the fountains of the [two] deeps", with this famous source of the river Adonis and Yammoune, an intermittent lake on the other side of the mountain, which Pope asserted was closely associated with it in legend. @escape_intothewild 📷 #escape_intothewild #afqa #afqawaterfall #afkawaterfalls #akoura #aakoura #Lebanon #beirut #hiking #hikinglebanon #hikingtrail #hikingadventures #hikingevent #adventureseeker #adventure_time #adventure #sunset #lebanonhiking #lebanonmountains #lebanonactivities #lebanonhikingtrail #photography #landscapephotography #bluesky #blueplanet #mountains #nature #naturephotography #trees #forest (at Afqa Waterfall) https://www.instagram.com/p/CAYI8pBpOM5/?igshid=71so1xj3a3ku

[jeanmarie-khayat]

Discover the ancient Afqa waterfalls known as Apheca or Afeka which means source. It is located in the mountains of Lebanon, about 20 kilometres from the ancient city of Byblos. It is the site of one of the finest waterfalls in the mountains of the middle east, which feeds into the Adonis river known as Abraham river. You can wander into the immense natural amphitheatre where the river emerges from a large limestone cave in the cliff wall which stores and channels water from the melted snow of the mountains before releasing it into springs and streams below.At Afqa, several watery threads flow from the cave to form numerous cataracts, a scene of great beauty.The cave has over two miles (three km) of known passageways inside. In Greek methodology, Adonis was born and died at the foot of the falls in Afqa. The ruins of the celebrated temple of Aphrodite Aphakitis are also located there. Sir Richard Francis Burton and Sir James Frazer further attribute the temple at Afqa to the honouring of Astarte or Ishtar (Ashtaroth). The remains of a Roman aqueduct that carried the waters of the River Adonis to the ancient inhabitants of Byblos are also located here. Marvin H. Pope identified the home of El in the Ugaritic texts of ca. 1200 BCE, described as "at the source[s] of the [two] rivers, in the midst of the fountains of the [two] deeps", with this famous source of the river Adonis and Yammoune, an intermittent lake on the other side of the mountain, which Pope asserted was closely associated with it in legend. @escape_intothewild 📷 #escape_intothewild #afqa #afqawaterfall #afkawaterfalls #akoura #aakoura #Lebanon #beirut #hiking #hikinglebanon #hikingtrail #hikingadventures #hikingevent #adventureseeker #adventure_time #adventure #sunset #lebanonhiking #lebanonmountains #lebanonactivities #lebanonhikingtrail #photography #landscapephotography #bluesky #blueplanet #mountains #nature #naturephotography #trees #forest (at Afqa Waterfall) https://www.instagram.com/p/CAX_qrfJkZ6/?igshid=1hcaffey0zrs3

[jeanmarie-khayat]

Discover the ancient Afqa waterfalls known as Apheca or Afeka which means source. It is located in the mountains of Lebanon, about 20 kilometres from the ancient city of Byblos. It is the site of one of the finest waterfalls in the mountains of the middle east, which feeds into the Adonis river known as Abraham river. You can wander into the immense natural amphitheatre where the river emerges from a large limestone cave in the cliff wall which stores and channels water from the melted snow of the mountains before releasing it into springs and streams below.At Afqa, several watery threads flow from the cave to form numerous cataracts, a scene of great beauty.The cave has over two miles (three km) of known passageways inside. In Greek methodology, Adonis was born and died at the foot of the falls in Afqa. The ruins of the celebrated temple of Aphrodite Aphakitis are also located there. Sir Richard Francis Burton and Sir James Frazer further attribute the temple at Afqa to the honouring of Astarte or Ishtar (Ashtaroth). The remains of a Roman aqueduct that carried the waters of the River Adonis to the ancient inhabitants of Byblos are also located here. Marvin H. Pope identified the home of El in the Ugaritic texts of ca. 1200 BCE, described as "at the source[s] of the [two] rivers, in the midst of the fountains of the [two] deeps", with this famous source of the river Adonis and Yammoune, an intermittent lake on the other side of the mountain, which Pope asserted was closely associated with it in legend. @escape_intothewild 📷 #escape_intothewild #afqa #afqawaterfall #afkawaterfalls #akoura #aakoura #Lebanon #beirut #hiking #hikinglebanon #hikingtrail #hikingadventures #hikingevent #adventureseeker #adventure_time #adventure #sunset #lebanonhiking #lebanonmountains #lebanonactivities #lebanonhikingtrail #photography #landscapephotography #bluesky #blueplanet #mountains #nature #naturephotography #trees #forest (at Mghâret Afqa) https://www.instagram.com/p/CAViBDVJDbv/?igshid=2yjdzbswblt4

[jeanmarie-khayat]

Discover the ancient Afqa waterfalls known as Apheca or Afeka which means source. It is located in the mountains of Lebanon, about 20 kilometres from the ancient city of Byblos. It is the site of one of the finest waterfalls in the mountains of the middle east, which feeds into the Adonis river known as Abraham river. You can wander into the immense natural amphitheatre where the river emerges from a large limestone cave in the cliff wall which stores and channels water from the melted snow of the mountains before releasing it into springs and streams below.At Afqa, several watery threads flow from the cave to form numerous cataracts, a scene of great beauty.The cave has over two miles (three km) of known passageways inside. In Greek methodology, Adonis was born and died at the foot of the falls in Afqa. The ruins of the celebrated temple of Aphrodite Aphakitis are also located there. Sir Richard Francis Burton and Sir James Frazer further attribute the temple at Afqa to the honouring of Astarte or Ishtar (Ashtaroth). The remains of a Roman aqueduct that carried the waters of the River Adonis to the ancient inhabitants of Byblos are also located here. Marvin H. Pope identified the home of El in the Ugaritic texts of ca. 1200 BCE, described as "at the source[s] of the [two] rivers, in the midst of the fountains of the [two] deeps", with this famous source of the river Adonis and Yammoune, an intermittent lake on the other side of the mountain, which Pope asserted was closely associated with it in legend. @escape_intothewild 📷 #escape_intothewild #afqa #afqawaterfall #afkawaterfalls #akoura #aakoura #Lebanon #beirut #hiking #hikinglebanon #hikingtrail #hikingadventures #hikingevent #adventureseeker #adventure_time #adventure #sunset #lebanonhiking #lebanonmountains #lebanonactivities #lebanonhikingtrail #photography #landscapephotography #bluesky #blueplanet #mountains #nature #naturephotography #trees #forest (at Mghâret Afqa) https://www.instagram.com/p/CAVPEQRp9-n/?igshid=3hn1e1q33ruy

[jeanmarie-khayat]

Discover the ancient Afqa waterfalls known as Apheca or Afeka which means source. It is located in the mountains of Lebanon, about 20 kilometres from the ancient city of Byblos. It is the site of one of the finest waterfalls in the mountains of the middle east, which feeds into the Adonis river known as Abraham river. You can wander into the immense natural amphitheatre where the river emerges from a large limestone cave in the cliff wall which stores and channels water from the melted snow of the mountains before releasing it into springs and streams below.At Afqa, several watery threads flow from the cave to form numerous cataracts, a scene of great beauty.The cave has over two miles (three km) of known passageways inside. In Greek methodology, Adonis was born and died at the foot of the falls in Afqa. The ruins of the celebrated temple of Aphrodite Aphakitis are also located there. Sir Richard Francis Burton and Sir James Frazer further attribute the temple at Afqa to the honouring of Astarte or Ishtar (Ashtaroth). The remains of a Roman aqueduct that carried the waters of the River Adonis to the ancient inhabitants of Byblos are also located here. Marvin H. Pope identified the home of El in the Ugaritic texts of ca. 1200 BCE, described as "at the source[s] of the [two] rivers, in the midst of the fountains of the [two] deeps", with this famous source of the river Adonis and Yammoune, an intermittent lake on the other side of the mountain, which Pope asserted was closely associated with it in legend. @escape_intothewild 📷 #escape_intothewild #afqa #afqawaterfall #afkawaterfalls #akoura #aakoura #Lebanon #beirut #hiking #hikinglebanon #hikingtrail #hikingadventures #hikingevent #adventureseeker #adventure_time #adventure #sunset #lebanonhiking #lebanonmountains #lebanonactivities #lebanonhikingtrail #photography #landscapephotography #bluesky #blueplanet #mountains #nature #naturephotography #trees #forest (at Afqa Waterfall) https://www.instagram.com/p/CAUgGa3pt71/?igshid=q7jmn2v51slc

[voxvulgi]

starfalled​:

      “My problem was the opposite,” Francis admits, drinking deeply from the glass of wine, letting it warm his throat and body with ease, “I deviated too much. I never…this is probably ridiculous,” he warns with a laugh. “I always felt as though music was a conversation. Certainly, I could play back Beethoven, Bach, Brahms, Chopin…but it didn’t add to the conversation. It didn’t say anything that hadn’t already been said. When they wrote their pieces, surely it must have come from their hearts, else the soul. No one is a replica of another person, so it stands to reason that what I had to say with my pieces was never the same as what they had first contributed.”

     Despite never having partaken in competition, his violin teacher had assured him that he was it, the real deal. He had sworn that doors would open for the heir of the house of Valois. Not his father’s doors, not doors held open on name and expectation…but theatre doors, orchestra doors, people who wanted him for him and his true talent. And in the end, he’d been too afraid to try. It feels like a stain on his tutor’s memory, now that he is gone.

     “However, I think both can be beautiful…classic and modern. Perhaps we should find time to test that theory.” He is good at playing violin on his feet, reading the room, casting harmonies like sunlight casts shadows. But if either of them are to play the part of the sun, Francis is certain that it would be not he, but Adonis, though it’s becoming increasingly clear that time with Rose has caused that light to be cast behind a cloud. A shame. There should be a place in the world for him, carved out if it must be.

     Questions linger just on the tip of his tongue. Too deep, too personal, too close. People of their standing, people like them…they don’t get close. It’s all polite conversation with an acceptable list of topics, a display of mannerisms that has been drilled into them since childhood, and no room for coloring outside the lines…whether in the colors of music, or the colors of a rainbow. And yet, Francis’ mind always seems to challenge everything, despite his misfortune of being the eldest son.

     Why Rose? Was it love, or had it been duty that brought them together? As for profession, had it been much the same? Who are you? he wonders, Who are you really? Backstage, when the curtain is drawn over the performance, before they call you back for the inevitable encore. Who are you when you can breathe?

Adonis and Francis were clearly thinking in oceans and speaking waterdrops. Or perhaps Adonis was overthinking yet again, dreaming of what he wished to be true, forcing it into the cracks of a real-world narrative. But the pauses he and Francis made were full and heavy, not frail or empty. And as much as Adonis’ subconscious urged him to believe Francis thought ill of him, his gut urged him to step closer. In the metaphorical sense, that is. He had a feeling that Francis was out of their world, born by mistake into the ruler-straight life of aristocracy, of money and status and no space for humanity.

That was it: no space. Francis seemed full to the brim with humanity, and so, this life had no space for him.

Adonis was so glad that the cosmos somehow plucked him out of France and placed him here, in Adonis’ house. Maybe this could be their space. If the world engulfing them didn’t wish to make any for them, they would live in this one. Grow in it, second by second, then hide their new leaves when they stepped out into the gray.

How silly of Adonis to think that.

Francis’ stay was only temporary. In a few days, he would be back in France. And somehow...being in this space by himself didn’t allow Adonis to grow at all.

Conveniently, the piano had wheels. Adonis could drag it close to the entryway, where Francis claimed the acoustics would be spectacular, but of course couldn’t fit it through. He left space for Francis to pass out of the living space and into the entryway, too, of course. Despite his silence, Adonis’ message must have reached Francis through his actions because the Frenchman was producing his violin from its case when Adonis turned to face him.

The feeling of premeditated loss faltered, joy taking its place.

They were about to play.

“Let me...” Adonis strode across the room to bring over the piano stool. Thankfully, it was not a bench. He would have needed help with that.

“I’ll play Tchaikovsky. I’d like to see you...balance that out.” With something as bright as yourself. “Do you need a chair, or do you prefer to play standing?”