then responds like
Native American Sacajawea, sculpted from enduring obsidian, her bidden wisdom now a stone face covered by a veil of water – [READ FULL WORK] |
One smile, like lavender milk. One smile and the basin would teem with life once more, the perch would russet and skate in shoals through the green-cunning waters of the Nagara spillway, the lotuses would float in sutras above the lilies and the parrot-oleanders, the shapes of human torpedoes in lemon bathing suits would spring unbidden once more – swimmers in their millions! – and hot amazake would sweeten the mooring posts at the banks another time. But that is the music of all successful fables: they compel us to maintain the vital and barbarous delusion that resolution exists to reconcile the storm and cruelty of human sadness.
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The Earth speaks. Not in a petty language of tongues, lips, and lungs, but one of stone, trees, and smoke. It is our great inheritance that we may speak this language, as it is our forebears’ labor whose fruits we enjoy. It was nearly four thousand years ago when our ancestors on the banks of the Yellow River heard the quiet whispers from the Labyrinth. It did not come in the form of a prophet, nor of a mythical beast. Rather, it came to them in the humblest of ways: in the remains of their fires.
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From the extant fragments of Pediculopubis’ 108th Summative, dedicated to, and performed at court for, Clessidra V, last Divine Empress of Orgiastikon.
…that a voice, beauty when written for, is without all contour when it is left to speak alone… …a jewel in its setting, a clot of mud beyond… …when the liberating vowel too elongated trickles, seething, into the hourglass… [READ FULL WORK]
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The butlers were fake butlers and the spies were fake spies. For a time this held, and one knew that a spy was really a butler and a butler really a spy. However when lie had become truth and truth became lie, the spies disguised themselves in their own skin. England was a land of half fake and half true spies.
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POETRY
PROSE
PROSE
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to the emptiness, and the emptiness remembers, although it is almost gone, displaced not only by sun, but also by the multitude of sun’s kin: displaced by feathers, milk, and rings, by the creviced skin of the rhinoceros (in which dwell, however, splinters of emptiness still), displaced by the courses of fish through the ocean (which allows no emptiness at all, closing swiftly behind the goings of haddocks and sharks), displaced...
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