“All we have in the world is memory. And a good deal of it. But it comes in flashes, like lightening in a storm; some dimly lit while others are strikingly bright. Always followed by thunder that either rolls softly or shakes world like an earthquake, reminding us to remember. And to listen. Life is not lived by day and put away by night. It is breathing. And every second it breathes is a chance to remember how we used to be and return to all that was good once more."—Excerpt from JMM. (8-4-15)
I come again tomorrow, for there is much to say. So much more. I spent much today on thought for there are a great many things coming that brings with it grief. To that end, I forgot myself and my word to you. You read my last great joy, the birth of my son. But soon things will grow darker. Things I wish not to remember, but if one does not remember, there can no legacy be. Take your rest as I take my leave.
I regret to inform everyone that I am trimming my threads.. Below are the list of threads that I’m -pretty sure- I’m KEEPING. If I change my mind I’ll let you know on an individual basis. Any that aren’t on this list (excluding threads I already don’t owe) have been dropped. I do apologize but much like Sarah a couple weeks ago, I’m doing what I feel I need to do to keep my sanity. Thank you! Also, if you owe me a thread you don’t want to do, feel free to drop it! Absolutely no pressure on my end ^-^ I promise!
This is the Commander. Moments ago, this ship received word of a Cylon attack against our home worlds is underway. We do not know the size or the disposition or the strength of the enemy forces. But all indications point to a massive assault against Colonial defenses. Admiral Negala has taken personal command of the fleet aboard the Battlestar Atlantea following complete destruction of Picon Fleet Headquarters in the first wave of the attacks. How, why - doesn’t really matter now. What does matter is that as of this moment, we are at war. You’ve trained for this, you’re ready for this. Stand to your duties, trust your fellow shipmates, and we’ll all get through this.
The Seduction of Ingmar Bergman | Sparks (Ron and Russell Mael)
Conceptual images by Galen Johnson and Evan Johnson for a film version of Sparks’ “pop opera” The Seduction of Ingmar Bergman. The proposed film would be directed by Guy Maddin who helped stage the live performance at the Los Angeles FIlm Festival, and would star Peter Franzén as Bergman (although I’ve also seen Jason Schwartzman’s name mentioned in articles and interviews about this). Will this ever get made I wonder…
Sunlight streams on atlases, on cryptic stacks of dog-eared notes. Mulder spins idly in the leather chair Scully got for his birthday last year. She feels strongly about the celebration of birthdays, though she waves him off when asked what she wants for her own upcoming milestone. Fifty, it seems, is not sitting well with her. He has been in contact with someone about a rare translation of Galen, but it feels almost perfunctory. Frustrated, he picks up the cat winding around his ankles.
Down the hall, Scully soaks in a bath that leaves her skin a scalded pink below the water line. Many of her pleasures come with pain, a piece of self-revelation with which she is now comfortable. She has explored this extensively with Mulder, who still makes the requisite Catholic schoolgirl jokes on occasion, but keeps his psychologist’s trap shut on any deeper significance. Besides, he likes to trace the serpent on her back. She’s considered having it removed for years, but it would seem like lying.
The cat wanders into the bathroom and she clicks her tongue at him. When he approaches, she sees a Post-It stuck to his side. Scully reaches out and grabs it.
Roses are red Deoxygenated blood is not actually blue But since I’m colorblind I don’t know if that’s true
Mulder, straining to hear, high-fives himself when she laughs.
“Your Highness,” I heard a voice say to me. I looked to see Fëaluin standing beside me. I had hardly noticed him enter the tent.
“Yes, Fëaluin. What is it?”
“I came to see if there was anything you required, Your Highness,” he said softly. He barely looked at me as he bowed. I had not yet realized that time had changed so much. Fëaluin was no longer a childhood memory. He was a subject. Yet, in his face, I could still see him as one I shared many years.
“Do not bow to me, Fëaluin. I am still Thranduil. You need not be so formal.”
“I apologize, Thranduil,” he said. “But you do realize you are now ruler of Eryn Galen.”
“What is left of it,” I said harshly. I did not feel I was going to rule anything more than trees in an empty forest. “I do not wish to rule. I do not see any honor in it.”
“There are still elves to be led,” Fëaluin said as he sat down on a stool near the foot of my bed. “We cannot let this defeat us.”
“Have you no eyes to see? There is nothing of us. Five thousand strong reduced to twelve hundred. I have made widows of many including my own mother!”
“You did nothing, Thranduil, but fight,” he said raising his voice to mine. “It was King Oropher’s choice to take the charge. And we followed as it is our duty. You cannot hold upon yourself the fate that came to others. I lost my father, as well. My brother. But I cannot hold onto that. I have a wife. As do you. There is hope left.”
I thought about Êlúriel for a moment. I must have smiled as Fëaluin’s face seemed to brighten. I thought about out last night together and I reached inside my shirt and found her ring. It had not been lost. The feel of it took me to her face and to a time long before I was forced to become something for which I was ill-prepared.
I looked at my friend for what seemed a lifetime. We had become something I could hardly recognize. We had grown. I turned back to the rainfall. In that darkness, there was a fear I had never known existed. Our world was much changed and I knew it would never be as it once was.
“Hope,” I began. “We have that for now, Fëaluin.” I turned to him again and he stood up in anticipation, as if my mind were easily read. “When we return to Eryn Galen, you will be my head of council, if you will.”
Fëaluin seemed to glow at that moment. He smiled and bowed to me.
“It would be an honor, Your Highness.” As I had seen my father do many times before, I gave him wave and he took his leave. I walked over to my father’s chair where not long before he had given his most trusted soldiers their orders. I had stood beside it—the dutiful son of the great King Oropher. I sat down in his chair. I leaned back and watched the rain continue to fall. Everything inside the tent looked different now. It now all belonged to me.”–Excerpt from JMM (The Return Pt II.) 7-29-15