Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: a waste of desert sand;
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Wind shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
Look what @abovethesmokestacks did for me!!!!! A “Lighthouse” moodboard!!!!
Isn’t it just the best and gorgeous and wonderful and beautiful and perfect??? It really is perfect. *swoon* Thank you, my love!!! 😘😘😘 I am honored and flattered and I wish I wish I could squeeze you!!!
He’s a sort of puppy/moose hybrid sort of guy, with the big hazel eyes and floppy hair and gangly limbs.
Despite his six foot four inch muscle bound frame, he is one of the sweetest people you could ever meet.
He is the most compassionate person in the world, with a soul that’s brighter than a lighthouse. He’s always the first to reach out to sympathize, to offer words of comfort or a hug. He connects to people on a level that barely anyone else can comprehend.
When he smiles, it’s usually genuine, so you can’t help but smile back at him. And when he laughs, its usually because he’s happy and you can hear it echoing with joy.
He’s unnervingly loyal to his family. He can and will lay down his life to save the ones he loves. He gives and gives and gives, never asking for anything in return.
He was force fed demons blood that was supposed to taint his heart. He was put on a path of darkness, to become the Boy King and later on Lucifer’s vessel. He was supposed to be some kind of evil monster.
Sam Winchester is anything but a monster. He’s made mistakes, but that’s because he’s so achingly beautifully human. Everything he has ever done was to try and make the world a better place. He just wants to make sure that people are happy and safe, that someday he may have a normal life with his beloved brother and his best friend.
So don’t you dare try to say that Sam Winchester is not important.
I’ve never forgotten him. Dare I say I miss him? I do. I miss him. I still see him in my dreams. They are nightmares mostly, but nightmares tinged with love. Such is the strangeness of the human heart. I still cannot understand how he could abandon me so unceremoniously, without any sort of goodbye, without looking back even once. The pain is like an axe that chops my heart.
TANZEE!! Here’s “It brings out your eyes.” Prompt list here if you want to send me one!
Continuation of this Non-SHIELD AU, but can be read alone.
He doesn’t look up when the door creaks open, having learned that it only embarrasses the students. Instead, he grabs the ream of paper and allows the latecomer to believe they haven’t been disruptive at all.
“Now,” he says, “I know that spacetime is a difficult concept, but think about it this way.” He sets the ream of paper on the table, for all the class to see. “We’re 3D, yeah? Okay, but imagine we lived in a two-dimensional existence. Flat,” he continues, picking up the top sheet from the ream, “just like this piece of …”
He almost chokes on his own spit when he sees her. She’s sitting way in the back, but that smile shines like a lighthouse. He stands there, gaping at her until she mouths the words go on, and he realizes the whole class is very confused.
And of course, he must look like a fool, standing at the front of the class holding a piece of paper and stunned that the woman he loves just waltzed in. She’s supposed to be on the other side of the ocean. He’s supposed to meet her at the airport on Saturday. It takes him a minute to realize that he’s also supposed to be giving a lecture.
“This …” He squints down at the sheet in his hands. “Imagine that we’re flat, like this piece of paper. We wouldn’t be able to conceive of …” She leans in, and he swallows, “Of three dimensions. Of a cube, or … anything that’s not two-dimensional.”
He continues as best as he can, but she has to know how she’s affecting him, or she wouldn’t be enjoying it so much. In the end, he has to avoid looking in her corner of the room, or he’ll keep thinking of the way she looked the last time he saw her, of the way he kissed her without realizing it, of the fire in his blood when she kissed him back. So he watches the ream of paper, the whiteboard, the podium, and his notes. He glances at the front row, the second row, and his own hands. And somehow, magically, he makes it through the class.
He shuffles through his notes as the students leave, pretending to pack up even as he feels her draw closer. He’s never felt his heart beat like this before, because he didn’t realize he loves her until she kissed him like she loves him back.
“Fascinating lecture,” she says, and he still doesn’t look up. “I never thought of teaching it that way. I may have to steal your methods.”
Her voice is so casual, so usual, that he can’t help but look at her face and hope there’s another meaning behind her words. He finds that her coy smile is enough to blind him.
“You’re early,” he says, then winces. “I mean, you’re back early. Is everything … is everything alright with your mum and dad?”.
Her smile sobers, but doesn’t disappear. “He’s doing fine, actually. Recovering quite nicely. I would have been happy to stay longer, but I started to feel like I was in the way.” She shrugs, as if that’s just life, as if her presence isn’t something to be treasured. He narrows his eyes at her.
“I’m sure that’s not the case.”
“Well,” she says, “you know my parents. I’ve been out of the house so long that I tend to muck up their routine. And I think my mum just wanted time alone with him, since she came so close to losing him.”
This smile is different, like she’s remembering something unspeakably pleasant, and he wonders if she’s ever looked at her parents the way he has, if she’s ever thought that love wasn’t worth having if it didn’t look something like theirs.
“I did have time to go through their cupboards, though,” she continues. Her smile grows mischievous. “I binned everything remotely unhealthy and replaced it with something much better. I had some angry texts waiting for me when I got off the plane!” She chuckles then, and he restrains himself from saying he should have been there, or that he almost booked himself a ticket.
“I know how he feels,” he says instead, trying to control the smile of his own. “You did the same thing to me once, if you recall.”
“I recall that you had nothing in your kitchen but ice cream,” she says. “And I remember that you made yourself sick with it. I also remember thinking that girl who dumped you didn’t deserve you or your tears.”
He takes in a breath, because they’d been dancing around this subject on the brief phone calls they’ve had, and here it is. He tries to stammer out a response, but it takes a few fragments of nonsensical sounds before he finds the right word.
Her eyebrows shoot up to her hairline, and he’s pleased to have surprised her.
“Dinner,” he repeats. “You must be exhausted from your trip. Let me take you out to dinner.”
He’s pretty sure that he said an actual, complete sentence, but his mind is whirling. He’d made a reservation for the day she was scheduled to come back, but would they let him move it? Or would he have to start his research all over again? Honestly, there were so many variables, and he was sure Italian was appropriate for the occasion, but what if he couldn’t find—
“Dinner,” she says. He swallows.
She tilts her head at him, as if she’s not sure what he means, but he’s sure it must be plastered all over his face. He was sure that a kiss like that meant she wanted him to take her on a date, but the silence gives room for doubts. What if—
“That sounds lovely,” she says. “But I have one condition.”
He almost chokes for a second time. “Okay.”
“You have to wear your blue dress shirt. The one you wore when we went to the symphony, with the same tie.” She looks down at the floor, and he swears he sees the hint of a blush on her cheeks. “It’s just that it … it brings out your eyes. And it’ll go well with the dress I want to wear.”
“Oh,” he stammers. “Oh, I mean if you … okay.” He does some metal inventory and verifies that yes, that shirt is clean and pressed, and he’s pretty sure he has the tie. But—did she say she’d wear a dress?
She looks up into his eyes and he swears, in this moment, he’d give her anything.
“Yeah, I can … I can do that. I have, um, I have another class after this, but I can pick you up around … six?”
Six, he hopes, is early enough that they’ll get a table right way, maybe early enough that he might be able to ask for an outside table where they can share the view. It’s supposed to be warm tonight, so she should be comfortable even if she …
She nods. “Six is perfect. I’ll see you then. And Fitz?”
He’s still trying to tell himself that it’s a Thursday, that it’s near the stadium but the big game isn’t until tomorrow, that it should be fine it should be fine it should be fine, so it takes him a second to realize she asked him a question.
Her expression is truly unreadable.
He furrows his brow. “Thank you? For what?”
She looks down, but one corner for her lips curls upward.
“For teaching me that some things are inevitable. For being something to come home to.”
And he’s so stunned by what she means that he doesn’t realize she’s standing on her toes to kiss him until it’s happening. It’s all too brief, but he knows what it means. He knows that they both have wonderful things to look forward to.
She doesn’t say anything before she leaves, just gives him a look so pointed that he’s still standing there long after she’s left, alone in this empty room and feeling more full than he ever has in his life.
There’s a difference, he thinks, between coming home and having your home come back to you.
There are several types of noun word formation, and today I’m going to tackle only one of them. General type. When we combine two (or more) roots of different words we get a compound word. Lighthouse, blackbird, airport are the examples. Combining more than two words is very rear in Russian, so let’s take the two-word model. The first part can be a stem of a noun, adjective, adverb or a numeral. The second one is usually a noun, an adjective or a root of the verb, which functions as a noun here and it defines what part of speech the whole word is.
But to combine words it’s not enough to just put them together. To form a compound word, we need to cut the ending of the first word if there is one and add an infix -e or -o before the second word. For example, if we take the character from the Nickelodeon cartoon CatDog, into Russian it was translated as Котопёс. Кот - cat, пёс - dog (a he-dog) and there is this little o between them that connects them.
Snowfall has the same structure in Russian. Snow - снег, fall - падать. But as we use only verb roots + we need to add an infix, a snowfall is снегопАд in Russian. Airplane is a combined word in Russian, but the logic is different. For Russians, an airplane is something that can fly itself so it consists of a word сам (oneself) and летать (to fly) - самолЁт. Ice-breaker = ice+break. Лёд+колоть = ледокОл. These were the examples of a noun-verb formation. ГромкоговорИтель (a loud speaker), тяжеловЕс (a heavy weight) are adjective-noun variants.
Where the stem of the first component ends in a soft consonant or in ж ч ш щ ц, infix is -е. Dormitory is общежИтие, that consists of общий (collective, common) and житие which is not really a word but has this “жит” root, that means live, life etc. The infix is -e because it stands after letter щ. Пулемёт (machinegun) has soft л (е makes it soft) before infix, so it’s -e. Пуля - a bullet, метать - throw, dart, shoot. As the second word is a verb, we leave only a root as with the first word (the first word is always only a root).
Some names of professions or occupations have a common root. Like a specialist in literature is литературовЕд, in cinema киновEд, where the first component is a branch of knowledge, and the second one is an old verb ведать, which is to know (but we don’t use it anymore).
More examples of compound words: пароход (пар + ходить = steamer), вертолёт (вертеть + летать = helicopter), новостройка (новый + строить = new building), мореплаватель (море + плавать = seafarer), бензобак (бензин + бак = petrol tank), нефтепровод (нефть + проводить = pipeline), книголюб (книга + любить = book lover), водопад (вода + падать = waterfall).
Isis Pharia, copper drachma of Hadrian, minted in Alexandria in 133/4 C.E.
Today, April 25, marks the annual ancient Roman rite in honor of Isis Pharia, the protector of the Pharos, or Lighthouse, of Alexandria. Regarded as one one the wonders of the ancient world, the Lighthouse of Alexandria was designed by Sostratos of Knidos and completed in 270 B.C.E. during the reign oft Ptolemy II.
Isis Pharia is the protector of light houses and harbors. Pharos is the name of the island on which the lighthouse stood, and pharos is the Greek word for sail, which Isis is said to have invented, so the image of Isis holding a billowing sail while standing next to the lightbouse is a visual pun which would have been understood by the illiterate.
Apuleius of Madauros praised Isis with these words in his novel, The Golden Ass:
On land as well as at sea, you are She who chases away all storms and dangers from our lives by your right hand. Likewise you restrain the fatal dispositions, appease the great tempests of fortune and keep back the course of the stars.
Music, the kind that’s so alluring it moves you—there are days when I want to turn it up all the way and just kneel to it. To hoist a white flag from atop the balcony of my soul in complete submission. There are times I just want to spend entire evenings like this in complete surrender and wait for the lingering aftermaths to claim me.
There are days when I want to lose. I’ve spent my life running from even the chance of losing. I’ve lived in anxiety. There have to be days when you can lose. I mean life shouldn’t be embarrassing or pitiful but there are so many people that I love, people who are close to me, who will stop at nothing, not even pitting themselves against their own flesh-and-blood kin, just so that they don’t lose. Who cares if you lose once in a while? Life is a series of losing and winning and this idea that you can never lose, ever, cages us and has caged us for so long. I want to be free of that.
I don’t want to lose to violence, but I’d lose to love. And I’d lose to music, but not power. I don’t want to lose to money, but I’d kneel before beautiful scenery, the kind that brings tears to your eyes. I want to fall on my knees and worship the mystic glow of the moon. The moon that rises between the conifers, and the stars that follow it—I’d join those stars and become a servant of the moon, to follow her wherever she goes.
I want to be overwhelmed by love. A love that’s blinding in its brilliance, a love that makes the heart thud to a frantic pitch so high it shudders to a stop—that’s the kind of love I want to kneel before.
And on my way to meet this love, I’ll be crying tears of ice. I want to be caught in the onslaught of a harrowing snowstorm, to be trapped under its weight with both hands, both feet held high, prostrate. Trapped to my thighs in this snowstorm of love is where I wish to stay.
Unofficial Translation (Revised): Do Jong Hwan’s Essay-letter collections; Maybe someday you will come to this forest
*I posted an unofficial translation of this passage a while back, but I decided it was time to post a revised edition. This translation, I feel, adheres to the original in a way that the first did not. Comments/advice/suggestions are more than welcome.