and so she wrote gaudy night

Untitled Poem # 722

And who will call the wild-briar fair?
But came the waves and washed it away:
Again I wrote it with a glittering comb,
As she toils a song’s befalling.
& Somewhere away from here
And I was a bum on the bumpers a thousand memories,
And asks you
Beautiful, unanswerable questions.
It has been so wet stones glaze in moss;
everything blooms coldly.

How do we come to be here next to each other
in the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow’d to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
Our nerves were frayed like ravelled sleeves,
We cherished each our minor griefs
To keep them warm until the night,
When it was time again to fight;

But we were young, did not need much
To make us laugh instead, and touch,
And could not love thee, Dear, so much,
Loved I not honour more.
Oh, find it, Sir, for me!
My bonnet but to tie,
And close the door unto my house
No more to do have I?
We loved right down to the bone.
Varnished bats, blinded rabbits, cows
with windows in their flanks but obviously
I’m fascinated.

Upon your throat
And when you come upon me I won’t look back at you
You will feel a hand upon your throat
And when she does I will be wandering moon, beyond the wandering moon, beyond the wandering moon, beyond the star
That tracks her night by night.
And now, an Amethyst remembrance
Is all I own

My true-love hath my heart and I have his,
By just exchange one for the other given;
I hold his swift foot back?
And likes to rent her movies, for a treat.
Death, the gray mocker,
Comes and whispers tales of Mary.
By a most dauntless, voiceless fortitude,
Lest one touch of this heart convey its grief.
And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!
A barbell or a bowling ball,

And from the window by the bed,
Echoing inside my head,
Alley cats expended breath
In arias of love and death.

In the fall of the year,
I walked the road beside my dear.

arthur: view one

Arthur couldn’t sleep. And when he couldn’t sleep during the fine month of December, he pushed the Ford Anglia a little ways down the road (so as to not wake anyone with its loud, burping ignition) and set off on the hunt. 

There were a few places he usually hit up, the ones he knew his quarry would surely be, year after year. There were many favorites. But he liked passing through neighborhoods he’d had little to no luck with before. Maybe an electricity enthusiast had moved in during the year. Maybe a Muggle family was finally committing themselves to public displays of Christmas spirit.

Arthur never much liked December, because it was an end. It reminded him of how deafening a ticking clock could be. Another year nearly gone, another year in which he hadn’t quite accomplished everything he’d set out to do. 

He took another turn down a suburban neighborhood and found the perfect street. Christmas lights glowed across every surface, the collective effect similar to the teeniest of suns coming to gently settle on Earth. There were carefully arranged Christmas scenes on lawns, and random plastic animals and large, lit-up signs that practically jostled for attention. It was all so gaudy. Arthur loved it.

Muggles were always doing things like this. So much time and effort and money had gone into these decorations, but the decorations themselves held no purpose other than just to be. It was impossibly reassuring. Because the world didn’t really need a glowing plastic penguin, much like the world didn’t really need a flying Ford Anglia.

His wife, when she was annoyed, wrote such things off as nonsense, but Arthur knew nonsense could be beautiful and wondrous. Nonsense was a thing worth searching for on quiet December nights when his own work felt meaningless and small. Nonsense could make you new again.

So Lucius Malfoy could keep his mansion with its symmetrical rows of minimalist lights, Arthur Weasley thought as he parked in front of the best house yet.

This? Now this was something to see.

So I just saw Jupiter Ascending last night and noticed something...

…all of the Abrasax siblings have some form of church. Sometimes it’s obvious, sometimes it’s subtle. So here, have some Abrasax meta hat I wrote at 3:30am.

Kalique has a private, comparatively small room filled with candles and her mother’s statue as a shrine to her. The room, which is dark and not at all gaudy, notably has no robots; they’re everywhere in the rest of her palace, but are absent from her mother’s shrine room. She apparently lights a candle every time she visits.

Titus has his huge cathedral that shines white and is FILLED with robots but almost no other human life. Interestingly, his cathedral is at the front and center of his ship; I’m intrigued as to why that is (besides “it fit the scene as we wanted to film it”).

Balem’s throne room is architecturally styled like an old, dark, gothic cathedral that doesn’t have any good light source. When you approach his throne, you walk a long aisle flagged by gothic arches before stopping before the throne and bow (presumably). On his throne he’s situated himself in front of the windows exactly as if he were the altar of a church to be worshipped at.


Kalique: privately inflects in a simple, sincere-seeming way

Titus: is all about show with zero sincerity

Balem: demands to be worshipped like a god