voice of the nightingale

For India - January 26th, 2016
________________________
I am so proud to be Indian -
To submerge myself in a vast ocean of history,
In deep, rich, mesmerizing waters
That twinkle like the eyes of village children
And smell of marigolds and sandalwood
And of the spice that coats my mother’s fingers.

I am so proud to be Indian -
To press my palms to the warm, soft earth:
Land as dark and lovely as the woman who sings
Like a nightingale into vermilion sunsets
Until her voice has melted into the chorus of a billion,
A billion fireflies glowing like embers that cannot be tamed.

I am so proud to be Indian -
To feel the caress of gentle, light winds
That dance with their bells to the beat of my heart;
To inhale the music and magic and majesty
That swirl before my eyes like the white skirts of a dervish,
To exhale in sweet relief as I memorize the beauty
Of this, of me, of you, of us.

© Trisha / @trishathebrown

Ah for thy fate, O shrill-voiced nightingale!
Some solace for thy woes did Heaven afford,
Clothed thee with soft brown plumes, and life apart from wailing…

Philomela (Greek: Φιλομήλη) is the princess of Athens and the younger of two daughters of Pandion I, King of Athens, and Zeuxippe. Her sister, Procne, was the wife of King Tereus of Thrace. While the myth has several variations, the general depiction is that Philomela, after being raped and mutilated by her sister’s husband, Tereus, obtains her revenge and is transformed into a nightingale.

her voice echoes in the cry of nightingales
she asks “why do you search for me
in all things? what piece of me do you desire?”
not flesh, where life so tremulously tethered to temporal craft.
not mind, where mind sent unbeckoned
into swaths of black sky.
not soul, soul of she who cannot save,
my savior languishes, he rides to further lands,
tastes each berated and exotic fruit. I cannot know him.
I seek her wolf-face, yet hidden, 
her lush form eternal,
an unconditional pardon from the mire
of mortal refrain.

djinnapocalypse  asked:

Nightingale, I must say your name is strangely and eerily beautiful... Was it just a coincidence? Or are you perhaps eeeeevvvviiiillll...?

Jones is very happy that you have picked a character that has not yet appeared in-story, and is excited to answer this. Please read his response in a smooth, relaxed voice: 

Thank you, Tabi. It is not a coincidence, many call me Nightingale due to my surname, Soloviev, which has that meaning. I would prefer to be listed as Ivan Soloviev, but perhaps this Jones is one of those who think your second question true. 

Alas, a great number consider me “evil,” though I find most of those I have met to be following their leader blindly, so convinced of their own righteousness that questioning his orders would border on treason. 

*angrily* Jones would like you to know that Ivan is pronounced the Russian way, with a long e sound at the beginning, and that Nightingale is the AGP version of the canon Ivan Soulsinger. There are several other things that I woul

4

The sound of an unpleasantly familiar voice startled me out of my reverie, “Miss Nightingale, what an agreeable surprise meeting you here.”

Turning around slowly, I found myself face-to-face with Mr. Straud, my father’s erstwhile investor.  Angry to meet the individual whom I held responsible for denying my father the opportunity to save his business, I glared at him and responded.  “It may be an agreeable surprise for you, but it certainly is not for me.  Please leave me alone.  I really have no desire to speak to you.  It is because of you that my father lost his business.  You led him to believe that you would invest, but then changed your mind at the last minute.”

“Yes, it’s a pity that your father didn’t accept my offer.  I could have saved your family so much pain and suffering.”

“What?”  I replied indignantly, “He was willing to accept your offer, even though he would be signing over the controlling share to you.  He was willing to do whatever it took to protect his business.”

“No, unfortunately he was not willing to do whatever it took to save his business,” Mr. Straud continued, “He chose not to accept my terms.  If you want to blame someone, blame your father.”

Shocked at his cool and emotionless demeanor, I just stared at him, wondering how he could be so nonchalant in discussing the financial ruin of my family. Pulling myself together I responded to his unkind comments about my father, “My father is a good and noble man. I am sure that if he chose not accept your terms, as you say, he must have had an admirable reason for doing so. Now, as I said before, please leave me alone, I have no desire to speak to you.”  As I began to walk away, he spoke again.

“Oh, my dear, you are quite the passionate young woman, standing up for the integrity of your family.  I am truly impressed by your devotion.  Why don’t you go home and tell you father that you spoke with me and that I am very willing to reconsider my investment.  You can even tell him that if he grants my one, very small request, I will only take a mere token percentage of the business.  It really is a very good deal, my dear.  One that he really should consider.  Tell him that I will be in contact with him soon.”

With that said, he walked off in the opposite direction, and I was left there wondering if I should mention this meeting with my parents or if I should keep it to myself.  

TAGGED BY: @unusuallygifted

TAGGING: @abluefaze @exulantis @evegranger @occultistcunt @ohfiendangelical

T.S. ELIOT, “THE WASTELAND” PT. 2: A GAME OF CHESS: BOLD THE ONES THAT APPLY TO YOUR MUSE. REPOST. DON’T REBLOG.

A Game of Chess • A BURNISHED THRONE • GLOWED ON THE MARBLE • standards wrought with fruited vines • a golden Cupidon peeped out • (ANOTHER HID HIS EYES BEHIND HIS WING) • glitter of her jewelsvials of ivory and coloured glass strange synthetic perfumes TROUBLED, CONFUSED / AND DROWNED THE SENSE IN ODOURSSTIRRED BY THE AIR / THAT FRESHENED FROM THE WINDOW • Huge sea wood fed with copper • Burnished green and orange • framed by the coloured stone • YET THERE THE NIGHTINGALE / FILLED ALL THE DESERT WITH INVIOLABLE VOICE • And still she cried, and still the world pursues • withered stumps of time •Leaned out, leaning, hushing • Footsteps shuffled on the stair • her hair / Spread out in fiery points • GLOWED INTO WORDS, THEN WOULD BE SAVAGELY STILL. • My nerves are bad to-night. Yes, bad. Stay with me. • Speak to me. Why do you never speak? Speak. • WHAT ARE YOU THINKING OF? WHAT THINKING? WHAT? • I NEVER KNOW WHAT YOU ARE THINKING. THINK. • I think we are in rats’ alley• WHERE THE DEAD MEN LOST THEIR BONES. • “WHAT IS THAT NOISE?” • The wind under the door. • “What is that noise now? What is the wind doing?” • Nothing again nothing. • “Do / You know nothing? Do you see nothing? Do you remember / Nothing?” • “Are you alive. or not? Is there nothing in your head?” • “WHAT SHALL I DO NOW? WHAT SHALL I DO? • I SHALL RUSH OUT AS I AM, AND WALK THE STREET / WITH MY HAIR DOWN, SO. • Pressing lidless eyes and waiting for a knock upon the door. • HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME • YOU OUGHT TO BE ASHAMED, I SAID, TO LOOK SO ANTIQUE.

TAGGED BY: stolen from somewhere on my dash

TAGGING: everyone!

T.S. ELIOT, “THE WASTELAND” PT. 2: A GAME OF CHESS: BOLD THE ONES THAT APPLY TO YOUR MUSE. REPOST. DON’T REBLOG.

A Game of Chess • A BURNISHED THRONE • GLOWED ON THE MARBLE • standards wrought with fruited vines • a golden Cupidon peeped out • (ANOTHER HID HIS EYES BEHIND HIS WING) • glitter of her jewels • vials of ivory and coloured glass • strange synthetic perfumes • TROUBLED, CONFUSED / AND DROWNED THE SENSE IN ODOURS • STIRRED BY THE AIR / THAT FRESHENED FROM THE WINDOW • Huge sea wood fed with copper • Burnished green and orange • framed by the coloured stone • YET THERE THE NIGHTINGALE / FILLED ALL THE DESERT WITH INVIOLABLE VOICE • And still she cried, and still the world pursues • withered stumps of time •Leaned out, leaning, hushing • Footsteps shuffled on the stairher hair / Spread out in fiery points • GLOWED INTO WORDS, THEN WOULD BE SAVAGELY STILL. • My nerves are bad to-night. Yes, bad. Stay with me. • Speak to me. Why do you never speak? Speak. •WHAT ARE YOU THINKING OF? WHAT THINKING? WHAT? • I NEVER KNOW WHAT YOU ARE THINKING. THINK. • I think we are in rats’ alley• WHERE THE DEAD MEN LOST THEIR BONES. • “WHAT IS THAT NOISE?” • The wind under the door. • “What is that noise now? What is the wind doing?” • Nothing again nothing. • “Do / You know nothing? Do you see nothing? Do you remember / Nothing?” • “Are you alive. or not?Is there nothing in your head?” • “WHAT SHALL I DO NOW? WHAT SHALL I DO? • I SHALL RUSH OUT AS I AM, AND WALK THE STREET / WITH MY HAIR DOWN, SO. •Pressing lidless eyes and waiting for a knock upon the door. • HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME • YOU OUGHT TO BE ASHAMED, I SAID, TO LOOK SO ANTIQUE.