...
[All Rights Reserved. Steal and Die.]
:... From Genesis Through Revelation: Playlist #2 ...:
I Want My Innocence Back by Emilie Autumn
Keep On Runnin' by Cat Power
Mad World by Gary Jules
I Grieve [For You] by Peter Gabriel
O Come, O Come Emmanuel by Enya
Love to Be Loved by Peter Gabriel
Sadness by Nine Inch Nails
The Half Killed by Dario Marianelli
Keep On Runnin' by Cat Power
Mad World by Gary Jules
I Grieve [For You] by Peter Gabriel
O Come, O Come Emmanuel by Enya
Love to Be Loved by Peter Gabriel
Sadness by Nine Inch Nails
The Half Killed by Dario Marianelli
:... If Prometheus Wept in Winter: The Wisdom of Prometheus Bound ...:
"Prom: I made men cease from contemplating death.
"[The state described is that of men who, through fear of death are all their lifetime subject to bondage. That state, the parent of all superstition, fostered the slavish awe in which Zeus delighted. Prometheus, representing the active intellect of man, bestows new powers, new interests, new hopes which at last divest them from that fear.]"
"[The state described is that of men who, through fear of death are all their lifetime subject to bondage. That state, the parent of all superstition, fostered the slavish awe in which Zeus delighted. Prometheus, representing the active intellect of man, bestows new powers, new interests, new hopes which at last divest them from that fear.]"
. . .
Consider Prometheus, after all. Chained to the rocks for millions of years, disemboweled each day by a raptor and left each night to contemplate the coming torture. One might say that this was not Hell, however, for Hell is and has always been known as the absence of God. And Prometheus had God, didn't he? Indeed. It was God who chained him to the rocks.
Some Notes.
I keep going back to Dostoyevsky's "Idiot". I scribbled the word yurodivi in the margin of my letters notebook and watched it evolve, twirled my pen between chilly fingers as the thought spread like cold breath across the page. Holy fool is applicable - at best, the only position for which he is suited. I read bits of the novel. I read bits of "Paint it Black" as well, which is always fictionally inspiring if damned bleak. Its honesty redeems it. There is not an ounce of pretension within those pages, not the hint of a trace of hauteur... just all the things we've never asked and all the things we've never said and it's such a pity to watch unfold. Such a pity to face at the end of the day. I keep writing despite the fact that I've not a clue where I'm going... original plotlines have been scratched, rebuilt, left crumbling and sans completion... only to be resumed again. I write daily towards an ending upon which I still haven't decided, past plot points which beg to be cut, and the writing itself is not writing. It's all elongated sketch, messy and dreamy and hopeless. I wrote the very first sketch of all this nonsense about a year ago, on a page in the middle of my notebook. It expands forward, ever forward, toward the front of the book. Irréversible. My story runs backwards.
- mood:
drained - music:Mad World by Gary Jules
Something interesting which I discovered the other day, wandering aimlessly about cyberspace when I should have been doing music for theatre homework. A dream symbol dictionary: it informed me that dreaming of any sort of cross or crucifix indicates (1) joy, happiness and fufillment after a long and difficult struggle, or (2) a crossroads implying the obvious: two possible paths lie ahead, and a choice must be made. On the subject, Frost manages to be useful for once: Two roads diverged in a yellow wood / And sorry I could not travel both / And be one traveler, long I stood / And looked down one as far as I could / To where it bent in the undergrowth...
Poetry keeps attacking me from the most unlikely places, from Milosz anthologies and books I've nicked from the library. They bleed together like watered-down dye and keeping leaking into my narrative. It is the nature of art, beauty, and divinity to be clean, implies Lang... Wat comments upon the beauty of breathless lungs and Sexton describes the perversity of a God who unties the knot of double hunger in mortals. Memories keep bubbling up from nowhere: a nun who once told me the story of a woman who so loved God that she took communion thrice a day; He decided to test this extraordinarily loyal woman by causing her to bleed for forty years from her fingernails and toes. ["If that's what He does to the people who love him," says Eleanore, "You're off the hook."] Our protagonist would doubtless end up in the realm of "If that's what he does to the people who love him, imagine the retribution which will face me in Hell." ... It positively begs to be thrown into the mix. I initially imagined that I would be too far afield, too out of the loop to write about Roman Catholicism, but I'm starting to realize that it isn't the denomination that matters. It's the small graces, the miniature downfalls, the personal failures which hold the story, not the language of the mass. It's all about the humanity.
:.. [Tell] the Priest, He's the Doctor, He Can Handle the Shocks: Playlist #1...:
Mercy Street by Peter Gabriel
Leave by The Swell Season
Walk Away by The Nadas
Sweet Religion by Imogen Heap
Near To You by A Fine Frenzy
In Darkness Let Me Dwell by Sting & Karamazov
Furious Angels by Rob Dougan
I'm Not Driving Anymore by Rob Dougan
Angel by Massive Attack
Borrowed Time by A Fine Frenzy
I Will Always Love You by Whitney Houston
Terrible Lie by Nine Inch Nails
Nothing At All by Rob Dougan
Puis Qu'en Oubli by Guillame de Marchaut
When the Angels Fall by Sting
Clubbed to Death by Rob Dougan
Darkness by Peter Gabriel
The Road to Chicago [from the Perdition Soundtrack]
The Hill by Marketa Irglova
Sakrelig by Eisbrecher
Mein Blut by Eisbrecher
- mood:
okay - music:As Vesta Was Descending by Thomas Weelkes
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excommunimoi- the one that got away
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