Asghar Abbas's Blog, page 3

October. 2014

You break my unmended heart so beautifully
My songs my dirgesongs die unsung like the kisses we will never share
tragedy isn’t that I sang
on those rocks

Or that you were drowning for me
Or that I sang for you
delicious is the bite of that fate ; you took the songs I sang for me

A year has passed since we unlooked at each other
A year has passed
Or a thousand
Or a thousand suns have died

where you go to why can’t I go with you
where you hide why can’t I hide with you
where I am now why can’t you save me ?
why you abandoned me like a painting waiting to be perfect

But when you touch my cold shadows
Wrap me in your brittle embrace
In your false valor

We are that pyre that pyre made for others
flames licks us in the fire set by others
We shook from the ashes rising like the demented phoenix of our own unbecoming

We unfuck the knots tied by Others
We rise
We soar
We lose ourselves in each other

In that loss we are free
In each other is our own choice

We fly
We unify
We drink stale essence from our stream
relishing our fears

And in the river of fallow blood
We create
We create
We create

We create the illusion of our own malleable bliss.

Sæglópur

It's better to let go than to recreate. It's always so much better to create something new, especially when you are not in anywhere new, place or mental state. When it's all the same, you don't have to be. And yeah, I know. I look the same as I did when she told me she thought she loved me. I am still the same, still look the same. Looking at her now, with Sigur Rós warning me in the background, is making me so nostalgic for her. As she is now, she's reminding me of the girl she used to be; never real but always magical. So full of things that dissolved in the air. Though I'll say this though. The red of her mouth looks so unfamiliar now, seems unknown, feels empty and moves nothing in me. Time has distorted and squeezed her mouth into something unbearable, I hardly recognize it. But her breath is still familiar, still feels like her. Monstrous, ruining women, weakening men, and making all the clowns happy. Her torn lips no longer telling the story of the rain, but the memory of the fish lingers on. She is still moving on, not dour, leaving now. Heading full tilt in just one direction. Where could that be. A place where she dreams about her reflection, but she dreamt that too much. She's burned out now, her burnt fingers aching something else in her. Where else is she going to meet me other than the Graveyard of the Trees. It's there I'll give her what remains of tonight. In exchange of the spiral, spindly and liquid, I will give her the night.

Victoria Morphine Art

I have told you a thousand times and in a million different ways. I would know, I counted everything when I was with you and even more so, when I wasn't. You are nothing like Harley Quinn, not even a little bit, not even in any single way. However, you do look a lot like the Joker, especially when you smile in a certain way. Though your lips will always be the color of a dying leaf. You are definitely dead. Your very need for an audience killed you. Not very smart. But you are chubby in all the right places, with the right amount of fatness. Like that flaxen hair girl in the stone tower. You are gonna be so fat in the future that's not for you. How can you not be fat, stuffed with my feelings and words. Stupid blue shirt, but fuck you are beautiful. It's so unfair that you know that, that's really unfortunate. Still, cute butt though.

Chiara Bautista

So continuing on from my previous blog, um, nope not the penultimate one. But the one before that one, jumping off from that, picking up the thread from that line of thought, here I am even without the merrows, going on, I'll continue winnowing through my list of best sequels.

In that vein, I'd like to add an entry on my own and that would be Thor Ragnarok.

Patrick Ennis Artist

Mondegreen and Papier-mâché Dreams, a Fantasy that is not Fictitious, this is happening, even now, even without you.

As it happens. I want an entire day with you, a whole day, doing so many things alone and together, doing so many things to each other, to you maybe, there are so many things I want to do to you, there are so many things I want to do with you, you nameless you, the Reader, the lapsed painter, in the middle of the night, up all night, we’ll paint our day.

So many things. We are sitting in a coffee place, I am writing, you are just there and that is enough. You don’t want much and even that is too much for me.

Then we are in a teahouse in ole Persia, about to push back. I want to make love with you, not to you, I might not mean most of it, but so what, it’s better than playing safe. Though in all honesty, what we'd be doing today won't be so mild, pleasant, gentle or even civil as making love. But fuck it, who cares, certainly not you.

This is my Death Before Decaf. Death Before Decaf. A Death, even amidst words, A Death Despite Dearth of Words. There are so many words here, there are so many papery versions of you here. There are so many you here, animated, inanimate, avatars, animated avatars. Of you.

I'd have you over here in the morning anyway, it's three in the morning now but that's not the morning we were talking about, this is an ordinary morning, the Kongos are playing, an ordinary morning; an ordinary disaster.

Because we gotta heal somehow, even after hurting each other so much, so so much. You would come by at the break of dawn to break this dawn. When that big yoke in the sky is just beginning to thaw. Though gloaming is your time that suits your witchy nature.

Either you'd come by your car, or by a cab. In any case, I'd pick you from the designated place near my home. Yuck, that sounded too normal. But. I'll receive you at the iron gate anyway.

So what if it is not a wooden one, filigreed by your breath. You'd say hello, and I'll reply back though a little shyly. You’re still speaking. Your words upon mine already feeling like your breath on my face. It’s sweet even if it’s not. Inside, inside my warren, I'd take you.

I'd welcome you inside, hoping you'd do the same, and welcome me inside you. Though I can't promise that it would be the gentlest of entries. On my part. A gentle Entry I won't do. A gentle entry it won't be.

I miss my home, I want you to be that home for briefest of respites. For a moment. I want to rest at your womb.

In that darkened bliss, I'd be content and at peace, I know it.

I'll show you around the place a little bit, it’s hardly like your grotto but so what, even outside the water you can breathe, you are breathing, you are breathing fine here.

After a while, whilst the sun is still young and angry, we’ll go inside.

I'd ask you to take a seat in the living room, while I'll go check something, having a surprise prepared for you. Again too normal and not overwrought enough. After asking you to stay put, just stay there, I'll go into the kitchen.

But you'll follow me there, trailing behind me, like you are a twisted Alice and I am the grotesque White Rabbit; after all, I am the incumbent gargoyle, baby, but not yours.

You loiter nearby. Your temporary but close proximity is enlivening me, in spite of your intentions, I am enjoying your presence, even if not your silence, you smell nice, but you are not using your mouth right.

In the kitchen, we'll make tea, that is the surprise. It is as simple as that. Yet it’s not that simple.

Since you have told me you have only tried the local brands, I am aching to make you a tea from my favorite brand, PG, and I long to taste you too, drinking you in.

So
We'll make the tea
No
I'll make the tea, you watch
You'll watch.

This is too simple for my taste, but for your sake, I’ll keep it simple.

The sea is between.


Then we'll order breakfast but wouldn't wait for it. It'll come, sure, but it'll go cold. We’d have other things on our mind, we'd be doing other things. But since we'd have the whole day to ourselves, I'd do things very differently but slowly.

We'll drink our tea, we'll talk a little bit, joking all the while. Maybe. Though I wouldn't want to waste our time, little as it is, how small amount of it we have in our closed fists.

We shan't be wastrels, we shall not be.

Then we'll go upstairs. On the way up, at the bottom of the spiral staircase, I'd ask you if you trust me. You'd nod. I'll ask you to close your eyes which you’ll do, I’ll resist the urge to steal a kiss.

Gently propelling you forward, my hands on your back pushing you a little, you leaning back, I'll take you upstairs that way, and guide you to my room.

The wound is open, the sky is festering.

I’ll ask you to wait just for a second, then I'll go in my room to put on the music I have carefully selected for you.

I'll start with Eternal by Evanescence.

Rushing you in now, my pulse quickening, I bring you into my room. In that darkened womb we'd go.

Now.

I ask you to open your eyes, you do, taking in my room, my books, but for once not interested in them, then you are only looking at me, yeah, told you this is a fantasy.

So close to you that I can breathe and touch you, I want to touch you everywhere, I do. But not yet, just hold the ranks. For now, I am content with just breathing you in. You are here and I feel a rush that my overwroughtness cannot deny.

Yes, winter is still sleeping.
But here you are, drinking me in, I am doing the same, what makes me happy is I need this, you don't, but you are still here for me

with me
doing this
dance

It's raining outside but you are listening to the music

I come to you
I come closer
and I hug you
pulling you in for a warm embrace

A long embrace
only this time
outside of fiction

It is raining in here too.

After healing a little bit from the temple of your body, your warmth seeping into me, I pull back

It's end of the song
and we have just begun, we are barely beginning.

So at the very last second, we dance a little bit, a slow dance, I am holding you close to me, though this is only a respite, soon you will have to go.

No matter.

We dance quite a bit, lost in your touch, I forget about you a little, then we stop, panting a little.

I twirl you around, wrapping my arms around your waist, your back pushing into me, I shove my face in the hollow of your shoulder blade, your skin reminded me of the sun
a dying star is what you are

I inhale deeply
my nostrils flaring up at your scent, you are glowing up like a death of a small star

Then I turn you around and hug you again, like you'd disappear because I am writing this and this isn't real.

I feel nothing
I feel everything
I feel you
I want you to love me back
I take a hold of your chin, cupping your face, I kiss your one cheek and then kiss you on the other cheek. Leaning forward, going in, I finally kiss the mouth of a girl I really like.

I pull back after a while, to take a breath, breathing a little, then I kiss you again

We exchange spit a little bit more, our tongues darting in and out of our mouths
you pause to take a piece of gum
you chew it a little bit, then taking it out, place it in my mouth

It’s warm from your mouth but I do the same, I chew it and then I swallow it.

You laugh
Like that sound
A lot

Taking hold of your face, I kiss you quickly before you fade again
then I kiss you ten times in quick successions

I know, ten times, because I counted
and the moon wasn’t there to witness it.

So, I kiss you ten times more, I want to kiss you a hundred times

It seems tedious but I try anyway.

I stop halfway amidst the staleness of our breath

you are only half fish
Too much
And I'm no longer human

I've kissed you too much and not at all.

Then
I kiss you some more, and then I kiss your temple
and I tell you I want to kiss you in every room
you laugh again
and I find that I quite enjoy it
your laughter

I put on another song
this time Baby by Warpaint

I am in front of my bookshelf, I am facing it, then I turn around

I lie down on the floor at the foot of bed next to the bookshelf

Then you are standing there above me. You stand there smiling.

I reach for your hands, your feet on either side of my body, I am holding out my arms, grabbing your hands, I gently lower you onto me, you come down onto me willing, your smile like a tail of burning comet.

And you sat down on me with all your glorious weight, since your weight is real, it is making you real.

A dying comet, you burn me.

I adjust you a little, move you around, it’s all so pleasurable, for me
you feel good
on me like that

I feel the wild curve of your smile, the mischievousness flashing in your eyes

You quickly spring up and then sat down hard, I missed your weight even in that smallest of separation.

Suddenly the soles of your feet are on the inside of my wrists, you have pinned me down, I am a bullet on the ground, though you are not my paper valentine, this bullet is for you. You wiggle a little and it’s all great, sitting astride like that on me, I want to keep this memory all to myself and you allow that

then
You twist around on my tummy
your back to me now, my hands on it, you are bouncing a little, falling back you plop against me
your hair in my face
you start to move and turn around as the music switches to Civil Twilight
turning around and the whole world turns around with you, you flip over stretching out the plane of your body over me, you lie there looking down at me.

Since your face is already hovering above me, we make out some more, and you realize we are still clothed at this point. You sit up straight, pulling up your knees, you stand up again and then sit down hard again, leaning down, you sputter, let’s do other things, and laugh.

So we get up and meander into my bathroom. Where I hug you fiercely once more, once again, and never again.

I step back a little, I give you a quick kiss on the lips and then I am kissing your breasts through your floral flowery cotton dress, the circlet crown made of thorns gleaming on your head and I am trying to gnaw your nipples through the cloth of gold that’s not there, you are braless in your dress, but in actuality you are not, you are wearing it.

But since I am writing this, you are what and how I say you are. I let go of your breasts, bending down, I am on my knees, I press a kiss to your bellybutton, then I kiss you down there between your legs, even through the thinnest of veils, through the shroud of this red mist, through the cloak of nothingness, I can still feel your heat.

I am drinking it in, soaking it up, enjoying this delicious viand, the façade though, is about to be cracked.

Take it slow, go easy, you say, well then, this is where we finally remove everything.

I rose and meet you half way in between our keep.

And.

We proceed to take off each other's clothes and remove all, more than we wanted to.

You start by taking off my black shirt and then jeans. Impelling everything and what is between the shadows.

My turn. I strip you of everything including your skin, strip of everything, now you are bare, now you are you, now, now I'll have all of you.

Then we are naked, finally and fully, even without the moonlight, you are glowing.

My hands all over you, exploring, foraging, I want to touch you everywhere, my fingers limning your skin.

Glint of memory and you can see in the dark. I am not blinded by your light yet. So I move away from you to another light.

One by one, I light up the scented candles on the nook above the tub
then we are getting in together, wading into the water that isn’t there
in an empty tub that’s devoid of every wetness, you see it’s not filled, but I am going to fill you up.

but even without the water, you are swimming across to me, gliding toward me.

We are in the tub, suddenly you are in my arms, lying against my chest, my arms go around you on their own as I hold you to me, to myself.

Then I am cupping your breasts, covering them with my light touches, my fingertip adept.

I couldn’t relax, the night was too bright, now I can.

I am scooping them in my hands, myriad worlds racing by, I am fondling your breasts, playing with your nipples, wanting to put them in my mouth, cover them with my lips, my teeth tightly clasping on them, but I don't want to rapture, not yet, so I hold back.

We are in the tub, but I want to make this about you.

I grab a hold of you by your arms, I help you up, you come to me at once, so willing that I mistrust your smile immediately.

It did occur to me that you just might be my imagination gone stale, maybe you are a slipknot tying my fragmented thoughts together.

But there isn’t any madness here that can be shared by the two of us. Yet you can be a sadness shared by all of us.

I did think of taking out my nonexistent dirk and stab you before you slip under water again.

I did think to do that, but I am not going to do that.

Instead, I edge forward myself, sliding down the tub, placing myself below you, getting into position.

I tap your shoulders, gesturing you to get up and move, you rise up, you are moving and now you are looming over me, you keep on moving, until you are at last sitting on my face, you finally settle back and settle down and rest for a while, while we sketch the rest of the history.

I arch backward as I eat you out in simplicity.

Oh, you thought I was going to use a euphuism, no, there is no time for double entendres here.

It is simple. It's a simple pleasure to pleasure you so simply. I love it and given your wetness in a tub that’s not filled with water, so do you, apparently.

So I get a little creative and eat you out some more. You help as well, moving around, back and forth. I am gorging. We do this, you and I. Until I can't breathe no more.

I ask you to get off me, you do albeit reluctantly, then I am breathing again but am I alive.

And you, you are something else, what you have been screaming was a siren call for your own self but I was the one caught up in an undertow, drowning.

You are still hovering above my face. Looking down at me in this completely sated, spent state, a surfeit of your smiles stifling, suffocating me, looking up at you and seeing you rendered utterly breathless, I think to myself I truly am The Man who Rained, excellent novel, by the way.

Or maybe I am just Dark Darker Darko. But never mind that, forget about it, I am getting out.

Pushing you aside, I step out of the tub. I rearrange you, helping you lie back in the tub and placing the back of your head on the corner.

I stand back, checking the angle. I reach down again and adjust your head on the edge of the tub. Now it is resting properly on the porcelain rim.

Your head is arching back, your neck is lovely, your throat is exposed
your mouth is slightly open, but opens even more when I place myself in your mouth
by that I mean you know my what, this is a revised version after all, somewhat redacted
and then

I facefuck you some, hey it’s not that revised nor that redacted

but I do not come and quickly remove myself from your mouth

I don't want this to end this soon, I don’t want to end it at all.

Now I am in the middle of the middle of your nowhere
but I am still in the middle of my bathroom, whilst you are still in the tub
and then you are no longer there
but standing here with me

You smile and I find myself echoing back your smile
We hug
and
I am thinking which one of your lips to kiss first. I find myself going for your mouth and we are kissing again

your lips were swollen but I don’t even have to tell you
to open your mouth, you do that anyway, on your own
I love your little pink tongue
then my mouth is moving south, I pass by your neck and then my face is in your chest, between the swell of your breasts, now all the squalls are coming for me. Sorry can’t help. I wasn’t supposed to be writing this.

Anyway. I’ll Milan Kundera it later. I will finish.
Back to this. I cup your breasts, squishing them together, with my face between in your bosom. I scoop them
My face nestling in between them
I kiss one side and then the other
a nibble here
a lick there
these tiny bites of ardor
then I place both, both your nipples in my mouth, in auspicious greed, my tongue curling around them
but after a while
at some point, I had to let them go
I do
and I am sliding down, I slide downward
on your smooth skin
a graceful descend
descending
after having paused at your bellybutton and licking it, I go farther south, until my head is between your legs and I am kissing you down there
again
the clichés roll in
your thighs parting, my kiss deepening, your flower blooming
lame yet
and I drink in the resinous scent of your forest
your beautiful cunt
I am still kissing, I am still eating you out, keeping at it
so much so that my tongue becomes skilled at your mold
but
enough is enough
I take my mouth off your lips
and
I rise from the cold tinder like a colder phoenix
Inserting myself in between your legs, I go in and I am inside you
inside you
I lied
my entry is gentle
gentlest of entries
it is
but I still lift you off your bare feet a little bit
and then set you down again
curtain falls
and that wizened wizard from santa fae is me
but it’s not enough
I want more
Can’t get enough
I pluck myself out of you
grabbing you by your throat, my movements sudden and lethal, I turn you around, now you are facing the titles
your breath fogging the gray titles
I want different things now, my, you do have a cute butt
so
gaining access to your tightness through your other hole, I plunge in hard and deep,
this deeply does not bother me
when you didn’t yelp, I carry now, moving to and fro, back and forth, oh you did squawk but that wasn't a protest.

I have entered you from behind, I am now pounding you from behind, your clenched fists against the tile walls that gleam with your shadows
but no
even though you are enjoying this
it’s not enough.
Pounding your butt is not enough
not nearly enough
I yank myself out of you
turn you around once again
your long hair whipping around
taking your wrist, I force you down on your knees
it’s my turn now, finally
and I am in your mouth once again and we are both working so assiduously for my happiness

I feel the back of your throat like you know the back of my heart
then
maybe you whisper this or maybe not
be a good boy and spill
I wetly take myself out of your mouth, you are breathing hard and on the verge of something, without warning and abruptly I erupt all over your softness, coming hard on your face.

I glance down at you
Whey sheen of my end glistening every so prettily on your face

I bend down squatting in front of you
even through the veneer of my pleasure, I kiss you deeply and your own pleasure is hard to watch.

But this scene is of gore galore.
And this, this is not something painted by a war, not a warpaint.

Our children long dead and crumbling off your face
your visage broken
finally
I kiss you long and deep
but we are not done yet.

I help you lie down on the tile floor, I spread your legs
in a spread eagle position
flipping around, I position myself above you
but
upside down
my face once more between your legs

I slip myself into your mouth again
I am also bringing you to individual happiness too and you are gurgling and happy with it
soon we both reach the end of this fiction

I have drowned in you by now
Though I have long ago dried off, I still wipe myself on your face, I can feel your smile through that against me.

Then we clean up
after a quick shower
we are in our bed
actually, we both kind of fall into bed, laughing mirthlessly, I pull you up by your armpits, scooting your butt, you slide up
and then, I am looking into your eyes again, careful not to look into them

How can I ever be satisfied with you
Being with you is quite insatiable
but I am enjoying penetrating you again as I look into your eyes
all my dead trees watching
but very soon, too soon, too fast, too quickly
I implode within you

Finally, I am dozing off, napping in your arms while you stroke my hair, one of your nipples in my mouth, I am not still, not fully sated and I never will be.

Not with you, not from a Jedi.
After we wake up, the white rabbit is awakened too.

We order pizza, we ate it cold while watching the penultimate episode of the penultimate season of a perennial show.

Damn, that dragon is iced now, and you are my queen, I do not need to call you that, or bend the knee.

You have to go, you must leave, must you go, go you must, but not before we dance again, I am not letting you before that, so I put on this final Song for you,

Como Poden Per Sas Culpas

And we are dancing to this music one last time.

Cantiga 166.
One last dance that is the end.

THE END.

In the alternate ending of this retelling, in this deleted scene, an addendum; my codicil.

In reimagining this, I am lying on the sofa in my living room, reading Forbidden, when you come along, walking in, holding one of my books in your hand, your smile though not necessary is the impetus we need to be real, to make this real, to make it last.

Very casually, you sit down sideways on me. And we read together like that and it really is peaceful.

This, only this, is what I really really really want.

That’s my ultimate fantasy. This is serene, like the golden light in alpine cities.

So much so, that I find myself asking you, why is my magic is not enough for you.

And also

I want to have anal sex with you, to try it at least, I have an idea, I have so many More ideas.

I’ll be good at it. I don’t know. I know it. I am lying supine. Then you are lying prone. It can work. This is real. So if it can work out in reality, then it should definitely work in this fantasy.

I don’t care about you.
Vox Vulgaris.

Annie Murphy-Robinson Art

List of best sequels, my take of it, in no particular order.

Empire Strikes Back

The Godfather II

The Bourne Supremacy. Wait, did I say Supremacy? No, I meant Bourne Ultimatum.

The LOTR The Return of the King

Spider-man 2 2004 one.

THE DARK KNIGHT

Terminator 2


On the Morrow, by the Merrow I didn't lose, I shall add More

Gimme More.

dia de los Muertos

I wanted something from you something ole and ancient You sought nothing from me You think you need me I know I don't need you What remains between the narrowness of our claims but the soft lies of our words words rejected and afresh binding us in delicate ribbons, embalming us in a molten dance face to face, tied to each other's waist frozen in the latticed bonds of yesterday, wrought out in warm nightmares and cozened in, stashed, and then soothed by the unleavened cold dreams.

Syeda Hafsa Nasir Hussain

He burned so many bridges with her
that when he was finally done his remaining world took on a subtle hue of gray.

All the bridges in his new world and the old- gone. No smolder, or flicker of flames, there weren’t any forest fire this time around, not even a rumor of wisps of any kind remained. No pall of smoke, no pall of sadness to entertain.

In the kaleidoscope of dust, grime, smoke and blood, he burned all the bridges or the bridges burned him- that distinction was still up in the air whilst he hesitated down in the trenches.

Afterward
When there was time for an afterlife
Everything became wet ash
The very sillage in the air was of smoke from her burnt dreams, the air resounded with the rosemary of her surrender.
Everything tasted like her ashen imagery, everything tasted permanent, tasted like forever.

The other remaining Muses, the one who he didn’t drain, brought him up to the green hill and into the shade of her tree all in the name of commiserating left him a placated mess, making him feel discontent with the residue of sooth he had come to cherish, ditching him leaving him all on his own grappling with the traces of what he lost and plethora of what he gained from the death of her mind.

Her dry memories were the dye on his hands that wouldn’t come off, what images he could save, her pink images were swollen with stale poetry.

What the ferryman demanded was too high a toll, what he was supposed to leave behind in his stead was too high a price, his pockets couldn’t bear the strain of this passage, unnecessarily the river was too deep for him to cross.

On the grassy knoll he found himself again in the umbrage of her tree, he reviving his words.

Tucked away in her cold shadows he finds unknown warmth
Standing alone under her tree, he was left with nothing but eight pieces of Tunglið in his hands.

But that wasn’t enough to bring her back.

Samhain

Of Beren and Lúthien, definitely, for sure, for now. Not of Sarah and Phoenix though, not yet anyway, hold the line anyhow. Sylvia Plath. Long, dark, Longer Halloween unfurling all at once and wrapping itself around us like a worn-out but warm overcoat, round and round going around us like an entity on its own, encircling around them, encompassing, engulfing us in its cloth of starry black blackness. Still, it is still better than the entity nestling at the edge of that night, an entity of its own, in the corner of the black hole, stranded and all alone, but still demanding the nothingness around it to worship it, a beginning, nascent, an understanding of love; an origin of horror, true evil, deluded love but selfless, making us all further more lost, lost and delirious, quite. The gall of that Thing is so much more appalling and ludicrous than the notion, the very idea of being here, stranded on this rock, a brittle pall of smoke is the drollest joke. All alone and by its lovelorn, lonesome, self-loathing self, melded by thoughts, surrounded by all this emptiness and still asking the remaining nothingness to lie in prostration, to lie, prostate it. An utterly ridiculous litany, so stupid, so much more than her. Her and the Lemons She ate. Though she was used to drinking in the moonlight while protesting it tasted like my name. The audacity of demanding such a thing, urging a fealty to the dying stars, when there is only you, where there is only you. Solitary and in solitude, despite the designs still choosing to be alone by design, opting for that wet darkness, deciding to remain there in a liquefying darkness liquefying in darkness. In spite of having an option of twisting your own faith in a fickle twist of fate. And what of the whimsical, you say. What of them? Those earthen soldiers of dirt and dust, of earth and of clay, staying not there, straying not far from here. Distanced by time and twisted by history, those distorted monsters, time and history and a bit of salt of memory had turned them into heroes, time and history made them that, what they were not, heroes that is. They weren't heroes. They were savages. They are still savages. A little human savagery. All of us are not there, we are all inherently savage and yet we blame what is not there. Rightfully so. Why hold that false light responsible, what kind of fakery is that, why hold the ranks. Speaking of those fallen heroes, it's just as well, for the defeat of heroes is the only thing her palate can handle these days, the humiliations of the unneeded are the only palatable viands to eat around here, which is nowhere. Why you need to know the savagery behind her savage smile, the reason of it, the reason for it, why must you need to know that, though this is the season for it. It is Saturday, so she can easily fly the black sails, prettily so and she can fix the midnight. But though she can fly the black sails and fix the silence of the midnight, she is gone savage. What a savage song she has become, she is a girl gone savage. Why must you master her smile, when you already know her name. What's in a name, everything. Why you want to do that, why you need to do that, is beyond me. This is not what I want. It's beyond all the desires I have, all the desires I have had. For her. And her name? Where is it. What's in her name, her name? It's all in the rain.

I don't need October for it to be October. Despite being a chiaroscurist instigator, I remain a recruiter of shadows.

Emma-Leone Palmer

Of Han Solo, A Star Wars Story. I liked it. I was really surprised by how good it was and how much I enjoyed it. And it was so wonderfully coherent. Despite its numerous production problems and extensive reshoots. I mean, take a look at the mess that was the Suicide Squad and that Justice League, just horrible, stupid DCU.

I think, I have said it before, this movie was basically the TV series they had in mind before Lucas sold out. It also heavily reminded me of the Clone Wars as well, in its scope of the extended universe. Though I do think Alden Ehrenreich did a fine job of being Han in my opinion, it was his really resonant voice that did it for me, that did remind me of Harrison Ford, so much more of him and in turn of Han Solo, than anything else. Kudos to Ron Howard for being such a good and most importantly a competent director.

All in all, I liked it. I was entertained overall. But. As much as I enjoyed it, and despite the fact I had a really good time, even though I am glad I have seen it, I don't regret not seeing it in theaters when it first came out.