cleaning up so well (jones_casey) wrote,
cleaning up so well

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un dos tres quatorze!

i awoke to much diffidence, even to a feeling that might be called the beginnings of panic, and lay for hours in my bed considering the situation. seek where i pleased, there was nothing to encourage me and plenty to appal.

saturday lxxxi

fringe has been a decided disappointment thus far but it's picking up a bit. in the most recent episode olivia was asked to turn off a grid of light bulbs in box using only her mind. the grid was seven by seven with two missing bulbs for a total of 47 bulbs (deliberately so by the creators of the show). the overarching premise of the show has been revealed: people in another dimension, similar to ours, have acquired the ability to travel to our dimension (and others??) but for some reason the repeated occurrence of such visits will lead to the destruction of our own dimension. the only means of preventing this is to destroy their dimension first. by no means an original plotline. but i'll see what they do with it. what is interesting though, is that the show is on hiatus for several weeks and will be returning on 4-7-09. which is only possible because the show happens to air on tuesdays.

she spoke softly to him, and he rose to his feet, putting his arm round her in quiet consciousness of his ownership; she laid her head on his shoulder with a sense of defiance to all the world in the encircling protection of that arm. he was hers with all his qualities and all his faults. his strength and his courage, his recklessness and his daring, his simple wisdom and his savage cunning--all were hers. as they passed together out of the red light of the fire into the silver shower of rays that fell upon the clearing he bent his head over her face, and she saw in his eyes the dreamy intoxication of boundless felicity from the close touch of her slight figure clasped to his side. with a rhythmical swing of their bodies they walked through the light towards the outlying shadows of the forests that seemed to guard their happiness in solemn immobility. their forms melted in the play of light and shadow at the foot of the big trees, but the murmur of tender words lingered over the empty clearing, grew faint, and died out. a sigh as of immense sorrow passed over the land in the last effort of the dying breeze, and in the deep silence which succeeded, the earth and the heavens were suddenly hushed up in the mournful contemplation of human love and human blindness.

they walked slowly back to the fire. he made for her a seat out of the dry branches, and, throwing himself down at her feet, lay his head in her lap and gave himself up to the dreamy delight of the passing hour. their voices rose and fell, tender or animated as they spoke of their love and of their future. she, with a few skilful words spoken from time to time, guided his thoughts, and he let his happiness flow in a stream of talk passionate and tender, grave or menacing, according to the mood which she evoked. he spoke to her of his own island, where the gloomy forests and the muddy rivers were unknown. he spoke of its terraced fields, of the murmuring clear rills of sparkling water that flowed down the sides of great mountains, bringing life to the land and joy to its tillers. and he spoke also of the mountain peak that rising lonely above the belt of trees knew the secrets of the passing clouds, and was the dwelling-place of the mysterious spirit of his race, of the guardian genius of his house. he spoke of vast horizons swept by fierce winds that whistled high above the summits of burning mountains. he spoke of his forefathers that conquered ages ago the island of which he was to be the future ruler. and then as, in her interest, she brought her face nearer to his, he, touching lightly the thick tresses of her long hair, felt a sudden impulse to speak to her of the sea he loved so well; and he told her of its never-ceasing voice, to which he had listened as a child, wondering at its hidden meaning that no living man has penetrated yet; of its enchanting glitter; of its senseless and capricious fury; how its surface was for ever changing, and yet always enticing, while its depths were for ever the same, cold and cruel, and full of the wisdom of destroyed life. he told her how it held men slaves of its charm for a lifetime, and then, regardless of their devotion, swallowed them up, angry at their fear of its mystery, which it would never disclose, not even to those that loved it most. while he talked, nina's head had been gradually sinking lower, and her face almost touched his now. her hair was over his eyes, her breath was on his forehead, her arms were about his body. no two beings could be closer to each other, yet she guessed rather than understood the meaning of his last words that came out after a slight hesitation in a faint murmur, dying out imperceptibly into a profound and significant silence: "the sea, o nina, is like a woman's heart."

with his handsome and disreputable head, his hooked profile, his long white beard, and with an uncorked bottle in his hand, he re- sembled one of those reckless sea-robbers of old making merry amidst violence and disaster.

for enoch parted with his old sea-friend,
bought annie goods and stores, and set his hand
to fit their little streetward sitting-room
with shelf and corner for the goods and stores.
so all day long till enoch's last at home,
shaking their pretty cabin, hammer and axe,
auger and saw, while annie seem'd to hear
her own death-scaffold raising, shrill'd and rang,
till this was ended, and his careful hand,--
the space was narrow,--having order'd all
almost as neat and close as nature packs
her blossom or her seedling, paused; and he,
who needs would work for annie to the last,
ascending tired, heavily slept till morn.

"what do you intend to recite, fraulein sonia?"

she shook back her hair. "i never know until the last moment. when i come on the stage i wait for one moment and then i have the sensation as though something struck me here,"--she placed her hand upon her collar brooch--"and...words come!"

"why, perhaps the prince and princess may go to live in a country where there is a deep river, and perhaps they may have one only son, a little fair-haired boy with violet eyes like the prince himself; and perhaps some day he may go out to walk with his nurse; and perhaps the nurse may go to sleep under a great elder-tree; and perhaps the little boy may fall into the deep river and be drowned. what a terrible misfortune! poor people, to lose their only son! it is really too dreadful! i shall never get over it."

i know that the boy shoots with a pistol to admiration, hunts well, plays wonderfully at billiards, at chess, and at backgammon; he handles the foils, and rides a horse like the late chevalier de saint–georges. he has a thorough knowledge of all our vintages. he is as good an arithmetician as bareme, draws, dances, and sings well. the devil’s in it! what more do you want? if that is not a perfect gentleman, find me a bourgeois who knows all this, or any man who lives more nobly than he does. does he do anything, i ask you? does he compromise his dignity by hanging about an office, bowing down before the upstarts you call directors–general? he walks upright. he is a man.

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