literary analysis;

there are things known and there are things unknown, and in between are the doors of perception. cho kyuhyun | lexicon au +18 | closed rp tracking; freakkyuhyun tent #5 | cottage #243

[cloggo-deactivated20160913]

[freak-kyuhyun]

fairy tales abroad; xiumin & kyu

Piteously frozen it still may be, hard and bearing no signs of comfort without the tell-tale signs of an oncoming spring outlined with striking greens and a white-washed sky accompanied by towering spirals of cumulus clouds, the ground stretched on before him in an unappealing manner; a chill consigned straight to his bones to rattle them at a single touch with a seat such as thus presented. A simple, yes so simple if he’d thought of the weather ( it’s hard to be ignorant when sleep takes you in a tent, no matter the build or luxury, brisk winds sweep in through cracks to play with one’s belongings), thing to do to tug on a few layers of fabric, but when had he ever given attention except for grave days spent embarking on what seemed to his perception life-changing escapades, snow in perpetuum flurries  would assuming places around their tucked-away home in the mountains, when even necessities of food and the like became scarce, and a return to home was warranted—not that his grandparents thought him to get too far with each departure.  

Despite the lack of preparation, the crewneck sweater (cashmere-blend and stripes of a dull gray and red) donned after a rather sluggish morning lent more warmth than presumed against an early evening, sky overcast and sullen appearance hiding the easiest of visible changes of the oncoming night. Plenty of time to spare, plenty of time left for decay; concluded dexterously with thoughts already making a beeline for time to himself—granted it wasn’t often he’d get a bit of luck and feel at home with the other residents of the cirque, only from the fascinated eyes of strangers was any bout of ardor received, and time never seemed to be set aside for casual greetings or meetings; very much so a fault of his own though, never seeking out a soul when the moment called for the action.

Kyuhyun, with all his jittering excitement about a grand new plan that had not hesitated to evaporate the slightest with his lack of social skills, but never did it upset him—the little pin-prick thoughts of ‘another day’ and ‘tomorrow’ always coming after a night of successful amusement but unsuccessful mirth in conversation. Always though, were his books and thick pads of paper lodged at a desk he’d animated there for him to indulge his senses in, words able to unfold seemingly chimerical as if projected from an electronic device, but efficiently three-dimensional and distorted with his wishes; precisely what’s decided upon doing today, hunger negligible to his state of mind and dealt with when tearing away his focus.

Luck does have it though that his godsend enables a cushion to be created along with a blanket, each devoid of colorful details due to his laziness, but comfortable nonetheless when he’s settled and books each spread before him, ranging from Greek mythology to American fairy tales to a new novels presenting theories connect to the multiverse—although maybe it’s not much a range at all.

There was so much to do, see and learn, with so little time to enjoy the process of doing it.

All the more reason for his many adventures (although having an advantage of retaining information at much higher rates lent him more time, but never enough for his brazen soul—if only what was read didn’t undergo the process of extinction).

And without a moment’s notice did he choose a book to begin with, lips pressed and pursed and pressed—before a smile forms at last, pages flicked delicately until landing on one with descriptions of objects nailed into his brain from readings long ago with his sessions of practice with his grandmother. The animations, without close analysis, would seem to have appeared fully out of thin air (the words never been vocalized—the new tact stronger with each time eagerly performed, but never perfected, excerpts having to be read aloud still for anything to materialize); but it’s a physical pull, molecules coalescing and separating with a buzz of excitement before acknowledging a new form. And before he knew it, an assortment of dancing distractions dueled for attention around him, save for the immobile, of course.

It was just below the edge of noticing, though, that another young man seemed to have neared his bubble of imaginations—so when one of the objects went rogue and shot out (not paying any head to the object he hadn’t detected what it may be), a dull thud sounded, immediately stilling Kyuhyun and animations skewed around his sitting figure.

[prosejinyoung]

❝Is nowhere full of geniuses, sir? Because then I probably belong there.❞

[wardsnow]

[freak-kyuhyun]

whimsical nature; jeongmin & kyu

Mischief—it hadn’t left his eyes for hours, as if it had traveled a long distance and needed to rest and set up camp in him.

Not as if Kyuhyun would ever mind.

But, just that little traveler that’s made a temporary home seemed to have gotten him lost; potentially a hard task to have completed in the area they were in, but not for him it seemed. His little fawn made up of his own ability, an illusion that’s always been at his side through thick and thin and all the rest from a young age, he didn’t have today, having left the scrap of paper with the words written out that he would need to, in one sense, summon her. Granted, not a single one of his belongings did he have with him at the moment barring the clothes on his back, shoes keeping his feet warmed, and a measly bit of paper he’d always have hidden in a pocket of his jeans, whether remembering he’d done so or not.

Just the thought of a new discovery no matter the size or importance kept the thoughts nudged away, as if he could hide from them and the weakness he held without being able to extrapolate his ability had he needed to. But, it was so, and it would remain so—not a thing to do about such a situation at this point to where his feet had taken him.

Long and spindly legs took him forward and, when looking back, a realization of being a greater distance than he had thought from the twinkling lights standing out so proudly against the pressing night that likes to suffocate so much—he thought it best, swathed in the darkness himself he may be, to keep to the outskirts of the campsite. It may be, in fact, that he could find his way through the woods and back; but he had a niggling doubt it would be most keen not to try and prove that fact. After all, through the gaps of the leaves of the variably dispersed trees was he able to see the sky, stars showing off their bright patterns—it’s times like this he shows gratitude for his grandfather, the man who’d most enthusiastically shown him the wonders of constellations and binary systems and all that the universe has to offer. Granted him with allowing his own telescope, which he dutifully brought along with him—but hasn’t yet had the allowance of bringing it out to use after joining the cirque.

Brought to demise due to boredom, the slip of ivory paper plucked from a pocket of his, splayed and crumbled and flattened and folded—eventually it lost a battle Kyuhyun know it wouldn’t win, but the time it took away from his attention happened to be grandiose in manner. Having torn in two, then three, and maybe four if he cared not to have brought his face once more up to a moon blocked from his sight, only to see the early signs of dawn dripping over the horizon—still faint and not yet portraying hues of an apricot flavor (or maybe that was only in his mind, for most days at most locations did a sunset take a breath away rather than did a sunrise) but that of the color before a blue marine takes over; if of course, the weather would permit.  

Surely—negligent he may be—he wasn’t lost. Yet not one of the trees or other significant landmarks his eyes landed on showed signs of remembrance. A step or two may skew his whereabouts to a fashion of recognizance, but certainly no one would call his absence to attention, or notice it for that matter.

And really, returning was not on the tips on his toes rolling to the heels of his feet like so many nights he’d become accustomed to doing when at home, whether by instinct or the call of his name.

And indeed, without a reason to be had for returning he did no such thing, instead content with his shaded surroundings not yet acknowledged the prowling sun; no thoughts of recognizable faces or strangers would come to mind here, not that company would have been brushed off his shoulder and turned away from, and with his back being pressed to the rough bark of a neighboring tree, stepping off whatever path his mind was set on him taking, he was ignorant of any noises, and therefore missed the arrival of someone he hadn’t readily been expecting.

[indigogypsies]

Someone asked me what home was and all I could think of were the stars on the tip of your tongue, the flowers sprouting from your mouth, the roots entwined in the gaps between your fingers, the ocean echoing inside of your ribcage.

E.E. Cummings (via hoponyourseahorse)

[teaandtweets]

[aquaticwonder]

Spontaneous Combustion Olaf Brezeski (2008)

[freak-kyuhyun]

such a feisty friendship; ophion & kyu

A time after the night’s festivities, Kyuhyun regretfully (or in his mind, most thankfully) not yet had participated to a full degree due to the attention put toward his nerves that were all in a jumble (and not nearly enough toward the playful splendor that comes with the cirque and its customers); so with simplicity at the forefront of his mind he took time to amble on through the area all the tents had been set up for the current members there are, not yet wanting to return to his own and settle in for the night—he always had found that sleep never came easily when not exhausted; sleep was a famished lover at times calling him into a jealous embrace—but only when she likened to—that the moon tends to draw him instead.

It was uncommon and very strange to him, to have so many people so close in what one might call a modest vicinity; arms wound round one another in almost a fashion of keeping each other safe, the high neck of his jacket, stolen from his luggage without much thought to its semblance, was pulled close to keep away the chill of the night.

Surely joining the cirque may have been a bit of a gamble; leaving behind all that he had in his quaint home in the mountains with its myriad of books held close to his heart, but nevertheless he had been enjoying himself as he does anywhere new that he’s presented himself to. Smile on display for people he hadn’t introduced himself to, nameless to him just as well as he is inattentive to theirs—not of his own desire but merely, a shyness that he isn’t accustomed to had poked its head out. Either way, he’d make acquaintances eventually, keeping knowledge of all in intricate detail no matter how trivial of a matter a meeting may be—fixation at its finest, maybe, but more so the thanks goes to his ability.

Thoughts solely swirling around the books brought with him on his endeavor of a trip negligence shrouded his surroundings, only sound to be pertinent were his own footfalls and crunching of the grass and erratic twigs that would snap at the lightest touch, showing off their brittle guise and delightfully had given him a satisfying startle. Their only goal, he had believed, was to rouse him from the depths of his fretful mind, drawing him to cognizance of their woes and wearies of being stepped on—as if he could do something about it, as if he had been able to avoid their once unblemished path and take another.

Soon he realized he should have listened to the twittering cracks of voices only he might understand, for the situation he had found himself in was none too pleasurable.

Much to his dismay a pair of eyes had kept his every move without his knowledge all the while of his little jaunt through the grounds (others had been asleep or amusing themselves with what they may so he was still giddy with the time he had alone), so when he felt a constriction of sorts about his ankle, his brows furrowed with annoyance, thinking his pant leg may have caught on some shrubbery of sorts—looking back on it, he really wouldn’t ever atone for his scared behavior. Gaze fretfully being torn from their trailing over a string of lights he’d been thoroughly enjoying viewing and directed downward with malcontent, only to freeze in his tracks; surely that was not a snake curling up with his leg, its tongue all a flicker and a smile—oh yes that was a smile on the nonexistent lips of the reptile. Worry stuck its dissonant chords and sounded only in his ears, causing Kyuhyun to wave his leg about in a fractious manner, keeping fear as dulled as he might be able to.

It wasn’t long after he started his wiggling about to shake off the reptile did a voice sound somewhere behind him; laced with what he could detect as anguish he snapped his head up to look for the source, not knowing which distraction should his attention be directed to.

[gravitationalbeauty]

A Massive Star in NGC 6357 

[astrophil-to-stella]

You must stay drunk on writing so reality cannot destroy you.

Ray Bradbury, Zen in the Art of Writing (via astrophil-to-stella)

[fyukjae]