ASCHA

'It always strikes me, and it is very peculiar, that when we see the image of indescribable and unutterable desolation – of loneliness, of poverty and misery, the end of all things, or their extreme – then rises in our mind the thought of God,' — Vincent van Gogh.

[signumdeivivi]

— This account is now indefinitely suspended, likely without further notice. It has been made clear to me that I am no longer desired as a roleplay-partner after I had been kept in doubt for over a year. Goodbye, and farewell.

[signumdeivivi]

(( Is this your only muse? ))

— 「I apologize for whatever delay there is in my response, as I perhaps log into this account once a month, so I cannot know when exactly this message was sent. But yes, this is my only character. Kisaki has been my sole muse throughout a period of about five years now, and will almost certainly be my last, as well. Unfortunately for me, the end seems rather close in sight, as he no longer receives any attention from fellow writers.

[i-love-you-from-a-distance]

Distance doesn’t separate people, silence does.

[signumdeivivi]

I don't write with you, and I don't think I could do as amazingly long, but I came across this blog by chance when I saw it as a suggested. I have to say your writing is phenomenal and quite beautiful.

— ‘Tis not a matter of could, ‘tis a matter of want. Never have I urged another to be replicating me, yet at full length of my more eccentric and uncommonly practiced crafts have I come across individuals who favoured distance over proximity. And how full of envy, that I am; for ‘tis not them hidden in remoteness, it is I. The excursive drive behind my writing comes at the greatest price, that of seclusion. While I take your praise with grand humbleness, I —at the same while— might beg for your forthcoming to me.

[signumdeivivi]

kamijo-ia:

“Find solace in silence now, dear lover of mine, and find the inspiration now to fall unto me with eyelids closing out the sights of your perfect lion.” A hand would then pass, one possessing of brilliantly kept nail beds and the magnificent antique ring long ago gifted him by this scarlet wonder who’s birthday they today celebrated, over Kisaki’s eyes in endeavor to persuade them closed. “When it is that you no longer see my brilliance, your gift shall descend.”

“How may I be urged no more to gander ‘pon thine resurrected form, this sacred one among angels..,” a breath, — sweet-tempered and benign in its passing ‘pon the lover’s enshrined hand — it flees the careless, inquisitive lips of his domain, and on the fingers’ touch his gaze does so withhold the light; he becomes a viewer of darkness and he becomes an awaiting seer of futures, a force embraced alone in the sincere silence oft bestowed ‘pon him through love, and love alone.

[signumdeivivi]

⌈This is exile⌋ - Kamijo & Kisaki.

[signumdeivivi]

kamijo-ia:

In the moment that these two now relapsed upon one another, so much depth harrowed into existence somewhere amassed in the atmosphere above and around them. Depth, that encompassed a multitude of emotion and a sea of endless gravitational pull though the latter was a law not enforced by mortal standards in this, the holy land. Here, there were no angelic ones bound to the grounds which they belonged. In this place, their domain was limitless; from the ground to the air in which all knew so well that they could touch, as well as feel coasting past the God-given ligaments which were lined with pure plumage. They were all of that simple right gifted upon them at the moment of their creation, and yet, here stood a fallen brother. His pride in decomposing fragments upon the stark white of the abode his Father dwelled as he grieved out his waterworks, and his back prudent proof of what made him less of the family he’d once lived as the most enviable. He, by modern day name Kamijo who led frivolous chaos in earthen realms with beauty and grace. He, who angelically was none other than the Seraphiel who led legions and dominated the heavens and earth with perfect graces and incomparable talents. Look just how small and begone of his height he had become when poised with the kindness of his Father.

The promise to be loved, that he was still, no matter how far down the paths of separate worlds he had traveled. It wrought both the anguish of a fallen son and the joy of the solid angel’s heart that still beat for the purity of where he knew his devotions still lay. It was nothing but truth when the mind reminisced back upon the eons of history collected by a singular soul. Kamijo had been unruly and poisoned by deceptive lies. Beautiful ones swathed in a neat shimmering cloth alike liquid satin or silk, yet able to tear apart the soul from where it belonged. Despite this harrowing fall, this Seraphic leader knew where in his reversal he had been led astray. Too late, perhaps, but in time he came to repent all that he had taken into his mind by the lips of the fiendish brother. That repent was recognized, it seemed. Though never had the fallen creature from heaven’s highest order taken the dare to conceptualize that perhaps one day, God would usher him to the home he belonged and greet him with the salutation that would manifest the promise of his kind’s avian pride.

“…spill not such lacustrine serosities hitherto thine renaissance, thine rousing of thine supple and plumed pinions nascent of forthwith an execution carried onward with – love, such tears I shall see chronic on these apple-cheeks of thine in time forthcoming, bringeth me not forth such visions yet..,” said He who kept his hand upon the beating of His son’s chest. It gathered the vaguest of possible queries within the deep chaotic blue that stormed within Kamijo’s eyes. “Which visions have you possessed, that would determine me a fall of salted waters?” Innocent question, by a poor innocent lamb that in this moment, was stripped of his lion’s mane.

He was never the creature of stupidity nor unobservant daftness, though in the moments that were all continuing their passage through the ledger of time’s order, it was a first that this beautiful fallen creature felt himself teeter on the edges of a cliff that bore height over a sea of incertitude. Why speak the Creator so? In such a way that paved the way for grieving tones. Was there something for which both would be tugged over that cliff into a pummel of sharp rocks lined with some unknown effectual outcome? It caused but a shiver to roam free over this body which shone still with heaven’s homely light, with his Father’s magnificent handiwork, though it was once and briefly lived. Button by button, his blouse of richly constructed qualities and materials was allowed to flap agape; a picturesque reveal of the never-aging perfection that was this fallen angel’s chest piece manifested. Air that blew on the passing of natural space, grazed upon that bare chest now, washing away almost instantly all feeling that once had been the embrace of materials on the body. It freed him, yes, but to what purpose still he was unsure. It took his disorderly hues of blue a few moments to gaze down upon his own fleshly exposure, then slide back upward upon the clothed surface of his Father and Brother, until he again reached the point in which the facial features were again the main focal point of his gaze. If tears where here not needed, not yet, then what was? Gratitude still pulsed within the veins of his immortal wrist, and sincere love for his only unwavering branch of family from the very beginning of where his family tree began to grow still consumed his poor downtrodden heart.

Barred from the waist up, stood he; this prince of heavenly reign, fallen yet still gloriously encased in the magnificence of his eternal design. He had lived as this wayward aristocratic soul for many an eon, wanderlust never quite quelled as his soul had felt at unease no matter the time period or place of destination. All under the reason that he, this divine manifestation of God’s wish, was not meant for the soils and the waters of the mundane and solid. Kamijo, Seraphiel, was only meant for the heavenly and the ethereal with light as his shield. Though again, through words poured unto his ears by the voice of He who created all and knew all, did the beauteous fiend feel again that aching heart that dwelled within. When spoken to in such manner, the angel could only find it in his response to shake his head once, heart trembling with the regret of his past interventions with the divine plan. He had wronged his brethren and his father, he knew. Deserved not this appraisal of his angelic value, nor the homecoming of his dreams. Deserved not this forgiveness unto his very soul, yet still stood he before the Father with hope. His Father was loving to him still, and Kamijo felt it in all the immensity that it was radiating against him. Within him. That warmth in the embrace which dedicated an eternity of bliss to his lost son. Trapped in the everlasting embrace which removed him from the unworthy perils of a life never meant to be his, the fallen son wished never be released. Home was where the heart is, certainly, and his heart had always been yearning for his return into these gentle arms.

Home is where the heart lies. Yes, he could believe in that saying and understood what meaning it forged when it fled the lips of his Father almighty. Though, the moment of understanding dissipated all too quickly. This feeling, all feelings harvested in full capacity within his core being, they were not allowed to blossom further. Rather, all his mounting in the ability to thrive was upturned so suddenly. Cut short with frightening speed that he himself, the keen observant, had not placed in his scout for possibility. All that was left in the moment of disengaging, was a single sentence which would reverberate in his unconscious mind for lack of anything else to grasp hold of mentally.

Though try he did, even through the abrupt end to his warmly enveloped notions of being protected and loved, he tried to retain his stately presence. There was no pain, none that he could immediately place, but rather his eyes widened with a frightened disbelief. Stormy and chaotic waters of deep oceanic navy, nighttime waters. Each eye left agape told the onlooker of his flurry of rancid thoughts. What had happened and what would become of his reign? He who long had boasted of beauty and favoritism amongst his brethren. What was to happen when the compression that here forced its way past the fragile layer of skin would reach the bone? Long dexterous fingers with properly trimmed nails dug into the skin of He who kept him in a half embrace now, a reflex bound to extract itself when so much pressure had plunged into the very depths of his chest without so much as a whisper of forewarning. There was no vocal outcry from the fallen child, no bleating of frightened panic… Instead he endured in silence, awaiting the moment when all made sense.

A bone did eventually crack, break maybe but how could he be sure? It must have been an encasing ribcage bone that had stood in the way of the immediate goal. That is when the dive into his body had become far too in-depth, and the lion-turned-lamb felt his weight give out from beneath what his previous legs had done so well in maintaining; his figure since the day of his first breath of life. Each particle of his physical existence was giving way to the benediction of laborious torment, and it was so foreign that even through his slightly parted lips and daftly liquid-leaking eyes, he bore no vocal protest or outcry. He clutched instead at his Father adamantly as though it were the only thing he cared to hold against him in his time of apparent demolition, until the whites on his hand were beyond what normally would be considered a healthy pallor. When the shock wore it’s corse through the cell particles that connected action to thought and the severity of this labor brought to light, Kamijo felt no more and sagged into the hands that clutched him upright.

In this remote land of fleeing conscious intellect, he grasped onto what he could only do so now; three words spoken as his blood was spilt. ‘I love you’.

‘Love… yes, I do so love you too, Father. Even in this darkness of immobile uncertainty…’ His thoughts existed, and even while he was left struggling with the choice of leaving the body so perfectly grafted for his lifetime as perfection or continuing on, he wished it were not his final act. Of course, he could not know that still his heart beat. Nor that God the Father had him cradled in absolution, away from the clutches of death and all her solemnly working reapers. He did not know, though wondered he still if his thoughts would be allowed to coexist with his beloved lands were he to cease in able heartbeats. Would eternal rest also confer with the daily sanction of eternal silence? It had been something even the blessed angels had not been told an answer, for why was it they needed to keep this in their minds? Immortal souls, beings without possibility to find a life’s end. Now however it was a thought of an unconscious mind that awaited either the silence of his existence or the awakening of life reborn.

Unbeknown to he who now flopped as a lifeless doll may in the arms of he who repaired them for purposes anew, beacons of sanguine-tinged feathers had forcefully burst through the skin covering his muscular back and made his compilation in bodily mass all the heavier. The once stark-white floors of the abode that God kept here in the high plains of heaven’s paradise were now stained with endless streams of ruby red, a grotesque scene that would have made even the most battle-worn archangel squirm. It almost served as a statement, that what was pure and preserved had been given new life. One that would in time with proper care, clear and begin the new reign.

When he would again open his eyes, cast the icy blue to the world once more, he would be Seraphiel once more; magnificent and reborn to boast the ranks of his original right.

‘O, such sweetnesses and sufferances came here beleaguered ‘pon the swooning seraph still; and an angel’s mourning chorus was clamouring within the sepulchre of opened chasms in these ribs’ immortal cage, barren; so that his unearthing voice could reach, and reach ‘yond the living and unliving — chime it would, as a remonstrance commemorative of sleep-driven and sinistral-oblique dimensions, rousing in an encompassment of a consuming love, and a consuming pain uniting to exist as a deviate entrance to the endurance of a leaven commotion of this ascendance — yet how unlike transcendence and consummation became he when ‘mid an unremembered somnolence of limitless slumber the noble now so slipped; ‘pon ambivalent sluices of rubicund rain now floundering as were the kosher’s, home-given heart the siphoning instrumentality meant of commoving the gaping river’s stream, inspiring the incarnadine and bleeding course to break ‘pon its strenuous banks as these ten-thousands of heart’s beats laid ‘mid the founder’s austere and immaculate, silver-and ensanguined palm.

“…I bringeth for thee the cosmos and creation to its effete end; and the lands and the seas are to thereupon move alone for thee, as with mine measureless kiss do I whisper ‘pon thine very broken heart; ‘This man becometh the king of light, and this seraph becometh harbinger of the unfallen legions — and under mine command he sovereigns, and drinks the wine of all unruly titans.’”

How unassuming lay his creation ‘mid this relinquished, undermining immensity — in a transparent lonesomeness and solitariness, a whiteness stretching ‘pon where the flowering eye becomes unceasing, and incessantly becoming; transmundane illusions so phantasmal stretched ‘pon immeasurable breadths and widths that alone his covetous and ravenous heart reflected ‘pon its surface as if it were its own mirror overturning, a shattering misapprehension envisioned only, through his self-worship. How indecorous the odious manure foundered ‘pon the marble wonder yonder and once burgeoning from his all-giving hands. So foul and stale the rifts ‘neath these mournful lodestars lamenting to their nevermore of found such a heaven’s light; beacons beckoning of the all-motion and commotion, muscle tearing way to the unsolicited skies, and further to horizons far — “’Mere boy, how small thine frail and fragile forms seek shelter ‘pon the temporal globule of the non-finity, how meek and unresisting the voice clambering further ‘pon thine oesophagus’ ascendance, so susurrus to me and to all the world this being’s oft downheartedness does seldom speak; quiet, child — lament no more, repent no more and lie bleeding in this endlessness that is becoming me and more to thee, maunder t’ward where ‘tis the gate’s ensemble which orchestrates with its triumphing trumpets and hallowing horns, all-consuming all of thee… and thine spiritual and extramundane non-healing becometh not of the iniquitous flesh, becometh not of powerlessness and enervation, and feebleness of the heinousness becometh of those of the graceless and unscrup’lous earth; yield to me and such power which I hold — forgo and renounce the most exhaustive meridian of apogees now clandestine ‘neath the cimmerian darkness ‘mid which thee so dwelleth, where ‘mid thine inane brother’s lacquered, dark’ning jaws thine grace leaks through all the riddled shimmers in his neverlight.’”

Adjourned angel, concede now to an omnipotent prowess and weep no more to the elapsed and calamitous, fallen age afore the mentioned kisses ‘pon this beauteous heart. Feel clasped ‘round the organ’s width these impassioned fingers long and winding overcome in bearing love and adoration; these that pump this very blood through this old vessel’s lodes and labyrinthine tunnels, breathing life.

Take now this very touch outstretched and becometh of the heaven’s sanctum far and wide a ruler wielding the might of sword and shield; strike ‘pon the clouds with loud this thund’rous voice and stir the deafening lightning in tumultuous skies, roar and clamour with the zest of battle’s cries and seize power of all such opponent’s cesspools, settlements and lead on forth pursuits in all this holy war.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

‘O, creature, thou shalt not bear false witness to uneven worlds as for a crusade embodied ‘mid such mastery seen within this blessed event thou art, and more and more becomes — a star, a child, an exemplar fit of the predicaments and pressingness that oft uphold the thorough universe’s mind and fullness of all known (or the psyche and sealed-perceptive consciousness of him), and need he not see as sees the Lord, as thus beholds the Lord this creation of might and conception of power? Yearns he not for the cunning and clear-sighted truth eclipsing lightlessness formerly too clandestine and obscured, that which becomes alone the prowess of the Lord, and the resourcefulness of the Lord — and yearns he not for an endowed love’s brilliance and excellence, perceived alone through the eye of the Lord.

Heed the shimmering ocular ‘mid the crevasse oft becoming cold and cruel — as carnal is the mephistophelian design forthcoming of his future sight. Bitter are now his wounded yet untouched, lissome hands when ‘tis that he feels lost – and lost to his divinity, when ‘tis that he reaches alee to that which balances in such equivalence to worlds; a correspondence ‘tween heavens and the unredeemed and disoriented creations nevermore recovered through a blessing of his word or the cleansing of his touch. No more is he the unborn (and yet originated from the unliving) master of truth when sharp-edged nails return their obdurate and unfeeling grasp ‘pon the resinous and glutinous substances ‘round his living, pulsing eye. How odious the grim and grotesque wickedness arises when ‘tis that the hereafter at last is sucked ‘mid the somber and caliginous hollowness residing left ‘cross his lean face — where alone he leaks of the miserable and woebegone atrocities he witnessed in an endlessness, shaped alone in the maimed and malformed barrenness – in the exhaustion of abysmal frailty illustrated ‘tween the precious blood and vacant hole. Lambent, phosphorescent globe — be not frantic on this seldom-occurred commencement and grieve not the loss from thine erstwhile governor’s hemic and darned bloody chamber overseeing sight.

“…Am I no more king than he, yet here unkindled and now purloiner of cinders… brother, unyielding sword of Seraph’s prince, rise if you would, ’This man becometh the seer to myriads of boundlessness, exacts the rule of scorn and becometh miracle and shall not remain among the accursed — he who sees all must conquer all, and with the eyes thou art the all-seeing conquistador and nonpareil of patrons.’”

Hereupon the mouth of gracious fallen angel lies his barren, innocuous hand, these soft and portly lips compelled and coercive, unwilling as a sempiternal instrument and subservient medium of the assumed power that comes taken by the supreme Lord. (Mighty Seraph, flaming one in splendour and oft fervid love — turn now above the sodded meadows and sowed terrains with six commodious wings wide, he with unveiled, crowning face may behold all puissant glory and change into an indomitable image, a model of that of the Lord). Oculus of wholeness and decidedness, take here the entrance ‘pon the amorphous trachea and throne thyself ‘pon vitals famished, where each his adroit fingers push here long and hard ‘pon the dreading and blanched, grisly orb; ingest and rise to championing might and victorious battles won with this sublime and intemperate chronicle, this penchant of disfigurement and yet reconnaissance as thus will spread ‘pon these feathered plumes an ocean-wide of thousand eyes believed. “Swallow here mine now abandoned and downtrodden discernment, a sentient growth becoming none of me and more to thee — hear and taste ‘pon colours relinquished ‘mid thine forgotten plummet, breathe and caress all the lustrous air which I renounced thee ‘mid all dark’ning time. Lust for lambent, shimm’ring sheens, and perceive me, all born sublime…”

[signumdeivivi]

"Oh, what love might I impress upon thee when the eve of life's mortal celebration is upon us? Gifts, I might shower you with many, but the only one I think truest with sentiment is the one of my endless love. Happy birthday, my dearest."

“Needful, alone might I become so overthrown withmine demand; covetous for love — these arms ‘round mine lost frame when vagrantfrom thine forms do I so stray. Gifts, alone come those unveiled from ‘neaththe nocturne’s kiss left ‘pon me by thine saviour’s lips…”

[signumdeivivi]

kamijo-ia:

Each breath that was huffed over the scorched skin was irritated and rash, as only when in a state of breathlessness. It was lively, and passionate. Longing, so very longing. It quelled the writer’s instinct to capture a moment in words that had kept Kamijo up this winter night. His hand now traced a fine line down upon that shallow cheek, as his lips dove deeper into love’s appeal much more urgently to show the feeling that continued to consume his chest. Down, down went the flaming line of touch, against the neck whereupon his lips began to follow. Kamijo made it known how fiendish even he could be, to present his loved one with a vision of a holy creature filled with such extremities of devotion and love.

Phantasm, come to him! – command now such transcendental and empyrean courts and castles ‘mid an aerial figment arranged ‘pon the very lineaments becoming that which was his trembling form; heat, incandescence – strike ‘pon the earthbound and momentous phenomenon of fevered skin, hiss ‘neath the searing inconclusiveness and breathtaking gingerliness coming yonder, coming nether to such astonishing and frightening distraughtness that spoke within his beating heart. Write ‘pon him! – poetize such love with parching lips ‘pon his burning frame and lie naked the words with which his everlastingly consumed soul strikes the summoning of passionate chimes resonating from each corner and crevasse he left resigned to the very angel governing him whole.

[signumdeivivi]

It has been quite a while since I have last talked with you, but even after all that time, I think about you with a certain kind of fondness and it makes my heart swell with happiness when I see you on your blog, still writing and being content.

— 「How you give yourself away, dear; revealing yourself as a supporter of this blog yet again whilst simultaneously dispatching this message. But indeed — it has been long, it has been so very long since those devout devotees worked together on a project that simply could not lift itself off its foundations. I do think back about those times, quite frequently.

[signumdeivivi]

( I really hope you won't disappear completely and you will find the will and inspiration to stay. Even if your writing is sparse, it's really interesting; it'd be a shame to not be able to read it anymore. )

— 「It is often with doubt that I do find myself lingering here; what purpose do I have, still? Might I reenact yet again that glorious throbbing of the heart repeatedly felt when I became indulged within my writing? These are questions I keep struggling to give an answer to. I have yet to salvage the qualities which I feel are currently lost to me. There is some progress, here and there, but nothing prodigious as of yet. I do promise, however, that the heralding of that day shall come. An exact moment, I cannot give to you.

[signumdeivivi]

               [XIII]

                  “To thee, pure spirit, to thee alone addressed                          Is this joint work, by double interest thine,                               Thine by his own, and what is done of mine                     Inspired by thee, thy secret power impressed.                             My muse with thine, itself dared to combine                             As mortal stuff with that which is divine:                       Let thy fair beams give luster to the rest."                    “Oh, had that soul which honor brought to rest   Too soon not left and reft the world of all   What man could show, which we perfection call,   This precious piece had sorted with the best.   But ah, wide festered wounds that never shall   Nor must be closed, unto fresh bleeding fall:   Ah, memory, what needs this new arrest?    Behold, oh, that thou were now to behold   This finished long perfection’s part begun,   The rest but pieced, as left by thee undone.   Pardon blest soul, presumption overbold,   If love and zeal hath to this error run:   ’Tis zealous love, love that hath never done,   Nor can enough, though justly here controlled.    But since it hath no other scope to go,   Nor other purpose but to honor thee,   That thine may shine, where all the graces be;   And that my thoughts (like smallest streams that flow,   Pay to their sea, their tributary fee)   Do strive, yet have no means to quit nor free   That mighty debt of infinities I owe.”

[the-unintended-muse-deactivated]

Absent from thee I languish still; Then ask me not, when I return? The straying fool ‘twill plainly kill To wish all day, all night to mourn. Dear! from thine arms then let me fly, That my fantastic mind may prove The torments it deserves to try That tears my fixed heart from my love. When, wearied with a world of woe, To thy safe bosom I retire where love and peace and truth does flow, May I contented there expire, Lest, once more wandering from that heaven, I fall on some base heart unblest, Faithless to thee, false, unforgiven, And lose my everlasting rest.

John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester (via the-unintended-muse)

[signumdeivivi]

[signumdeivivi]

kamijo-ia:

“Infatuation, yes…” It began as a low murmur of honey-tones descriptive only of his heavenly vocals, and yet it receded into the more jovial tones of his pomp and charm whilst the lips amidst his perfect features found a way and reason to rise and play tempest against those that were a red so unlike the natural color of normal species that boasted agile minds. “Infatuation for this beast of your creation. Each mask so donned by my fiendish features, you love as you love all that is my soul, and I yours.” Were it another sweep of his finger across that blazing cheek, and immediately after did the lion press his lips upon those that spoke so passionately in the depths of this nighttime so becoming of their love.

“Fiendish, you speak of..,” how heated were his beaten breaths ‘pon the angel’s poisonous mouth — so venomous and severe, yet capriciously captivating and enslaving him ‘mid a coercing circle of such durance and objection; he became absolute and yet ensnared in a changeless and unmoving succession to reverence, and taken by alone their kiss so plenteous and flowering did he flow in courses in which he became helpless and ‘o, hopeless — but an instrument playing love’s fickle tune ‘pon his darling lover’s lips. Heinous, indeed his seraph was; a beast ‘neath whom he lies trembling in ravenous longing, whereupon his fingers teeter in uncommon patterns — over the skin of a chiselled back, over the eminences of shoulder’s blades, and ‘pon the hip’s imminent bones, and on much further do his touches sear, everlastingly.

[signumdeivivi]

xaviertheintl:

It was surreal when the archivist was sent off to another country for the Seoul National University library as opposed to The Library. Of course, a part of being an archivist (from his present job’s description) included acquiring materials intended to expand the SNU library’s knowledge pool, which meant a little travel every now and again. It was just odd to be trotting about the country or to another country with no threat of competitors, necessity for uncommon languages, or puzzle-solving. Being the Librarian, he wasn’t required to hold onto an extracurricular job, but it was a departure from the unconventional world surrounding The Library and a much needed one at that.

Readjusting the backpack resting upon his shoulders, Xavier wandered the rows of shelves and weaved between library-goers. His admiration for the Tokyo Metropolitan Central Library could be categorized as repeated awe; The size of the structure and amount of information housed within it was impressive no matter how often he set foot inside. Granted, there was just something phenomenal about the vastness of books and other forms of media being collected in one place, especially after experiencing The Library and all it held. Though nowhere near the amount within The Library, the dedication to housing books for public access was just endearing.

 <“Where’d you get that?”> Coming to a dead stop, the librarian held eye contact with the literature resting within the hands of a reader. It looked to be something he was after: the Japanese title led him to believe so anyway. His eyes eventually traveled from the book’s cover to the person holding it, prompting him to pull a smile to indicate his harmlessness. It shouldn’t be difficult to convey himself and what he was after in the language of the land of the rising sun, but there always seemed to be this awkwardness when he spoke a foreign language after such a long time.

Vellum — feeble and diaphanous; such lays in amassments ‘round his current heterogeneous heavenly bodies, forgathered ‘mid accumulations and assemblages in favour of reams and bindings of olden skins and hides; as lays such one volume ‘tween his delicate hands, in the wee and soft-worn shapes of time-forgotten romances and dreams, chronicles assumed to tell his tales in other form and paradigms, and those were alone the untruths of legends that came as unsung by his genuine voice. And his possession lies alone afore the primeval erection of print — unassailable by the counterfeit hands once by him extended ‘pon man, and preserved often by his aegis legion and ‘the Youth’, his scribe.

Anile and ruinous alone to the weaknesses and sightlessness to his sublime and beautiful, doe-like left eye does the script appear, its calligraphies drawn and barren as so does time sustain its power still, succeeding to all that is his versed creation. Mere man, be with blindness and confusion to the heavenly and poetized instrument conveyed from his voice to booklets coming to light as bare booklets when perceived of commoners. And mere man, be with splendor overcome when so his calamitous and evangelizing ocular triumphs with colours of places of the unearth, and the lost.

His thumbs lay pressed ‘pon the make-believe volume of the assumed word of God, and these were circling the misleading work, not in thought or such immersion in its veritable bourn and purpose, but in the slight beguilement drawn from the spectacle rendered afore him; a young man’s interest wholly wandering not to the immaculate and the sincere (the crowning sight that was he, and his aura), but to an unassumingness, one partisan, by such mere man. “Shin kaiyuku seisho, the New Japanese Bible. A replication belonging merely to me.”

[signumdeivivi]

                               [XII]

   "For fate with jealous eye does see,    Two perfect loves, nor lets them close:,    Their union would his ruin be,    And his tyrranic power depose.    And therefore his decrees of steel    Us as the distant poles have placed    (Though love's whole world on us doth wheel)    Not by themselves to be embraced,    Unless the giddy heaven fall,    And earth some new convulsion tear;    And, us to join, the world should all,    Be cramped into a planisphere.    As lines (so loves) oblique may well    Themselves in every angle greet:    But ours so truly parallel,    Though infinite, can never meet.    Therefore the love which us doth bind,    But fate so enviously debars,    Is the conjunction of the mind,    And opposition of the stars."

[signumdeivivi]

;— It has been inappropriately long, since I have attended this website. I wonder if a return is desired by others.