other than that though i am slayin, lately
i quoted the holy mountain monologue in my yearbook.
no one reading it has heard of the man, the myth, or the movie before.
they all appreciate it, take something from it, they all respond to it.
I was just kinda quoting it because it meant something to me, yaknow, i wasn’t really expecting anybody to pick up…
i’ve just quoted some things from Fando y Lis (because i’m using dialogue from it in a piece of music i just started working on) on a face-post…
people who have no reckoning of the movie, the man, or the myth, seem to be taking something from it.
name one other guy who can say vague spiritualistic poetic-philosophies (out of context no less) and get that response.
sometime i’ll get it just right” —The Phantom Tollbooth
a great hunt was played, on an ankle nigh-sprain’d
the three-leave’d dangers were no match for the lake we bathe’d in
the summer call rang, beckoning clear
the fire climb’d higher, to it we grew near
parking lot sunrise
you don’t really matter in your artcraft till you’ve reached the point of the sublimity that comes with not giving a fuck.
“It was Virgil who first found the way to my heart and opened my budding imagination, by speaking to me of epic passions for which instinct had prepared me. How often, construing to my father the fourth book of the Aeneid, did I feel my heart swell and my voice falter and break! one day, I remember I was disturbed from the start of the lesson by the line At regina gravi jamdudum saucia cura [Now the queen for some time had been troubled by the pangs of love]. Somehow or other I struggled on until we came to the great turning-point of the drama. But when I reached the scene in which Dido expires on the funeral pyre, surrounded by the gifts and weapons of the perfidious Aeneas, and pours forth on the bed - ‘that bed with all its memories’ - the bitter stream of her life-blood, and I had to pronounce the despairing utterances of the dying queen, ‘thrice raising herself upon her elbow, thrice falling back,’ to describe her wound and the disastrous love that convulsed her to the depth of her being, the cries of her sister, her nurse, and her distracted women, and that agony so terrible that the gods themselves are moved to pity and send Iris to end it, my lips trembled and the words came with difficulty, indistinctly. At last, at the line Quaesivit coelo lucem ingemuitque reperta, at that sublime image - as Dido ‘sought light from heaven and moaned at finding it’ - I was seized with a nervous shuddering and stopped dead; I could not have read another word… Seeing how confused and embarassed I was by such emotion, but pretending not to have noticed anything, my father rose abruptly and shut the book. ‘that will do, my boy’ he said, ‘I’m tired.’ I rushed away, out of sight of everybody, to indulge my Virgilian grief.”
“… for the last three years I have been tormented by the idea for a vast opera, for which I would write the words and the music… I am resisting the temptation to carry out this project and shall, I trust, resist to the end. To me the subject seems magnificent and deeply moving - sure proof that Parisians would think it flat and tedious”
and now i have technique enough i should be able to do all these things. but like god damn. what happened.
well its mostly just myself.
i want to do things.
i try too hard, and i rather like to think i know what i’m trying to say.
which is so so much less than not knowing what is being said.
but when i try that i don’t like what happens it feels hollow.
i don’t know what to fucking do with myself.
And when the Ainur had gazed for a while and were silent, Ilúvatar said again: ‘Behold your Music! This is your mistrelsy; and each of you shall find contained herein, amid the design that I set before you, all those things which it may seem that he himself devised or added. And thou, Melkor, wilt discover all the secret thoughts of thy mind, and wilt perceive that they are but a part of the whole and tributary to its glory.’
widely have I wandered already:
far over the Earth’s face I wend my way.” —
Siegfried Act I Scene ii
Ever wide and wild
the wandering path;
long lay the shadow
of lone rider.
Ever high and high
from mist rising.
A fire at crown
fence of lightning,
high to heavenward
hissed and wavered.
leaped the lightning
A wall saw Sigurd
of woven shields,
a standard streaming
striped with silver;
a man there war-clad,
with sword beside him,
The helm he lifted:
hair fell shining,
a woman lay there
wound in slumber;
fast her corslet
as on flesh growing-
the gleaming links,
Gram there clave them.
the legend of sigurd & gudrün - The Lay of the Völsungs - VI Brynhildr
translated by J.R.R. Tolkien