What else to do
when the unspeakable comes. What to burn
when it doesn’t. Somewhere in a world that didn’t quite
end, a woman like me is foraging for that which failed to kill her.
Franny Choi, The World Keeps Ending, and the World Goes On , Upon Learning That Some Korean War Refugees Used Partially Detonated Napalm Canisters as Cooking Fuel
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The Migrant's Reply by Indran Amirthanayagam. Text ID under cut.
[Text ID: Our eyes are dry. Our breath needs washing. What next? You are
putting up
a wall on your Southern flank? What an irony. The country that
accepts refugees
does not want us. We qualify. We have scars and our host
governments hunted
at least some of us. The rest fled in fear. Gangs do not spare
even the children.
White vans took away our uncles, our cousins. Do you think they
have been made
into plowshares? Ay, what are you saying? Too easy. Too easy to
wear our hearts
in these words, in slings, on our faces, furrowed, perplexed.]
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Excerpt from the poem "We'll Not Die in Paris" by Natalka Bilotserkivets, translated by Dzvinia Orlowsky.
From IN THE HOUR OF WAR: POETRY FROM UKRAINE edited by Carolyn Forche and Ilya Kaminsky.
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The idea that uni protesters are "elitist ivy-league rich kids larping as revolutionaries" on Twitter and Reddit and even here is so fucking funny to me if you actually know anything about the student bodies at these unis. Take it from someone who's going to one of the biggest private unis in the US, 80% of the peers I know are either from the suburbs or an apartment somewhere in America, children of immigrants, or here on a student visa. I've heard about one-percenter students, but I've never met one in person. Like, don't get me wrong, the institution as a whole is still very privileged and white. I've talked with friends and classmates about feeling weird or dissonant being here and coming from such a different background. But in my art program, I see BIPOC, disabled, queer, lower-income students and faculty trying to deconstruct and tear that down and make space every day. So to take a cursory glance at a crowd of student protesters in coalitions that are led by BIPOC & 1st/2nd-gen immigrant students and HQ'd in ethnic housings and student organizations and say, "ah. children of the elite." Get real.
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Mace: *dragging Kenobi and Vos out of the slam poetry night by their tunic collars and stops Tholme and Jinn from leaving them behind* No, you heard our rules after last week’s incident, they’ve been banned!
Qui-Gon: *ready to argue* What in the galaxy could my sweet baby padawan have done to get kicked out?
Tholme: I must admit, despite Jinn’s willful ignorance, I understand that mine could get banned, but he never mentioned it so I would like to know what he did.
Mace: Obi-Wan wrote a poem about a galaxy wide war that gave seventeen people True Visions and I had a shatterpoint migraine till last night. So for him it’s either me or him in that room and I’m the host so it’s me.
Qui-Gon: *taking a sheepish Obi-Wan into his arms for a pity cuddle cause that poem had led to like four straight days of council sessions and an enslaved Dathomiri child being found in a senator’s house on Naboo* To be fair. Obi-Wan had some good points.
Tholme: I’m scared to ask. What did mine do?
Mace: He didn’t write a poem so he went up to the mic and started licking it. It was the most disgusting noise I ever heard. If he gets near a mic I might have to drop kick him. Safer for him out here.
Tholme: *deep sigh of sadness* Yeah that sounds like something he’d do.
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and it always comes back
to your willingness
to destroy yourself
for the slightest chance
that someone might
care enough to stop you.
-mars
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Sidnur Crosbur poem if you please
— We Were All Odysseus in Those Days, Amorak Huey
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I follow you
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first official day of napowrimo!!! april 1st prompt is: poem that recounts the plot of a novel you haven't read in a while. (warning for themes of war, bombing, & past abuse)
overnight in a bomb shelter
if the world ends this week
please brush my hair
i won’t ask you to be gentle
let me walk barefoot
farther away than the eye can see
in weather cold or warm
i may bite you
sting and curse you
don’t come too close
feed me and bathe me
that’s all i ask
but bombs scream overhead
planes shriek with their engines
sirens blare from the streets
in a murky shelter
buried beneath the mud
of your childhood home
your calloused hands are soft
dropping a blanket ‘round my shoulders
reading a book in the dark
my ears ring and my hands shake
you shield me with your palms
you promise to teach me to sew
to read and write
to run and climb
in moments in the dark
where the world might end
where all i smell is mold
you treat me like a child
who has never known love
i treat you like a woman
who has never known love
and for a moment
the world feels right
as the bombs scream overhead
‘cause the world might end tonight
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*fall*
a rush of wind moving past
empty space
where *he* should be
where he always was
but never will be again
because he fell
and he has no wings to rise back up
he may be my angel but God denied him his wings
and he *fell*
and i am alone
empty space i never felt before
quite i never used to mind
a hole in my heart to never be filled
and yet
they all say to move on
how can i just pass over the pain
maybe i learn to push it down
but not yet
because i still see him fall
every night he falls
and i can never catch him
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hello!!! idk if this might be too late but pls could you share your will and nico asklepious au plot......?... very interested with morally grey will.... thank you for your service
big
asklepios au is basically just ancient greece au, somewhat historical fiction?., set post greek-roman war, will and nico become friends and then nico dies and then will brings him back to life and then will dies and then becomes immortal is the basic plot
morally grey will is that he attempts to cheat death and basically commits blasphemy, also that he may be willing to bring people back to life for his personal gain, not out of benevolence
nico's issue is that he internalizes that his character is unnecessary and his sole use is as a tool for war
so its good-at-everything-but-fighting x good-at-nothing-but-fighting
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Hektor is irreplaceable to Troy, he is their greatest warrior and last defense, he’s the hinge on which Troy’s survival hangs, and he hates this. He is invaluable when, in truth, he wants nothing more than to be replaceable. Hektor holds bitterness and resentment for how heavily his city relies on him. Yes, he will stop at nothing to defend them, yes, he is unyielding and relentless at the cost of his own health, but he doesn’t want it to be that way. Even as he overextends himself time and time again, Hektor is aware that it takes a heavy toll on him, after all, he feels the cost more sharply than anyone. He knows it’s unsustainable, but every time, he finds it more important to sustain Troy than to sustain himself. Even so, his earnest desires are elsewhere. Hektor would rather stay in bed with Andromache when he wakes up exhausted, he’d rather take some time to let his wounds heal and not fight through blistering pain, he’d rather stay in the stay inside the city and look after Scamandrius, guiding him as he grows, than anything else.
When Hektor returns to Troy to ask Hecuba to make an offering to Athena, he refuses to remain- three times. Clearly, Hektor will not let himself rest because he leaves Troy, but clearly, he still longs to rest because he pauses. He takes a moment with Andromache and Scamandrius because he wants to, so desperately, and when he sees his baby, Hektor beams. He stops to comfort his beloved Andromache in her grief, and he takes his helmet off to bounce Scamandrius in his arms. For a moment he sets aside those things he needs to fight so he can be with them. What he believes he must do is not the same as what he wants to do. Hektor leaves, but Hektor lingers.
But he leaves because he is needed and deep in his heart he begrudges that. His own insistent drive to push himself to his limits would be difficult enough to temper on its own, but Troy’s desperate dependence on him on top of that is damning. How could they rely on him so heavily and yet have no one that might take his place if he can’t go on? And he’s never allowed to forget. Repeatedly they call him the lone defense of Troy, so much that he feels the weight of it, so much that they call his infant son ‘Astyanax’- Lord of the City- because of it and how dare they, how dare they, how dare they?
How dare they do that to him when he’s still so young? How dare they do that to Hektor, who already can’t help but relentlessly expend himself at every turn for them, and then they reward him by hitching their anxious hopes and expectations on his precious little son...?
And it makes such an elegant contrast with Achilles. Achilles, the Achaeans’ greatest warrior, irreplaceable on the battlefield, who adores and thrives on that fact. Achilles who, by his nature, is so proud and entitled that he’ll stop fighting and let them die to remind the Achaeans just how desperately they need him. As opposed to Hektor, who loathes being irreplaceable, but by his nature, is so stubborn and dogged that he will never stop fighting, at the cost of everything.
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I love Wayne Visser for accidentally writing the most Kalluzeb-coded poems I've ever seen:
It's really giving Bahryn to me. Gentle embraces in the midst of pain especially; there are so many moments in the Honorable Ones (besides the obvious life-sparing one) when Zeb is clearly putting the fact that Kallus is injured ahead of the fact that he's an enemy, and he's not so rough with him as you might expect. And of course it was a night of anguish for both of them, as they recounted the most scarring moments of their lives side-by-side with their enemy, in the freezing cold, but there was the contrast of hope, of understanding, just like the contrasts in the poem.
This is giving post-Zero Hour. A whole lot. Courage blossoms in the midst of fear—I mean come on, Kallus just turned his back on his entire life up to this point to join a rebellion that may or may not succeed, but he still did it. And now he and Zeb are no longer mortal rivals, but friends and compatriots, and whatever healing either of them has yet to do can be done together, as two wounded warriors fighting for a better future.
This is just...very Kalluzeb. This is them. Their lives during the Rebellion, when they're not always together on the same missions; their lives after the Rebellion, when they've found peace and they have to adjust to not being at war anymore; their lives together at all knowing they used to be enemies, but also that they were somehow pulled together by the Ashla for better things.
The poem is called Kismet. And how could they believe that it took anything less than an act of fate to bring them together, with all the history they had? How much more blessed could their union be, if destiny itself worked on their behalf?
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