"All men lead their lives behind a wall of misunderstanding they have themselves built, and most men die in silence and unnoticed behind the walls. Now and then a man, cut off from his fellows by the peculiarities of his nature, becomes absorbed in doing something that is personal, useful and beautiful. Word of his activities is carried over the walls.
Sherwood Anderson, in "Poor White" (1920)
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1972
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I must have missed the last train out of this gray city.
I’m scrolling the radio through shhhhh. The streetlamps
fill with light, right on time, but no one is pouring it in.
Twentieth Century, you’re gone. You’re tucked into
a sleeping car, rolling to god-knows-where, and I’m
lonely for you. I know it’s naïve. But your horrors
were far away, and I thought I could stand them.
Twentieth Century, we had a good life more or less,
didn’t we? You made me. You wove the long braid
down my back. You kissed me in the snowy street
with everyone watching. You opened your mouth a little
and it scared me. Twentieth Century, it’s me, it’s me.
You said that to me once, as if I’d forgotten your face.
You strung me out until trees seemed to breathe,
expanding and contracting. You played “American Girl”
and turned it up loud. You said I was untouchable.
Do you remember the nights at Alum Creek, the lit
windows painting yellow Rothkos on the water?
Are they still there, or did you take them with you?
Say something. I’m here, waiting, scrolling the radio.
On every frequency, someone hushes me. Is it you?
Twentieth Century, are you there? I thought you were
a simpler time. I thought we’d live on a mountain
together, drinking melted snow, carving hawk totems
from downed pines. We’d never come back. Twentieth
Century, I was in so deep, I couldn’t see an end to you.
Twentieth Century by Maggie Smith
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I was feeling nostalgic recently, remembering my battered copy of The Wonderful Wizard of Oz that I read as a child. I then did some internet searching and discovered, to my shock, that it was only the first book in an entire series. I had to try reading them, and… well.
I did not remember nor realize that these books are fever dreams with a dash of plot and violence sprinkled into the pot, stirred up until they’re frothing to the point of lifting off the lid. Holy mackerel.
For example: There’s a moment (in the third book, I think) where the characters are having a pleasant, if bizarre, conversation until one of them says something snooty or mean. And the Tin Man — the canonically kindest, gentlest person in all of Oz — says that it would be better if they were all nice to each other while twirling his axe at the rude person.
I am unsettled. I have to read more.
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I will rise
from my troth
with the dead,
I will sweeten my cup
and my bread
with a gift;
I will chisel a bowl for the wine,
for the white wine
and red;
I will summon a Satyr to dance,
a Centaur
a Nymph
and a Faun;
I will picture
a warrior King,
a Giant,
a Naiad,
a Monster;
I will cut round the rim of the crater
some simple
familiar thing,
vine leaves
or the sea-swallow's wing;
I will work at each separate part
till my mind is worn out
and my heart:
in my skull,
where the vision had birth,
will come wine
would pour song
of the hot earth,
of the flower and the sweet
of the hill,
thyme,
meadow-plant,
grass-blade and sorrel;
in my skull,
from which vision took flight,
will come wine
will pour song
of the cool night,
of the silver and blade of the moon,
of the star,
of the sun's kiss at midnoon;
I will challenge the reed-pipe
and stringed lyre,
to sing sweeter,
pipe wilder,
praise louder
the fragrance and sweet
of the wine jar,
till each lover
must summon another,
to proffer a rose
where all flowers are,
in the depths of the exquisite crater;
flower will fall upon flower
till the red shower
inflame all
with intimate fervor;
till:
men who travel afar
will look up,
sensing grape
and hill-slope
in the cup;
men who sleep by the wood
will arise,
hearing ripple and fall
of the tide,
being drawn by the spell of the sea;
the bowl will ensnare and enchant
men who crouch by the hearth
till they want
but the riot of stars in the night;
those who dwell far inland
will seek ships;
the deep-sea fisher,
plying his nets,
will forsake them
for wheat-sheeves and loam;
men who wander
will yearn for their home,
men at home
will depart.
I will rise
from my troth with the dead;
I will sweeten my cup
and my bread
with a gift;
I will chisel a bowl for the wine,
for the white wine
and red.
—"Wine Bowl" by the American modernist poet H.D. (Hilda Doolittle) (1886–1961)
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Well 21st century fanfic had its orbs, but apparently respectable Victorian authors couldn’t get enough of comparing the dainty wee ears of a woman or child to shells and it’s making me nauseous
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"[B]ut I don't have to worry about that. After all, there's no proof. To me this is a false diary, though no human being can be so honest as to become completely false."
— Yukio Mishima (Thirst for Love, 1950)
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Evening was come, not with calm beauty but with the threat of violence.
William Golding, Lord of the Flies
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i think the first movie i remember my mom very nearly forcing me to watch was shakespeare in love, which like when she told me i should see it i was like "isn't it rated R" because i was in 8th grade and she was like "yeah but i mean there's like one sex scene kind of but mostly you just see him undressing her and that's it so like, that's fine right?" and i was like, sure i guess
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“It is awfully easy to be hard-boiled about everything in the daytime, but at night it is another thing.”
- Ernest Hemingway, The Sun Also Rises
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Poem from June Jordan, born July 9, 1936
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A Short History Of Judaic Thought In The Twentieth Century
The rabbis wrote:
although it is forbidden
to touch a dying person,
nevertheless, if the house
catches fire
he must be removed
from the house.
Barbaric!
I say,
and whom may I touch then,
aren't we all
dying?
You smile
your old negotiator's smile
and ask:
but aren't all of our houses
burning?
— Linda Pastan, The Five Stages of Grief (1978)
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E. E. Cummings – Crepuscule (I Will Wade Out)
XLI Poems, 1925
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The Influence of Pygmalion: A Literary Review of Time and Justice on a Social Scale
“What is life but a series of inspired follies? The difficulty is to find them to do. Never lose a chance: it doesn’t come every day.”― George Bernard Shaw, Pygmalion
Pygmalion is a play written by George Bernard Shaw and was first performed in 1913. The play is a humorous take on the ancient Greek myth of Pygmalion and Galatea, in which a sculptor falls in love with his own creation. The story…
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Yuri (Japanese: 百合, lit. "lily"), also known by the wasei-eigo construction girls' love (ガールズラブ, gāruzu rabu), is a genre of Japanese media focusing on intimate relationships between female characters. While lesbianism is a commonly associated theme, the genre is also inclusive of works depicting emotional and spiritual relationships between women that are not necessarily romantic or sexual in nature. Yuri is most commonly associated with anime and manga, though the term has also been used to describe video games, light novels, and literature.
Themes associated with yuri originate from Japanese lesbian fiction of the early twentieth century, notably the writings of Nobuko Yoshiya and literature in the Class S genre. Manga depicting female homoeroticism began to appear in the 1970s in the works of artists associated with the Year 24 Group, notably Ryoko Yamagishi and Riyoko Ikeda. The genre gained wider popularity beginning in the 1990s; the founding of Yuri Shimai in 2003 as the first manga magazine devoted exclusively to yuri, followed by its successor Comic Yuri Hime in 2005, led to the establishment of yuri as a discrete publishing genre and the creation of a yuri fan culture.
As a genre, yuri does not inherently target a single gender demographic, unlike its male homoerotic counterparts yaoi (marketed towards a female audience) and gay manga (marketed towards a gay male audience). Although yuri originated as a genre targeted towards a female audience, yuri works have been produced that target a male audience, as in manga from Comic Yuri Hime's male-targeted sister magazine Comic Yuri Hime S.
String identified:
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T acat t gat aa a ct t a ttt ct, ta t tg a a tat t Ca g. aga ctg a tc ga t aa t 1970 t att acat t t a 24 G, ta aag a a. T g ga at gg t 1990; t g a 2003 a t t aga aga t c t , t cc Cc 2005, t t tat a a ct g g a t cat a a ct.
A a g, t t tagt a g g gac, t a tc ctat a (at ta a a ac) a ga aga (at ta a ga a ac). Atg gat a a g tagt ta a a ac, a c tat tagt a a ac, a aga Cc ' a-tagt t aga Cc .
Closest match: Branchellion lobata genome assembly, chromosome: 11
Common name: Marine leech
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