History by Carol Ann Duffy
She woke up old at last, alone,
bones in a bed, not a tooth
in her head, half dead, shuffled
and limped downstairs
in the rag of her nightdress,
smelling of pee.
Slurped tea, stared
at her hand--twigs, stained gloves--
wheezed and coughed, pulled on
the coat that hung from a hook
on the door, lay on the sofa,
dozed, snored.
She was History.
She'd seen them ease him down
from the Cross, his mother gasping
for breath, as though his death
was a difficult birth, the soldiers spitting,
spears in the earth;
been there
when the fisherman swore he was back
from the dead; seen the basilicas rise
in Jerusalem, Constantinople, Sicily; watched
for a hundred years as the air of Rome
turned into stone;
witnessed the wars,
the bloody crusades, knew them by date
and by name, Bannockburn, Passchendaele,
Babi Yar, Vietnam. She'd heard the last words
of the martyrs burnt at the stake, the murderers
hung by the neck,
seen up-close
how the saint whistled and spat in the flames,
how the dictator strutting and stuttering film
blew out his brains, how the children waved
their little hands from the trains. She woke again,
cold, in the dark,
in the empty house.
Bricks through the window now, thieves
in the night. When they rang on her bell
there was nobody there; fresh graffiti sprayed
on her door, shit wrapped in a newspaper posted
onto the floor.
I love this poem. I've been a little obsessed with it for a couple days now. I found it when I was wandering through the wikipedia page for "poet laureate". Duffy's name was listed as the current poet laureate for the United Kingdom. Curious, I looked for something she'd written and found "History". Had I read more about her before I read the poem, I might not have been so interested. Carol Ann Duffy is one of many contemporary authors who is making a name for herself while being an openly lesbian woman. I'm not repulsed by her sexuality so much as I am by the thought that, perhaps, many of these women wouldn't be so novel if not for their preferences. Do we like them because they're gay? Or because they're really good? Does society demand we over-appreciate them to make up for cruel treatment of homoseuxals in the past or does society genuinely love the works these women produce? I don't know. I can't know. There is no way to know.
However, this is probably one of the better poems I've read in my life. I love it. I loved it before I knew she was a lesbian and therefore I can admit, openly, that I appreciate Carol Ann Duffy's work with absolutely no regard to her sex life. I love her personification of History as an old woman, underappreciated, abused, ignored. She is not dead, but neither is she alive. No one is tending to her needs and soon, it seems, she will die. Alone with no offspring to carry on her legacy. Is that where our history is going?
I took several history classes in the past few years as part of an exploration into what I thought might be the field I'd like to spend the rest of my life in. I found, quickly, that history is really not for me, though it is extremely interesting. We spent whole class periods discussing whether or not the study of history was useful, how it should be done, and why. To be honest, we never really discovered a true answer to those questions. It is largely a grey area. The study of history has been abused, rendered perverse, by so many different cultures and generations, it is almost impossible to retell the past without someone's bias interfering anymore. Frustrated, I once cried out, "What's the point!?" to which my professor responded, "History! We do it for the sake of history."
History for history's sake. No agenda, no expected answers to be got. It seems almost... like an unrealistic dream. An impossibility. But that is the job of the historian. To look at the past for no reason other than to make certain that the past can persist unchanged, unbiased, and without perversion. A holy calling, to be sure. So I salute you, historians, and your crusade. Keep on keeping on, and all that. Also, Carol Ann Duffy? I would totally take you on a date if you were into that.
Friday, February 24, 2012
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Long Distance
When she calls I can hear the tears in her voice.
They bubble deep inside a well,
Dark and cold and strong,
And overflow sometimes.
And I know that I am the source
And sometimes I think,
"Maybe I should die,"
That'd really give her something to cry about.
But that makes me feel sick.
And so I whisper that it will be okay,
I try to make her laugh,
I try to stem the salt-tide of tears
That I have caused.
And I never really do any good
And things'll probably be worse next time
And I know it.
But still I try because she loves me.
And I love her.
And we haunt each other like bad memories
And we can't stop.
And the best we can hope for is that,
Between phone calls,
We forget our miserable romance for a while.
They bubble deep inside a well,
Dark and cold and strong,
And overflow sometimes.
And I know that I am the source
And sometimes I think,
"Maybe I should die,"
That'd really give her something to cry about.
But that makes me feel sick.
And so I whisper that it will be okay,
I try to make her laugh,
I try to stem the salt-tide of tears
That I have caused.
And I never really do any good
And things'll probably be worse next time
And I know it.
But still I try because she loves me.
And I love her.
And we haunt each other like bad memories
And we can't stop.
And the best we can hope for is that,
Between phone calls,
We forget our miserable romance for a while.
The Pride
 |
| Be watchful, stand firm in the faith, act like men, be strong. (1 Corinthians 16:13) |
The first thing I wanted to do was to get the kids to pick a name for themselves. Immediately they started slinging crazy names around and for a while we almost settled on "Fish" but before it was decided I suggested we name ourselves after a word which denotes a group, like "The Mob" or "The Flock". They loved this and so I kept spouting out words until we came across "The Pride". A group of lions. The guys immediately agreed that this was our name. I was so excited I went home and made a Facebook group and added all the kids to it and even designed the logo you see at the top of this post. I then went about designing t-shirts and coming up with monthly get-togethers where we can do boy things together. I'm really, really excited. So excited that I can't even tell a proper story about all of this.
Usually I would spin a nifty little tale with more details to make it interesting and with at least one twist somewhere, but this is just too much. If I went into detail about the way heading up this group makes me feel I might explode. I want so much for these guys because I know exactly what it was like being a Christian at that age. Everything felt so superficial. My faith was secondary to everything. I'm not going to say that isn't true now, but I wasn't aware of it then. I want these kids to really see that faith can be deep beyond their wildest dreams and that God is so real he makes this keyboard I'm pounding seem like an illusion. I believe most of all that what these kids need is a translator; someone who can read the Bible out to them so that it makes perfect sense. I want them to understand the setting of the Word, how Jewish culture colors everything that happened, and how, when viewed through the eyes of a witness, Jesus' miracles were a hundred times more impressive than they first appear.
We're burning through Luke right now, reading three chapters a week instead of the usual one. The guys insisted we do this when they learned that we could read through Revelation after we finished Luke. They're really excited to learn about the symbolism in Revelation and see what it all means. So am I for that matter. I've been looking to find a text that walks through Revelation and explains it so I can have a deeper understanding of the metaphors before I go trying to teach anything to the guys. Also, we need a symbol. Something easy to draw....
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Doesn't anyone speak English anymore?
I can understand omitting punctuation and capitalization given the right circumstances. For example, in a text message that's only one sentence long, why would anyone waste the extra effort on a capital and a period? The meaning can be inferred almost without error.
I can also understand misspelling words, or possibly even making up words, to make a point. Like spelling the word "dog" as "dawg." It's a cultural reference. There can be implicit meaning in misspellings like that and therefore they become necessary to communicate those meanings. Made up words like "sheeple," while obnoxious, are just ways Americans shorten complex thoughts and ideas into single words. That's totally cool. It doesn't bother me at all.
But I'll be damned if I don't get on Facebook at least twice a day and see someone use "they're", "there", or "their" incorrectly or spell "affection" with an "e" instead of an "a" or so horribly abuse tense you have no idea if they're talking about today, tomorrow or fifteen years ago. I mean, come on! Everyone on my friends list has gone through grade school and many of them are in college, writing papers, preparing to be the voices of the next generation and they can't figure out if they should say "I drank some water" or "I drunk some water." How many of us mocked George Bush Jr. because he couldn't speak standard American English? How could anyone expect him to when they can't do it themselves!? The hypocrisy in infuriating.
I openly admit that I have a hard time spelling words. Looking through my blog posts, though, you'll probably notice that spelling errors are few and far between. It's because I use spellcheck. It's hard not to use it. Even when I'm just making a post on a friend's wall, a little red line pops up under any misspelled word. It constantly reminds me that you don't spell "business" without an "i." How is it then that so many people misspell English words online every single day?
The simple answer is that they don't care. That, however, is an explanation that I simply do not understand. How can someone not care that they just proved to everyone connected to them online that they are not intelligent enough to use the language they were raised speaking when they post, publicly, an obvious abuse of grammar or spelling? Wouldn't any red-blooded American have a problem with showing the ignorance of a five-year-old? Apparently not.
Maybe my opinion is of little consequence. Maybe I'm a hard ass when it comes to grammar and spelling. However, being able to adequately and accurately communicate your thoughts and ideas has got to be one of the most crucial signs of intelligence. Without that, what are you?
Oh. That's right. A doofus.
I can also understand misspelling words, or possibly even making up words, to make a point. Like spelling the word "dog" as "dawg." It's a cultural reference. There can be implicit meaning in misspellings like that and therefore they become necessary to communicate those meanings. Made up words like "sheeple," while obnoxious, are just ways Americans shorten complex thoughts and ideas into single words. That's totally cool. It doesn't bother me at all.
But I'll be damned if I don't get on Facebook at least twice a day and see someone use "they're", "there", or "their" incorrectly or spell "affection" with an "e" instead of an "a" or so horribly abuse tense you have no idea if they're talking about today, tomorrow or fifteen years ago. I mean, come on! Everyone on my friends list has gone through grade school and many of them are in college, writing papers, preparing to be the voices of the next generation and they can't figure out if they should say "I drank some water" or "I drunk some water." How many of us mocked George Bush Jr. because he couldn't speak standard American English? How could anyone expect him to when they can't do it themselves!? The hypocrisy in infuriating.
I openly admit that I have a hard time spelling words. Looking through my blog posts, though, you'll probably notice that spelling errors are few and far between. It's because I use spellcheck. It's hard not to use it. Even when I'm just making a post on a friend's wall, a little red line pops up under any misspelled word. It constantly reminds me that you don't spell "business" without an "i." How is it then that so many people misspell English words online every single day?
The simple answer is that they don't care. That, however, is an explanation that I simply do not understand. How can someone not care that they just proved to everyone connected to them online that they are not intelligent enough to use the language they were raised speaking when they post, publicly, an obvious abuse of grammar or spelling? Wouldn't any red-blooded American have a problem with showing the ignorance of a five-year-old? Apparently not.
Maybe my opinion is of little consequence. Maybe I'm a hard ass when it comes to grammar and spelling. However, being able to adequately and accurately communicate your thoughts and ideas has got to be one of the most crucial signs of intelligence. Without that, what are you?
Oh. That's right. A doofus.
Thursday, February 9, 2012
A letter concerning your novel.
Dear Joan,
I have examined your book and,
if you will please excuse me,
have found it disconcerting.
The title words pour down the cover
across a field of sickly green.
Play
It
As It
Lays.
The words appear ill themselves.
Beyond the block of vomitous green a woman,
a faceless woman in fishnet stockings and with just a hint,
a teeny curve,
of quite the luscious bottom,
is bent in half.
Backwards.
Painfully in black and white backed by cream,
the color mental institutions use in lieu of white.
And then there are the words:
"A novel by"
after which is a photo of,
I assume,
your face.
Your oversized, dark glasses survey John Leonard's praise.
He claims you surpass all since West.
He calls your work terrifying.
Joan, why do you hide your eyes?
Do you think the fear you've planted in John Leonard will show there?
Do your words terrify you too?
Or do you hide because it is a sham? The fear you write is guesswork.
If I must read your novel I would like to know;
Why?
Sincerely,
Alan
Thursday, December 15, 2011
I could post in my blog...
I could watch more TV.
I could make lunch.
I could play Borderlands. Again.
I could play Final Fantasy... even though I'm stuck.
I could post in my blog...
I could play Nintendogs.
I could post in my blog...
I could read Jack London! Again.
I could post in my blog.
I should post in my blog.
I'm going to post in my blog.
Now.
Right now.
I could play Nintendogs?
Post!
In!
Blog!
Fine.
I know exactly why I avoid doing this so much. To be a writer requires constant practice. It is not a skill like breathing, bicycling or cracking all your knuckles in one go that is learned, perfected, and never thought about again. If you slack off for a month, even a week or a couple of days, you will be coming back to the iron cold with none of the fire of life, no flexibility. What results is often disaster. Total garbage. I hate that. I hate not being able to spew beautiful prose instantly, on command, like some kind of machine built for this. Instead I fumble in everything I write. Sure, I am capable of fantastic verbiage and am prone, on occasion, to even write a few, precious lines of poetry. But this is rare, like picking out the shark's tooth from among the innumerable billions of other blackish triangly-shaped thingies that pepper the shelly beaches of St. Augustine.
I am certain that "blackish, triangly-shaped thingies" is exactly how every shark's tooth hunter thinks of those false, deceitful particles.
So I put it off. I tip-toe around it thinking: "It's too soon. I've got nothing new to say. I'll wait until something worth writing about has taken place." Something worth writing about is taking place every single moment of every single day that a writer is alive. But I lie to myself anyway.
It is hard to write for an audience primed to let fly with criticism. I think it is harder still to write for a silent audience that comes and goes with the strength of my talent like the tide with the waxing and waning of the moon. Hardest of all is writing for an army of Yes-Men and, while it serves to stroke my ego, is probably my least favorite kind of audience. And then of course there is my family. If anyone is able to tell me my writing is trash it is my family. They hold no illusions when it comes to my talent. It makes them honest, which I both love and hate.
The cat still has fleas. I took her to the vet and they applied some kind of stuff that was supposed to kill the damn things and still they live, hitching rides on our beloved Cricket into the confines of my bedsheets where they pester me all night with their insatiable appetites. I will kill them all!
I could make lunch.
I could play Borderlands. Again.
I could play Final Fantasy... even though I'm stuck.
I could post in my blog...
I could play Nintendogs.
I could post in my blog...
I could read Jack London! Again.
I could post in my blog.
I should post in my blog.
I'm going to post in my blog.
Now.
Right now.
I could play Nintendogs?
Post!
In!
Blog!
Fine.
I know exactly why I avoid doing this so much. To be a writer requires constant practice. It is not a skill like breathing, bicycling or cracking all your knuckles in one go that is learned, perfected, and never thought about again. If you slack off for a month, even a week or a couple of days, you will be coming back to the iron cold with none of the fire of life, no flexibility. What results is often disaster. Total garbage. I hate that. I hate not being able to spew beautiful prose instantly, on command, like some kind of machine built for this. Instead I fumble in everything I write. Sure, I am capable of fantastic verbiage and am prone, on occasion, to even write a few, precious lines of poetry. But this is rare, like picking out the shark's tooth from among the innumerable billions of other blackish triangly-shaped thingies that pepper the shelly beaches of St. Augustine.
I am certain that "blackish, triangly-shaped thingies" is exactly how every shark's tooth hunter thinks of those false, deceitful particles.
So I put it off. I tip-toe around it thinking: "It's too soon. I've got nothing new to say. I'll wait until something worth writing about has taken place." Something worth writing about is taking place every single moment of every single day that a writer is alive. But I lie to myself anyway.
It is hard to write for an audience primed to let fly with criticism. I think it is harder still to write for a silent audience that comes and goes with the strength of my talent like the tide with the waxing and waning of the moon. Hardest of all is writing for an army of Yes-Men and, while it serves to stroke my ego, is probably my least favorite kind of audience. And then of course there is my family. If anyone is able to tell me my writing is trash it is my family. They hold no illusions when it comes to my talent. It makes them honest, which I both love and hate.
The cat still has fleas. I took her to the vet and they applied some kind of stuff that was supposed to kill the damn things and still they live, hitching rides on our beloved Cricket into the confines of my bedsheets where they pester me all night with their insatiable appetites. I will kill them all!
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
A fairy tale on the fly
this story is one that I made up when a friend of mine was feeling really down. she asked that i write a story to her over an IM that involved a ship. that was her only requirement. so i fabricated and typed out a full fairy tale in one go, without so much as taking a minute to think about it. i just typed it out. this is that story, copy pasted from the conversation window.
alright
5/2/09 4:32 PM
lemme think
5/2/09 4:33 PM
ok
5/2/09 4:33 PM
once there was a kingdom, overlooking the sea.
5/2/09 4:33 PM
and in this kingdom, trading by ship was very important.
5/2/09 4:33 PM
all the best traders had the fastest ships.
5/2/09 4:34 PM
one day the king, who only had a daughter for his heir, decided it was time to decide whom she should marry.
5/2/09 4:34 PM
so he went to his daughter and asked her what she wanted to do.
5/2/09 4:35 PM
she told him, "Father, I will marry whichever man can sail through the Devil's Teeth the fastest, for only a man of true spirit, strength, and love for his crew, could ever do such a thing."
5/2/09 4:35 PM
so the king agreed, very proud of how wise his daughter was.
5/2/09 4:36 PM
he sent out a decree, calling for all the fastest traders and merchant captains to summon their crews and report to the mouth of the Devil's Teeth, a strait of horrible currents and sharp coral shoals, for the biggest race to ever be held in the kingdom.
5/2/09 4:38 PM
a young man, brave and strong, but sorely poor, heard of this decree and desperately wanted to participate in the race as a captain, but, as he was only a poor crewman, he could not afford his own ship.
5/2/09 4:38 PM
upset at his stock in life, he wandered the beaches along the kingdom's shoreline, singing a dirge to himself in a pure and beautiful voice.
5/2/09 4:39 PM
suddenly, he heard a voice from one of the many caves that dotted the cliffs along the shore.
5/2/09 4:39 PM
rushing inside, he found the perfectly preserved remains of a beautiful roman trireme
5/2/09 4:41 PM
the trireme called out to him, "Young man! Never have I heard a song so beautiful. Long have I been tired of the waves of this world, but hearing your song has brought my old hull back to life and i wish to race through the sea again. Only sing to me, and I will take you wherever you want to go faster than any other ship in the world."
5/2/09 4:42 PM
the young man was overjoyed! he had his own ship now, and one fast enough to win the princesses heart. so he built some rollers and towed the ship out to the sea. singing to it, he fairly flew into the harbor, the bow bairly touching the waves.
5/2/09 4:43 PM
he gathered for himself all the boys he had served with him in the past, facing storm after storm as cabin boys and crew together, and he formed a crew as trustworthy as any that had ever been seen.
5/2/09 4:44 PM
with his crew on board, the young man sailed the ship to the mouth of the Devil's Teeth. the crew marveled at how the ship sailed so fast, almost without their assistance. and the young man sang joyfully.
5/2/09 4:45 PM
the princess was at the starting place as well, surveying the ships, when she saw the young man and saw his ship and heard his voice.
5/2/09 4:45 PM
she was entranced.
5/2/09 4:45 PM
she called out to him, "Young man, I pray that it is you who will win this race, for I feel that I love you already!"
5/2/09 4:46 PM
the man could not answer, for he had to continue singing, but he sang all the louder, to let her know he had heard her words.
5/2/09 4:46 PM
the race began.
5/2/09 4:46 PM
the young man sang to his ship and the trireme pushed out ahead of the compitition wihtout trouble.
5/2/09 4:47 PM
his ship and crew were full of high spirits and they relished the thrill of the race.
5/2/09 4:48 PM
however, once they had reached the halfway mark, a storm came over the horizon.
5/2/09 4:48 PM
it was the largest storm that had ever been seen.
5/2/09 4:48 PM
all of the other ships in the Devil's Teeth were wrecked.
5/2/09 4:49 PM
men called out to the young man from the waves, cryining for him to rescue them.
5/2/09 4:49 PM
the young man heard them, and responded with a song that was hard and biting as the wind, defying the waves to take the men's lives. the triremem responded swiftly, and moved from wreck to wreck, rescuing the men who lost their ships.
5/2/09 4:50 PM
however, the young man's voice began to flag. his throat was sore and his lungs were tired.
5/2/09 4:50 PM
however, there were more ships to be saved.
5/2/09 4:51 PM
his crew urged him to continue onward, that he could not possibly save them all, but he would not listen. he continued to sing.
5/2/09 4:51 PM
the trireme rescued the remianing survivors, and began it's journey once more through the Devil'
5/2/09 4:51 PM
s Teeth
5/2/09 4:51 PM
however, the man knew his voice would not last much longer
5/2/09 4:52 PM
he sailed the trireme to a small, rocky outcropping, big enough for the men to take safe refuge on, and forced them out of the ship. he knew he would not make it to the finish, but he also knew he would not give up. with tears in his eyes, he bid his crew goodbye,a and they wept openly.
5/2/09 4:53 PM
with his remaining strength, he sang the ship to the end of the race.
5/2/09 4:53 PM
the sun was now shining, the storm all spent, but the man's voice was so weak, the trireme was floundering in the waves
5/2/09 4:54 PM
the princess, waiting at the finish, saw her love's ship approach, but also saw how slow and labored it was.
5/2/09 4:54 PM
she reached out her hand to him, her heart full to bursting at his bravery.
5/2/09 4:55 PM
the young man responded with one, final note, full of adoration and acceptance.
5/2/09 4:55 PM
and the trireme sank beneath the waves.
5/2/09 4:55 PM
the king was broken hearted at the young man's death, and asked his daughter what she would have him do.
5/2/09 4:56 PM
"Father, I will not marry, for my husband is drowned. Instead I will rule this kingdom as I know he would have, bravely and with a heart of love, never giving up hope."
5/2/09 4:56 PM
and for the rest of her days, she ruled the kingdom as a wise and well loved ruler, never once regretting her decision to remain unmarried.
5/2/09 4:57 PM
and when she passed away, she was buried at sea, at the very spot where her true love had drowned.
5/2/09 4:57 PM
the end
alright
5/2/09 4:32 PM
lemme think
5/2/09 4:33 PM
ok
5/2/09 4:33 PM
once there was a kingdom, overlooking the sea.
5/2/09 4:33 PM
and in this kingdom, trading by ship was very important.
5/2/09 4:33 PM
all the best traders had the fastest ships.
5/2/09 4:34 PM
one day the king, who only had a daughter for his heir, decided it was time to decide whom she should marry.
5/2/09 4:34 PM
so he went to his daughter and asked her what she wanted to do.
5/2/09 4:35 PM
she told him, "Father, I will marry whichever man can sail through the Devil's Teeth the fastest, for only a man of true spirit, strength, and love for his crew, could ever do such a thing."
5/2/09 4:35 PM
so the king agreed, very proud of how wise his daughter was.
5/2/09 4:36 PM
he sent out a decree, calling for all the fastest traders and merchant captains to summon their crews and report to the mouth of the Devil's Teeth, a strait of horrible currents and sharp coral shoals, for the biggest race to ever be held in the kingdom.
5/2/09 4:38 PM
a young man, brave and strong, but sorely poor, heard of this decree and desperately wanted to participate in the race as a captain, but, as he was only a poor crewman, he could not afford his own ship.
5/2/09 4:38 PM
upset at his stock in life, he wandered the beaches along the kingdom's shoreline, singing a dirge to himself in a pure and beautiful voice.
5/2/09 4:39 PM
suddenly, he heard a voice from one of the many caves that dotted the cliffs along the shore.
5/2/09 4:39 PM
rushing inside, he found the perfectly preserved remains of a beautiful roman trireme
5/2/09 4:41 PM
the trireme called out to him, "Young man! Never have I heard a song so beautiful. Long have I been tired of the waves of this world, but hearing your song has brought my old hull back to life and i wish to race through the sea again. Only sing to me, and I will take you wherever you want to go faster than any other ship in the world."
5/2/09 4:42 PM
the young man was overjoyed! he had his own ship now, and one fast enough to win the princesses heart. so he built some rollers and towed the ship out to the sea. singing to it, he fairly flew into the harbor, the bow bairly touching the waves.
5/2/09 4:43 PM
he gathered for himself all the boys he had served with him in the past, facing storm after storm as cabin boys and crew together, and he formed a crew as trustworthy as any that had ever been seen.
5/2/09 4:44 PM
with his crew on board, the young man sailed the ship to the mouth of the Devil's Teeth. the crew marveled at how the ship sailed so fast, almost without their assistance. and the young man sang joyfully.
5/2/09 4:45 PM
the princess was at the starting place as well, surveying the ships, when she saw the young man and saw his ship and heard his voice.
5/2/09 4:45 PM
she was entranced.
5/2/09 4:45 PM
she called out to him, "Young man, I pray that it is you who will win this race, for I feel that I love you already!"
5/2/09 4:46 PM
the man could not answer, for he had to continue singing, but he sang all the louder, to let her know he had heard her words.
5/2/09 4:46 PM
the race began.
5/2/09 4:46 PM
the young man sang to his ship and the trireme pushed out ahead of the compitition wihtout trouble.
5/2/09 4:47 PM
his ship and crew were full of high spirits and they relished the thrill of the race.
5/2/09 4:48 PM
however, once they had reached the halfway mark, a storm came over the horizon.
5/2/09 4:48 PM
it was the largest storm that had ever been seen.
5/2/09 4:48 PM
all of the other ships in the Devil's Teeth were wrecked.
5/2/09 4:49 PM
men called out to the young man from the waves, cryining for him to rescue them.
5/2/09 4:49 PM
the young man heard them, and responded with a song that was hard and biting as the wind, defying the waves to take the men's lives. the triremem responded swiftly, and moved from wreck to wreck, rescuing the men who lost their ships.
5/2/09 4:50 PM
however, the young man's voice began to flag. his throat was sore and his lungs were tired.
5/2/09 4:50 PM
however, there were more ships to be saved.
5/2/09 4:51 PM
his crew urged him to continue onward, that he could not possibly save them all, but he would not listen. he continued to sing.
5/2/09 4:51 PM
the trireme rescued the remianing survivors, and began it's journey once more through the Devil'
5/2/09 4:51 PM
s Teeth
5/2/09 4:51 PM
however, the man knew his voice would not last much longer
5/2/09 4:52 PM
he sailed the trireme to a small, rocky outcropping, big enough for the men to take safe refuge on, and forced them out of the ship. he knew he would not make it to the finish, but he also knew he would not give up. with tears in his eyes, he bid his crew goodbye,a and they wept openly.
5/2/09 4:53 PM
with his remaining strength, he sang the ship to the end of the race.
5/2/09 4:53 PM
the sun was now shining, the storm all spent, but the man's voice was so weak, the trireme was floundering in the waves
5/2/09 4:54 PM
the princess, waiting at the finish, saw her love's ship approach, but also saw how slow and labored it was.
5/2/09 4:54 PM
she reached out her hand to him, her heart full to bursting at his bravery.
5/2/09 4:55 PM
the young man responded with one, final note, full of adoration and acceptance.
5/2/09 4:55 PM
and the trireme sank beneath the waves.
5/2/09 4:55 PM
the king was broken hearted at the young man's death, and asked his daughter what she would have him do.
5/2/09 4:56 PM
"Father, I will not marry, for my husband is drowned. Instead I will rule this kingdom as I know he would have, bravely and with a heart of love, never giving up hope."
5/2/09 4:56 PM
and for the rest of her days, she ruled the kingdom as a wise and well loved ruler, never once regretting her decision to remain unmarried.
5/2/09 4:57 PM
and when she passed away, she was buried at sea, at the very spot where her true love had drowned.
5/2/09 4:57 PM
the end
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