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psalm_onethirtyoneHAPPY BIRTHDAY ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
mhari OMG!!!! *glomps* We love you! You are wonderful and brilliant and talented and very, very loved, and Soujin wishes you many happy returns of the natal day.
I seem to have written you a poem-present:
No Road Through the Woods
Oct 7th, 8 pm
Hello, how are you?
I found your number in a book of poems.
They were lovely poems. The book
smelled of oatmeal cookies, and that lovely smell
really old books always do smell of, and
I found a couple of
poems
I never even knew existed. Have you
ever heard "The Way Through The Woods"?
Kipling, you know.
Anyway, I found your number
on blue-lined yellow paper that was torn off at the bottom (and I
wondered what had been torn off) and
I guess someone spilled water on it, because
some of the lines were
blurred. Whoever wrote your number
wrote it in permanent marker. You know,
those fat black markers that always
bleed through.
It took a long time for me to
decide
whether or not I ought to call. It seemed
like opening someone else's
mail. But then
I thought you'd like it, knowing someone remembered.
Well. Not
exactly remember, because of course I've never met you, but
I thought it was like finding
an address of an old friend and
writing a
letter. Isn't it?
Rather? So I decided to
call...
Well, and now I have. Isn't that splendid? I dialed
the number and there you were,
answering. That's
sort of a spiritual thing, don't you
think? It's very exciting. Now you can
tell me all about yourself
and where you live and
what colour your eyes are (I
like to know little things like that because I'm a
writer, you know) and
what you think of windows. I
do so like to know what people think of
windows.
Also, you can tell me all about the things you think, like
who you want for president
and who ought to be
most remembered and where you think they should put that monument to
George Washington
if they are making a monument, which they might not. They
like to change their
minds.
Are you married? I'm
not. But I wanted to be, once or twice. I
met people. But I asked about
you,
didn't I? Are you married? Do
you have children? What did you name them? I
love knowing about names. I think it
tells so much about a
person. What he or she names the children, you know. It really does
mean something, even
when you think it doesn't. Oh!
That's so stupid of me! What's your name? I like
names. Tell me exactly what it is, and your middle name,
too, and I can
tell you exactly what they say about your name. Some names go to pearls,
you see, and some to sage. It all
depends. Lovely,
isn't it?
What music are you listening to? It's rather loud,
isn't it?
I can hear it so well, but I think I rather
like it. Who's singing? I must find a way to
get it. I could
write to music like that. I like
music I can write to. Mind, I
don't tell just anyone that, but I really do
love your music. Anyway, I--
I'm sorry? What? Could you please
say that again? Oh. Oh, I see. I'm
awfully sorry. I
shan't do anything like this again. Good heavens, that's
mortifying. The
pizza parlour!
But you, you sound awfully nice. What's your name, please? What's your
number? May I
call you? You'll leave it somewhere? Oh, that's very,
very nice of you. In the library? Thank
you. Thank
you. In a book of poems? Oh! Whose?
You really are too kind. Then
I shall look to-morrow when I go. In the juvenile section, of course. In a
book of
Kipling.
I'll remember. Thank you. Thank you
ever so.
Oct 8th, 4 pm
Hello, how are you?
I found your number in a book of poems...
~~~
Also, various fannish drabbles. Enjoy. :)
[Westmark, Keller, 200 words]
Chocolate
Keller found quickly that war was cold. This was annoying, for he'd never been very good with cold. It had a nasty way of creeping inside him and making him stiff and tired. He also found that there was a damned lot of walking, something he'd expected but not been ready for. Another man showed him how to wrap cloth around his feet the right way, so that he didn't leave bloody footprints on the earth.
The cold and walking made it incredibly easy to be sarcastic. He often wished he had paper and pens along, as he said some of the best things he'd ever thought up when people trod on his hurting feet or made comments about the war ending soon.
After a bit, though, he stopped being sarcastic and was bitter instead. For a while. Then he realised when the bitter words filled his mouth, they reminded him of that bitter sweet the nobles had, and that was disagreeable indeed.
So, with false grudging, he went back to being sarcastic. Writers were meant to write with spices, not dark chocolate--and he'd probably be damned forever if he didn't renounce that metaphor in the next half-second.
~~~
[Les Miserables; Prouvaire/Combeferre; 150 words]
Cream
One week in January, Jehan Prouvaire got the odd fancy that what he wanted most in the world was strawberries. He explained it to Combeferre in a soft voice: that he wanted to taste summer again; that the snow was too heavy; that, too, no matter how unpoetic it was, he missed strawberries in cream and he was hungry.
Combeferre laughed, and ordered soup for them both and a small dish of cream for Jehan. As they ate dinner, he said that Jehan must just pretend he had the strawberries. There was, unfortunately, absolutely no way of getting them, but that was what poetry was all about, taking the several empty halves of things and making them into one thing lovely and filling.
Later that evening, he kissed the traces of cream off Jehan's lips, and got a smile in return.
That sort of poetry was, perhaps, better than summer.
~~~
[Horatio Hornblower; Archie/Horatio; 100 words]
Caramel
Archie looked across the gap between the hammocks to where Horatio was sleeping. He was lovely, Archie thought fondly, feeling rather drowsy. He had dark hair like coffee; and his skin was pale, but at the same time a kind of brownish-gold, like the lightest sort of caramel; and his eyes, when they were open, were the brown of a perfectly-cooked piece of steak.
Archie sighed deeply and wrinkled his nose. Disgusting and absurd. He adored Horatio, but it was becoming rather obvious that he needed to save something from dinner to eat before he went to sleep.
mhari OMG!!!! *glomps* We love you! You are wonderful and brilliant and talented and very, very loved, and Soujin wishes you many happy returns of the natal day.I seem to have written you a poem-present:
No Road Through the Woods
Oct 7th, 8 pm
Hello, how are you?
I found your number in a book of poems.
They were lovely poems. The book
smelled of oatmeal cookies, and that lovely smell
really old books always do smell of, and
I found a couple of
poems
I never even knew existed. Have you
ever heard "The Way Through The Woods"?
Kipling, you know.
Anyway, I found your number
on blue-lined yellow paper that was torn off at the bottom (and I
wondered what had been torn off) and
I guess someone spilled water on it, because
some of the lines were
blurred. Whoever wrote your number
wrote it in permanent marker. You know,
those fat black markers that always
bleed through.
It took a long time for me to
decide
whether or not I ought to call. It seemed
like opening someone else's
mail. But then
I thought you'd like it, knowing someone remembered.
Well. Not
exactly remember, because of course I've never met you, but
I thought it was like finding
an address of an old friend and
writing a
letter. Isn't it?
Rather? So I decided to
call...
Well, and now I have. Isn't that splendid? I dialed
the number and there you were,
answering. That's
sort of a spiritual thing, don't you
think? It's very exciting. Now you can
tell me all about yourself
and where you live and
what colour your eyes are (I
like to know little things like that because I'm a
writer, you know) and
what you think of windows. I
do so like to know what people think of
windows.
Also, you can tell me all about the things you think, like
who you want for president
and who ought to be
most remembered and where you think they should put that monument to
George Washington
if they are making a monument, which they might not. They
like to change their
minds.
Are you married? I'm
not. But I wanted to be, once or twice. I
met people. But I asked about
you,
didn't I? Are you married? Do
you have children? What did you name them? I
love knowing about names. I think it
tells so much about a
person. What he or she names the children, you know. It really does
mean something, even
when you think it doesn't. Oh!
That's so stupid of me! What's your name? I like
names. Tell me exactly what it is, and your middle name,
too, and I can
tell you exactly what they say about your name. Some names go to pearls,
you see, and some to sage. It all
depends. Lovely,
isn't it?
What music are you listening to? It's rather loud,
isn't it?
I can hear it so well, but I think I rather
like it. Who's singing? I must find a way to
get it. I could
write to music like that. I like
music I can write to. Mind, I
don't tell just anyone that, but I really do
love your music. Anyway, I--
I'm sorry? What? Could you please
say that again? Oh. Oh, I see. I'm
awfully sorry. I
shan't do anything like this again. Good heavens, that's
mortifying. The
pizza parlour!
But you, you sound awfully nice. What's your name, please? What's your
number? May I
call you? You'll leave it somewhere? Oh, that's very,
very nice of you. In the library? Thank
you. Thank
you. In a book of poems? Oh! Whose?
You really are too kind. Then
I shall look to-morrow when I go. In the juvenile section, of course. In a
book of
Kipling.
I'll remember. Thank you. Thank you
ever so.
Oct 8th, 4 pm
Hello, how are you?
I found your number in a book of poems...
~~~
Also, various fannish drabbles. Enjoy. :)
[Westmark, Keller, 200 words]
Chocolate
Keller found quickly that war was cold. This was annoying, for he'd never been very good with cold. It had a nasty way of creeping inside him and making him stiff and tired. He also found that there was a damned lot of walking, something he'd expected but not been ready for. Another man showed him how to wrap cloth around his feet the right way, so that he didn't leave bloody footprints on the earth.
The cold and walking made it incredibly easy to be sarcastic. He often wished he had paper and pens along, as he said some of the best things he'd ever thought up when people trod on his hurting feet or made comments about the war ending soon.
After a bit, though, he stopped being sarcastic and was bitter instead. For a while. Then he realised when the bitter words filled his mouth, they reminded him of that bitter sweet the nobles had, and that was disagreeable indeed.
So, with false grudging, he went back to being sarcastic. Writers were meant to write with spices, not dark chocolate--and he'd probably be damned forever if he didn't renounce that metaphor in the next half-second.
~~~
[Les Miserables; Prouvaire/Combeferre; 150 words]
Cream
One week in January, Jehan Prouvaire got the odd fancy that what he wanted most in the world was strawberries. He explained it to Combeferre in a soft voice: that he wanted to taste summer again; that the snow was too heavy; that, too, no matter how unpoetic it was, he missed strawberries in cream and he was hungry.
Combeferre laughed, and ordered soup for them both and a small dish of cream for Jehan. As they ate dinner, he said that Jehan must just pretend he had the strawberries. There was, unfortunately, absolutely no way of getting them, but that was what poetry was all about, taking the several empty halves of things and making them into one thing lovely and filling.
Later that evening, he kissed the traces of cream off Jehan's lips, and got a smile in return.
That sort of poetry was, perhaps, better than summer.
~~~
[Horatio Hornblower; Archie/Horatio; 100 words]
Caramel
Archie looked across the gap between the hammocks to where Horatio was sleeping. He was lovely, Archie thought fondly, feeling rather drowsy. He had dark hair like coffee; and his skin was pale, but at the same time a kind of brownish-gold, like the lightest sort of caramel; and his eyes, when they were open, were the brown of a perfectly-cooked piece of steak.
Archie sighed deeply and wrinkled his nose. Disgusting and absurd. He adored Horatio, but it was becoming rather obvious that he needed to save something from dinner to eat before he went to sleep.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2004-09-03 08:21 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-09-04 07:47 pm (UTC)So glad you like. ^__^