Recovering techie with an MFA, working on like a kajillion writing projects at once. Check out the Post-Self cycle, Restless Town, A Wildness of the Heart, ally, and a whole lot of others.
Trans/nb, queer, polyam, median, constantly overwhelmed.
Current hyperfixation: SS14
Icon by Mot, header by @cupsofjade
All I saw were grassy fields,
dandelions, lazy bumblers.
Empty, flower ridden fields,
and an out of place delusion.
Barstools, bar and bottles sprouting
dumbly from the grasses...
Running was my only option,
staying offered no distraction.
Language poured from me unbidden,
words that stained my clothing
sickly blacks and iridescent.
AwDaeHD
Patronfriends! Please enjoy a new chunk of Marsh:
I think this is one of the themes of the Cycle. [Spoilers] writes in [also spoilers], used as interludes in Mitzvot:
The grandest contribution offered by newborn immortality is the ever-living memories of the dead. Our lives become a ceaseless eulogy.
The danger in ceaseless memorialization is how close it lies to idolatry. To elevate the dead to such a status as false god (for what being that is limited to the imperfection of memory is not false?) is to ceaselessly perfect the imperfectable. And so the dead may live on in restless eternity, never knowing peace or the oblivion they so richly deserve.
There is no peace in eternal memory, no release in unending remembering. By our very act of knowing, of remembering, of denying our own deaths, the dead are left in limbo, for every idea’s opposite is the absence of that idea, and we can no longer grant them even that absence.
