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ViolinistIn a crowded London street,
People walk by briskly, swiftly on.
Sprays of raindrops melt the clouds,
Dripping down abundantly, quickly on.
But through a window-crack beyond,
Gentle notes drift through the air, lightly on.
Slicing through the solitude,
Whispering solace in my ears, softly on.
Oh, violinist, play your music, haunt my mind,
Break these chains of lonely silence.
Sweep me with your melodies,
Let me soar in skies of anthems;
Violinist, play your song for me.
Footsteps near the window-pane,
Now he plays staccato, brightly on.
Lilting, tremulous, and clear,
Now he plays legato, smoothly on.
Oh, violinist, play your m
What are You? / IgniteWhat are you?
Are you my friend, or
A mythological figure?
A human being, or
A marble statue?
An idea embodied?
Or a mere mortal all the same?
You speak of things I barely understand;
Things I don't believe in,
Things I have no faith in.
I can never pry my eyes away,
Or try to unhear the words you said.
The things you say may be abstract -
Faraway, ethereal visions I cannot grasp -
And yet the blazing spirit within your soul
I regard with admiration.
I wish, I hope, I long for it;
To have it, to feel it,
To be like you.
And yet I fear I fall short
From the bar you've set for me.
The Revolutionist, XVI: Two Roads At the night of 4 June 22AN, the police received a call for help from the Seminary for Troubled Young Ladies, claiming that a riot had ensued inside the institution. Upon arriving, a group of inmates rushed out from the front doors, raced across the sizeable lawn towards the gate, and let them in. These girls confessed that the call for help had been theirs, and that the riot was non-existent; they had called for the police so that they could report the severe maltreatment they were exacted within the Seminary by their benefactress and matron, Madame Ruth Gerard.
Mme Gerard, for her part, was intercepted while trying to give chase to the f
The Revolutionist, XIV: Expectations Coralie Harte is dead.
This morning, after we had eaten breakfast, we gathered in our dormitory again to go through our plans one last time. I had only read a few sentences when she stood up, coughing, choking. Her hand seized at her throat, her eyes were bulging, and she choked on, and on, and on and we couldn't do anything. Her whole body shook, convulsed, and then she just simply dropped. Dead. Her face was purplish, twisted in its final grimace. Nightmarish. A glass she was holding, from which she had been drinking, rolled on the floor; nobody dared touch it, even until now.
We've placed her at her bed. Jama, Milly, and I
The Revolutionist, XIV: Questioning "Have you lost your head?"
Margot Carey had a face like a porcelain doll: round, white, with rosy cheeks and a small nose. Presently she was staring at me with her blue eyes opened wide and her mouth agape. The words which had just escaped her mouth amused me more than bothered me, but Coralie could not resist the temptation:
"Oh, it's right there over her shoulders, all right," she laughed.
Margot shrunk slightly at the retort, but continued: "I mean, there has to be a better way "
"There isn't," Jama Bahar cut in curtly. "If there was, why do you think she'd plan something this crazy? For the fun of it?"
Margot stammered f
The Revolutionist, XIII: Silence By the fourth day after Aqila's death, I had rallied five other girls to join me in my plan. Freya and Milly had been the first to agree both of them soon proved invaluable allies, as their knowledge of the Seminary's layout and other such details were close to priceless. Soon after, Coralie Harte caught wind of our conversation and practically demanded that she be included in the escape plan. And after that, Prudence St John and Letitia Gladson joined our ranks.
Our numbers were increasing, but while I was pleased to see that so many were responding to my cries for freedom, I was also worried. The greater our number, the easier it
I wonder if you're enjoying
the curvature of her back.
The spine, a row of ossified crowns
crowded and curved around that defining neural superhighway;
that extension cord,
adventurously connecting the visceral
to the peripheral.
The horseshoe crab vertebrae
scuttle to break through skin at your touch;
a defining shiver.
I see your hands
around the rounded hills of her shoulders.
Scapulae jutting out with the extremity of the bend,
like a chicken's wings.
And the bands of these dorsal muscles
stand up like wings,
cast shadows in the dimples of the pelvis that she lifts;
that will fold o
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`anmari has been spreading her infectious positivity throughout our community for over 6 years. Throughout this time Ana has been at the core of all things devious, passionately developing an eclectic gallery, helping organise devmeets, participating in chat events and also recently completed dedicating her time as a Community Volunteer. We are absolutely delighted to bestow the Deviousness Award for May 2013 to `anmari, congratulations! Read More