~~love is a black eye, and other brilliant deductions

[reenka]

alright, i won't hide it. it hurts.
i'm not really.... over it.
i'm sad and... it's just an ache, that seems to be coming from everywhere. like summer ending, like the promises you know you can't keep-- like looking into the bluest sky and being alone, and the beauty of the mountains and the lake below you, just choking you up until you feel like you're falling, and you've always been falling, and there's nowhere to land, and the sky just stretches on.
    listening to the escaflowne movie's theme song isn't helping, probably. gahd, that movie did me in. just like ip. so yeah, that's what i'm not over, but, it's not just that.

i want someone to write something that says, YES. i don't mean fluff, or sap. i mean, it can be melancholy. as long as it's a fairytale, where in the end, everything falls into place. in the last scene of my wip that may never get finished, harry & draco are holding hands, walking out of the wood. it's raining. there's a trailing sigh, and a grey sky, and a sense that the rain will stop. they are together. they will walk through the rain, and onto dry land, and their constant will remain. i don't need a built-up story right now. i just want to read about what happens when you are on the verge of flying, when you know you will. that certainty of hope.
i know pingvinni's story was like that, but i want more.... instead of snow, it would be rain. maybe a forest-- sunlight filtering through the leaves, water dripping, the many rustles of life. soft smiles and sunshine and running barefoot. when i wrote that story, after reading amalin's beach fic, i was trying for that. but didn't quite go there.

i want someone to tell me that dreams come true. i want it to be for good. i want it to-- i want the sunset to spread over a quiet field, and for everything to be alright, for the leaves to drift and for two people who are impossible to be sitting under a huge oak, snuggled together, kissing softly as they watch birds fly higher and higher into the darkening sky, slowly disappearing.

i want them to look into each other's eyes and for no words to be necessary because everything is being said with just that look. that look that says, this moment is the most perfect thing in this universe or any other.
like that moment when hitomi tells van, we'll always be together, right, before she disappears.

it's that sigh of relief. that place of rest. we may have storms, but love is also the calm within the storm. love is also the safe harbor from one's outside world. love is a cathedral.

if you've been in a medieval cathedral, especially when music is playing, and light in streaming through colored glass, you know what i mean. love is power-- that power-- of the flaming sword, of the golden wing, of the angelic chorus, of the blazing touch. the power that can smite down uncertainty and unlock fear. i can think of very few people (*smiles at aja*) whose writing makes me think of these things. that they too, fully know the power. not just the pain, and the peril, but all of the awesome power at one's disposal, the power to transcend death, to defeat fear, to become one's truest self.

you may -think- you know the extent of my romanticism, but you have no clue ;)
i read heroic fantasy for a reason, heh. i just want to see the impossible, the most magical and legendary of things. i want people to become heroes, while remaining themselves. if any of you have read `the forgotten beasts of eld', i suppose i mean something like that. i want to see life, and truth, and free will, be triumphant. not just sated, or relieved, or alive to fight another day. triumphant. like-- `legend' or `the neverending story' or `willow'. you know like, when you emerge from the Caves of Sorrow and face the blinding light of a new day. i'm thinking particularly of `Moonshadow' here, as far as that exact image, a comic by John DeMatteis that i suggest you go and find. trust me. this comic follows the hero's quest and the attainment and loss associated with love and growing up more directly and perfectly than almost any other work i've read. the watercolors used to illustrate it are exactly the right medium, delicate and washed out. and no, the happiness isn't trite, and people do die. that's the point. the only thing that is as perfect in terms of the Hero's Cycle is the anime, `please save my earth' (rin and alice mean everything to me, and in my ideal universe, that is what i want for harry and draco and for all of you). i also think that `mythos', a comic by john ney reiber, has a great transformative lovestory, but, um, it's a bit.... um. darker than the others. but anyway......
~~

and then, i was ok, because silviakundera wrote the most adorable snippet of marcus/oliver i've ever seen (and admittedly i've seen v. v. few), and dark_soul_lost wrote yet more sweetness and so i'm all glowy, and "awwww" and "yeay" right now.

ahhhh, it's good to be a sentimental sap *grins*
and ...and.... and...
vanityfair says chapter 12 is up, so, so...
*grins wider* yummy. yummy "meant-to-be" h/d goodness! yeay...! *dances* feeling like i loff you all. heh~:)

i was actually going to write about um. my own limitations, with writing.
it seems even though my abilities let me, there are some things i can't see myself doing.
like. i'm halfway intrigued by the story i've seen (forgot the initial source already) linked to, in the news, about the guy in australia or wherever that got into an argument with his wife/gf and in his drunken state ran after her, outside, and cut off first his finger, then his balls, then his dick. erm. i don't know -why- this is Big News (although, as the whole bobbitt thing shows ya, nothing people like more than offed penii, i guess). they've rescued the appendages and put them in ice, if you're worried.

anyway. for some reason i can see myself writing a story, using that as plot.
except... i can't. i just-- can't. i so don't want to go there. yet i think it'd be good, that i can do it.

it bothers me that there's things i don't want to touch. even though i'm fine -hearing- about them, and i have no problem seeing documentaries and news reports and am actually fascinated by criminal investigation shows and messed-up-murderer shows, etc.... and it'd be a whole new direction for me--

i just ...
why would i want to? on the one hand, it'd be fun doing something so different, and letting my imagination play with it.
on the other hand, i find it utterly distasteful, and don't know that i have anything in particular to "say", except that i'll probably say it nicely or whatever.
i actually wrote one (count 'em, one) really messed-up, dark story in my life. ha, and in the end, the person being messed-up got to be reborn. *laughs* yeah it was like, supposed to be this baby still in the womb, and i had the idea that you remembered your past lives clearly, before you're born, and in fact relive them. but that was just a small plot-device, the point was, this female baby was a male pedophile and rapist before, and i just kinda went into several detailed scenes from different points in "his" life, talking about him abusing and him being abused, very graphically (for me back then, anyway. i was what, 15?) it was my favorite story for a long time, but i never showed it to many people, and for a long time, didn't show it to anyone. finally showed it to my mom (yes my mom is more pervy/as pervy as me, trust me.) well, no big reaction.

but that was it. usually i'll see something in the news-- or hear about something in "real life", and that's the only way i get to writing "gritty", dark stories.
every single time. i once wrote a poem using a news story about this boy who'd hung himself with an amplifier cord, his parents downstairs, marilyn manson on repeat. that was back in the "manson is satan" craze. and then there was the poem i wrote about the desolation and emptiness in post-reunification east berlin, which was just-- ghost-town city back in '95. ``fuck off", the graffiti on the town-hall building said, and like. that really struck me, back then. i was so sheltered >_<;; i once began a story wanting to write about nyc homeless people's squats, in the Village. and that rapist story, from hearing someone i knew talk about being abused.

weird. the parts of me i try not to access. so it's weird to me, people willingly drowning themselves in this darkness. i mean, what's it like, writing that all the time? i'd be slitting my wrists like, two months in. because if i start-- i'd get graphic. death, pain, blood, cold, homelessness, abuse, murder-- they aren't pretty. they aren't romantic. they aren't all that beautiful. they pretty much suck.

anyway. y'all know my feelings 'bout that by now. so yeah.
thankies and huggles once again to all the soft fuzzy love-is-a-black-eye-and-i-like-it-babay, people. aww. you rock.