"But why is it prohibited?" asked the Savage. In the excitement of meeting a man who had read Shakespeare he had momentarily forgotten everything else.
The Controller shrugged his shoulders. "Because it's old; that's the chief reason. We haven't any use for old things here."
"Even when they're beautiful?"
"Particularly when they're beautiful. Beauty's attractive, and we don't want people to be attracted by old things. We want them to like the new ones."
"But the new ones are so stupid and horrible. Those plays, where there's nothing but helicopters flying about and you feel the people kissing." He made a grimace. "Goats and monkeys!" Only in Othello's words could he find an adequate vehicle for his contempt and hatred.
"Nice tame animals, anyhow," the Controller murmured parenthetically.
"Why don't you let them see Othello instead?"
"I've told you; it's old. Besides, they couldn't understand it."
-Aldous Huxley Brave New World Chapter 16
dim dull light
pads stepping lightly across my body
the frigid sensation when a limb breaches the blanket barrier
morning
my blurry eyes attempt to focus without their corrective lenses
turning over she appears, beauty through the blurry
how is she always conscious before me?
Deep in her new iPhone X she turns and smiles
that smile
If only I'd have left my contacts in the painful irritation worth the morning view
She seems to be on at least her fourth task before I've even fully gained consciousness as I try to orient myself
what day is it? What time is it? What's the longest I can stay under these covers with her?
She calls out to her robot maid as the morning news gently fills the room
paws and purrs stir quietly as I shift towards her
trying to find a range my eyes can see without aid
Finally there she is
This moment
I lose myself in her eyes, her skin, my eyes slowly consuming her beauty as if it were breakfast,
beauty is nourishment for the eyes, and they take their meal with purpose and leisure.
Her eyes darting back and forth as they switch focus between mine. Mine take chase attempting to lock with hers.
Between them rests her nose with a low bridge the world's best glassblower couldn't craft something as smooth my eyes scale toward her forehead it beckons my lips and I gladly oblige
"That was an intense look...like the way you looked at me back in August"
My eyes, not quite yet having their fill, cut short by her statement
It is as if as my eyes take in their nourishment hers are looking through them into my chest
we are silent
I feel as if my eyes are speaking what my mouth is much too afraid to say
and her mouth dares me to admit what she obviously already knows
What she can read clearly in my eyes.
He left long before
But all anyone could see, her grasp at happiness
He left long before while he was still in the room
He left in that kind of way we hold in high esteem
Pain nobility
Happiness shame
As long as the outside is put together
no one minds the rotten within the frame
He broke his vows before even the start
She spoke 'enough' and the mob demanded her head
...Until death do us part
It's the only vow we value you said
Like marriage is a marthon
last one standing we dub a "success"
to have and to hold
for better
for worse
for richer
for poorer
in sickness
in health
What if the marriage is the sickness
What if the marriage is the worse
How then does one keep a vow?
He left long before she told him to walk out the door
He left that door unlocked, vulnerable
with a slam and a pointed finger
with focus like a mirror towards those most 'holy' vows
With the strength only found in a woman
she crept up her steps
pressed the knob to the strike plate
her fingers gripping the lock turned it once more
Standing in her home
She began to pick up the pieces
She began to build again
With the strength only found in a Queen
She decorated her interior
She put things the way she intended
The key finally returned, her inside slowly redecorated
With the front door tightly blocked
still left vulnerable and unlocked
I know it's none of my concern...but it's hard to see her like this. It's even harder when she doesn't let it show because I know that means it hurts all the more. She gave him her key and I'm not talking about to a structure of wood, brick, and drywall...She let him in to a place where his words could cut deeper than a knife and leave scars that will always show. She trusted him and he broke that trust again and again and in that broken trust still demands more from her. This man has taken everything he could from her and still he demands more. Even her cat...and he still demands more. Positioning himself in the victim role he still demands more. Asking to be let back in for her to open those knife scars again without empathy or comprehension of how he has broke his marriage vows.
This woman is stronger than anything I could find within myself.
She still stands tall
She finds a way to not simply get by but she still thrives in her workplace even as he continues to demand more and more of her
She finds strength to continue her education again not simply by means of Cs but As in everything she does even as he demands more and more of her
She finds a way to have a social life despite his attempts to guilt, shame, and demand from her
and she somehow finds the strength to smile that beautiful smile and let the world hear that amazing laugh.
This Queen is stronger than anything I could hope to be.
How can anything but Maya Angelou's poem "And Still I Rise" come to mind when I think about Queen Tem.
She's incredible. She is strong, smart, successful, interesting, funny, beautiful, she is every bit deserving of her self proclaimed title of "Queen" and I mean that.
Greyson Chance - Low
The Controller shrugged his shoulders. "Because it's old; that's the chief reason. We haven't any use for old things here."
"Even when they're beautiful?"
"Particularly when they're beautiful. Beauty's attractive, and we don't want people to be attracted by old things. We want them to like the new ones."
"But the new ones are so stupid and horrible. Those plays, where there's nothing but helicopters flying about and you feel the people kissing." He made a grimace. "Goats and monkeys!" Only in Othello's words could he find an adequate vehicle for his contempt and hatred.
"Nice tame animals, anyhow," the Controller murmured parenthetically.
"Why don't you let them see Othello instead?"
"I've told you; it's old. Besides, they couldn't understand it."
-Aldous Huxley Brave New World Chapter 16
The Platform Specialist
dim dull light
pads stepping lightly across my body
the frigid sensation when a limb breaches the blanket barrier
morning
my blurry eyes attempt to focus without their corrective lenses
turning over she appears, beauty through the blurry
how is she always conscious before me?
Deep in her new iPhone X she turns and smiles
that smile
If only I'd have left my contacts in the painful irritation worth the morning view
She seems to be on at least her fourth task before I've even fully gained consciousness as I try to orient myself
what day is it? What time is it? What's the longest I can stay under these covers with her?
She calls out to her robot maid as the morning news gently fills the room
paws and purrs stir quietly as I shift towards her
trying to find a range my eyes can see without aid
Finally there she is
This moment
I lose myself in her eyes, her skin, my eyes slowly consuming her beauty as if it were breakfast,
beauty is nourishment for the eyes, and they take their meal with purpose and leisure.
Her eyes darting back and forth as they switch focus between mine. Mine take chase attempting to lock with hers.
Between them rests her nose with a low bridge the world's best glassblower couldn't craft something as smooth my eyes scale toward her forehead it beckons my lips and I gladly oblige
"That was an intense look...like the way you looked at me back in August"
My eyes, not quite yet having their fill, cut short by her statement
It is as if as my eyes take in their nourishment hers are looking through them into my chest
we are silent
I feel as if my eyes are speaking what my mouth is much too afraid to say
and her mouth dares me to admit what she obviously already knows
What she can read clearly in my eyes.
"leaving me vulnerable with my door unlocked"
He left long before she told him to walk out the doorHe left long before
But all anyone could see, her grasp at happiness
He left long before while he was still in the room
He left in that kind of way we hold in high esteem
Pain nobility
Happiness shame
As long as the outside is put together
no one minds the rotten within the frame
He broke his vows before even the start
She spoke 'enough' and the mob demanded her head
...Until death do us part
It's the only vow we value you said
Like marriage is a marthon
last one standing we dub a "success"
to have and to hold
for better
for worse
for richer
for poorer
in sickness
in health
What if the marriage is the sickness
What if the marriage is the worse
How then does one keep a vow?
He left long before she told him to walk out the door
He left that door unlocked, vulnerable
with a slam and a pointed finger
with focus like a mirror towards those most 'holy' vows
With the strength only found in a woman
she crept up her steps
pressed the knob to the strike plate
her fingers gripping the lock turned it once more
Standing in her home
She began to pick up the pieces
She began to build again
With the strength only found in a Queen
She decorated her interior
She put things the way she intended
The key finally returned, her inside slowly redecorated
With the front door tightly blocked
still left vulnerable and unlocked
You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.
Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
‘Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.
Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I’ll rise.
Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops,
Weakened by my soulful cries?
Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don’t you take it awful hard
‘Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines
Diggin’ in my own backyard.
You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.
Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I’ve got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?
Out of the huts of history’s shame
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.
-And Still I Rise, Maya Angelou 1978
I know it's none of my concern...but it's hard to see her like this. It's even harder when she doesn't let it show because I know that means it hurts all the more. She gave him her key and I'm not talking about to a structure of wood, brick, and drywall...She let him in to a place where his words could cut deeper than a knife and leave scars that will always show. She trusted him and he broke that trust again and again and in that broken trust still demands more from her. This man has taken everything he could from her and still he demands more. Even her cat...and he still demands more. Positioning himself in the victim role he still demands more. Asking to be let back in for her to open those knife scars again without empathy or comprehension of how he has broke his marriage vows.
This woman is stronger than anything I could find within myself.
She still stands tall
She finds a way to not simply get by but she still thrives in her workplace even as he continues to demand more and more of her
She finds strength to continue her education again not simply by means of Cs but As in everything she does even as he demands more and more of her
She finds a way to have a social life despite his attempts to guilt, shame, and demand from her
and she somehow finds the strength to smile that beautiful smile and let the world hear that amazing laugh.
This Queen is stronger than anything I could hope to be.
How can anything but Maya Angelou's poem "And Still I Rise" come to mind when I think about Queen Tem.
She's incredible. She is strong, smart, successful, interesting, funny, beautiful, she is every bit deserving of her self proclaimed title of "Queen" and I mean that.
Greyson Chance - Low