“Come along and sing a song and join the jamboree,-"
Sirens were made to kill. Our purpose is to lure, seduce, and destroy. It’s wrong, and I know it’s wrong, but that knowledge does nothing to ease the feeling of euphoria—of complete and utter bliss—when I lead a man astray.
The horrifying truth: I’m as drawn to water as men are to me. When I near it, it speaks to me. Urges me to act. Kill. The call of the water is as fierce as it is deadly. My own personal Siren Song.
Song of Persephone
Listen, listen
Remember the wane
Of son's Fury and waving grain
We fell and fell
And danced along
To croon a knell
Of rights and wrongs
Resim
Resim sanatına o kadar ket vurmadılar. Geleneksel olarak yine bilgin seçkinlerin konusu olan resmi Kubilay ve yanındaki Moğollar daha kolay anlıyorlardı, çünkü onu takdir edebilmeleri için dil gibi büyük bir engeli aşmaları gerekmiyordu. Kağanın gösteriş merakı da görsel sunumlara daha çok duyarlı olmalarına neden oluyordu. Kubilay,
Mules and asses were led into Hagia Sophia to carry away the loot but were unable to keep their footing on the polished floors of ancient polychromatic marble and slipped and fell; somehow maddened by this difficulty, the looters slashed the terrified animals open with their knives. The floor became slippery with blood and the muck of excrement from their punctured bowels. A prostitute, evidently not expelled from the camp, was set on the patriarch’s throne ‘and started to sing a wretched song and danced about, spinning and turning’.
I have no money, no resources, no hopes. I am the happiest man alive. A year ago, six months ago, I thought that I was an artist. I no longer think about it, I *am*. Everything that was literature has fallen from me. There are no more books to be written, thank God.
This then? This is not a book. This is libel, slander, defamation of character. This is not a book, in the ordinary sense of the word. No, this is a prolonged insult, a gob of spit in the face of Art, a kick in the pants to God, Man, Destiny, Time, Love, Beauty . . . what you will. I am going to sing for you, a little off key perhaps, but I will sing. I will sing while you croak, I will dance over your dirty corpse. . . .
To sing you must first open your mouth. You must have a pair of lungs, and a little knowledge of music. It is not necessary to have an accordion, or a guitar. The essential thing is to want to sing. This then is a song. I am singing.
Sayfa 2 - Grove PressKitabı okudu
