A clear conscience is usually the sign of a bad memory.

[al-shairan.livejournal.com]

As memory may be a paradise from which we cannot be driven, it may also be a hell from which we cannot escape.

John Lancaster Spalding

أَلَا إِنَّ لِلَّهِ مَا فِي السَّمَاوَاتِ وَالْأَرْضِ ۖ قَدْ يَعْلَمُ مَا أَنتُمْ عَلَيْهِ وَيَوْمَ
يُرْجَعُونَ إِلَيْهِ فَيُنَبِّئُهُم بِمَا عَمِلُوا ۗ وَاللَّهُ بِكُلِّ شَيْءٍ عَلِيمٌ

Qu'ran: An-Noor 64

Wednesday; approaching noon

It is another drab day. I should probably visit with my wife; speaking to Gaueko reminded me that she may well be aware of her pregnancy by now. I find myself disinclined to speak to Wanda, however. She will be angry, which is hardly something I care about, but it will be an anger that expects to be soothed and coddled back into contentment, and I am in little mood to play the dutiful husband. I think of my conversation with Gaueko and how I promised him mischief. I will muse on that today, I think. My long game is beginning to show signs of fruition, but there is always time for bad behaviour. ( The whole of the heart )

A clear conscience is usually the sign of a bad memory.

[al-shairan.livejournal.com]

As memory may be a paradise from which we cannot be driven, it may also be a hell from which we cannot escape.

John Lancaster Spalding

أَلَا إِنَّ لِلَّهِ مَا فِي السَّمَاوَاتِ وَالْأَرْضِ ۖ قَدْ يَعْلَمُ مَا أَنتُمْ عَلَيْهِ وَيَوْمَ
يُرْجَعُونَ إِلَيْهِ فَيُنَبِّئُهُم بِمَا عَمِلُوا ۗ وَاللَّهُ بِكُلِّ شَيْءٍ عَلِيمٌ

Qu'ran: An-Noor 64

Wednesday; approaching noon

It is another drab day. I should probably visit with my wife; speaking to Gaueko reminded me that she may well be aware of her pregnancy by now. I find myself disinclined to speak to Wanda, however. She will be angry, which is hardly something I care about, but it will be an anger that expects to be soothed and coddled back into contentment, and I am in little mood to play the dutiful husband. I think of my conversation with Gaueko and how I promised him mischief. I will muse on that today, I think. My long game is beginning to show signs of fruition, but there is always time for bad behaviour. ( The whole of the heart )

“The best way to destroy an enemy is to make him a friend.”

[kateohara.livejournal.com]

The General Store
Wednesday; just before noon

I've been smiling a lot since Tess and I talked. I know that there are a lot of challenges ahead of us - and the idea of meeting her family makes me nervous - but I feel very blessed that she wants to share my home. That we will have a life together. It isn't something I have really ever imagined for myself, and even though it's been a while since Tess and I told each other how we felt I don't think I'd really let myself believe that it could - well, that it could be like other people's relationships. Living together, all the responsibilities of sharing a home as well as all the joys - it seems like what other people have, even if I have never heard of women living like that together. Though sometimes now, looking back, I think about the towns I've lived in and about the spinsters who sometimes shared homes to save on rent and cooking, and I wonder. It occurs to me that in some places, like where Glass grew up, what Tess and I are doing would pretty much count as marriage. The thought makes my cheeks burn, but not unpleasantly.

With all these thoughts in my head it's probably a good thing that it's quiet in the store today. I catch up on some chores - checking inventory, balancing the accounts - and am in such a good mood that when the door swings open and I see an unwelcome face it isn't much of a struggle to smile politely.

"Mr Dorian," I say, standing up from where I was restocking some dried peas. I smooth down the skirt of my plaid dress, because knowing him if he saw dust on it he would mention it. "Good morning."

[closed]

“The best way to destroy an enemy is to make him a friend.”

[kateohara.livejournal.com]

The General Store
Wednesday; just before noon

I've been smiling a lot since Tess and I talked. I know that there are a lot of challenges ahead of us - and the idea of meeting her family makes me nervous - but I feel very blessed that she wants to share my home. That we will have a life together. It isn't something I have really ever imagined for myself, and even though it's been a while since Tess and I told each other how we felt I don't think I'd really let myself believe that it could - well, that it could be like other people's relationships. Living together, all the responsibilities of sharing a home as well as all the joys - it seems like what other people have, even if I have never heard of women living like that together. Though sometimes now, looking back, I think about the towns I've lived in and about the spinsters who sometimes shared homes to save on rent and cooking, and I wonder. It occurs to me that in some places, like where Glass grew up, what Tess and I are doing would pretty much count as marriage. The thought makes my cheeks burn, but not unpleasantly.

With all these thoughts in my head it's probably a good thing that it's quiet in the store today. I catch up on some chores - checking inventory, balancing the accounts - and am in such a good mood that when the door swings open and I see an unwelcome face it isn't much of a struggle to smile politely.

"Mr Dorian," I say, standing up from where I was restocking some dried peas. I smooth down the skirt of my plaid dress, because knowing him if he saw dust on it he would mention it. "Good morning."

[closed]

It's a dog's life, I wanna lead a dog's life, run in the woods, dig a hole, it's interesting...

[gaueko-erebus.livejournal.com]

[Early afternoon, Wednesday, January 13th, day 227]
[The streets of Excolo]


The cook yelled and threw a pan when I came sniffing for food, but the door wasn't locked and I slammed it open and out out out into the alley. More good smells out here but I don't stop; she's not chasing but she might so better not. Into the street instead, all sunshine and slush, and my hind claws skid on the mud but I keep going, and by the time I've reached the end of the street I can't remember why I'm running so I stop.

Plenty of good smells here too. Bread and meat and cakes and sugar all good, good. Slow down to a walk and look friendly. Lots of people, some of them wandering, some of them yelling or running, some of them fighting too. None of them look like they have food. I keep walking.

Lots of people still, but no one has food. But if I keep walking and looking like a good dog someone will feed me. Right? Right.


[OPEN]

It's a dog's life, I wanna lead a dog's life, run in the woods, dig a hole, it's interesting...

[gaueko-erebus.livejournal.com]

[Early afternoon, Wednesday, January 13th, day 227]
[The streets of Excolo]


The cook yelled and threw a pan when I came sniffing for food, but the door wasn't locked and I slammed it open and out out out into the alley. More good smells out here but I don't stop; she's not chasing but she might so better not. Into the street instead, all sunshine and slush, and my hind claws skid on the mud but I keep going, and by the time I've reached the end of the street I can't remember why I'm running so I stop.

Plenty of good smells here too. Bread and meat and cakes and sugar all good, good. Slow down to a walk and look friendly. Lots of people, some of them wandering, some of them yelling or running, some of them fighting too. None of them look like they have food. I keep walking.

Lots of people still, but no one has food. But if I keep walking and looking like a good dog someone will feed me. Right? Right.


[OPEN]

The only true wisdom is in knowing you know nothing

[silence-excolo.livejournal.com]

(Wednesday, January 13th)
(about noon, walking up Silk Road)

So. There's a library in town. Haven't actually read a book in... well, a while. Used to have an old copy of Farenheit 451 that I read till it fell apart. I Fixed it up & traded it for a book called Good Omens, which was a favorite for a time. Then a collection of poetry by Silverstein, then a history of World War II, then a child's science fiction... I always had a new book to replace the old with.

But the last trade was for my journal. I'd never had one (well, not that I'd remember), never really written before, but there it was - hand-covered, for sale by this young girl who'd made several. I traded my worn copy of Hamlet for it. She seemed pretty excited for it & threw in a slew of pencils.

Having the journal's been a good thing, don't get me wrong. Been able to keep track of a few heres & theres thanks to it. But I find myself longing to read something besides my own words. And then I hear there's a library, an actual library in town. That this place should have such a treasure! And so I decided, finally, I would make my way into Excolo, if only to see it for myself.

I asked around a bit & directions seemed pretty straight forward, but once I crossed the Pontarlier my senses seem to get muddled. The very air seems to thrum against my mind & it disorients me. I was just thinking about the last time I could remember being in a library; shelves stacked to the ceiling with books of every size & content & I had spent hours researching - what, I have forgotten - but the feeling... remains... wait, what....  what is this....... feeling......

( the sky )



[Closed]

The only true wisdom is in knowing you know nothing

[silence-excolo.livejournal.com]

(Wednesday, January 13th)
(about noon, walking up Silk Road)

So. There's a library in town. Haven't actually read a book in... well, a while. Used to have an old copy of Farenheit 451 that I read till it fell apart. I Fixed it up & traded it for a book called Good Omens, which was a favorite for a time. Then a collection of poetry by Silverstein, then a history of World War II, then a child's science fiction... I always had a new book to replace the old with.

But the last trade was for my journal. I'd never had one (well, not that I'd remember), never really written before, but there it was - hand-covered, for sale by this young girl who'd made several. I traded my worn copy of Hamlet for it. She seemed pretty excited for it & threw in a slew of pencils.

Having the journal's been a good thing, don't get me wrong. Been able to keep track of a few heres & theres thanks to it. But I find myself longing to read something besides my own words. And then I hear there's a library, an actual library in town. That this place should have such a treasure! And so I decided, finally, I would make my way into Excolo, if only to see it for myself.

I asked around a bit & directions seemed pretty straight forward, but once I crossed the Pontarlier my senses seem to get muddled. The very air seems to thrum against my mind & it disorients me. I was just thinking about the last time I could remember being in a library; shelves stacked to the ceiling with books of every size & content & I had spent hours researching - what, I have forgotten - but the feeling... remains... wait, what....  what is this....... feeling......

( the sky )



[Closed]