O godlike man! Tell me, pal, am I getting warm or not?—jamie
Jan 20, 2019 0:15:34 GMT -5
Post by shrimp on Jan 20, 2019 0:15:34 GMT -5
"'As a matter of fact,' I said, now somewhat disturbed, "I've been having plenty of peculliar dreams lately."
The candle on her right goes out, and she silently relights it, striking the Tinder Brand matches with the glory of the past on her side. She closes her eyes, feels the warmth on her cheek, and turns to [Soliloquy] as he continues, the paper resting gently on the music stand.
"'Just listen. Last night I dreamed that I was in my own house, somewhere - it was enough of a surprise to have a house of my own, much less dream what I dreamed. I was standing in my beautiful front room, entertaining a guest. And what do you think? I had two pianos. There were two grand pianos, as if ready for a concert. Then my guest, who had wonderful manners - and me too, regular society - he said, 'Isn't it unusual for somebody to own three grand pianos?' Three!'"
The room is filled with voices, hushed but expansive, a choir of texts raising up towards the heavens. It is a blessing, it is a gift, to be present each night they meet. To soak in the offerings of the past, to use their words and their wisdom to guide them towards the future. Their future. [Canon] looks to the others: [Taciturn] and their furrowed face, [Path] illuminated in the warm glow. She smiles: she feels love, in this cathedral tonight.
As [Soliloquy] finishes his excerpt, she begins with her hands folded gently ontop of each other. Her words are practiced, passed down from generation to generation. "Thank you, Soliloquy, for sharing your excerpt. We truly appreciate being able to live in its history with you."
She waits for the allotted amount of time: a minute of silence, deep contemplation.
"Having had some time, what do we all think of the text? What do you think was the author's intent?" She looks around, kind but expectant. For [Soliloquy] to divulge such paramount parts of his identity is a gift that must be appreciated. She expects them to have answers; it is only right, it is only just, to show him the respect he has shown to them.
"Would anyone like to go first?"
The candle on her right goes out, and she silently relights it, striking the Tinder Brand matches with the glory of the past on her side. She closes her eyes, feels the warmth on her cheek, and turns to [Soliloquy] as he continues, the paper resting gently on the music stand.
"'Just listen. Last night I dreamed that I was in my own house, somewhere - it was enough of a surprise to have a house of my own, much less dream what I dreamed. I was standing in my beautiful front room, entertaining a guest. And what do you think? I had two pianos. There were two grand pianos, as if ready for a concert. Then my guest, who had wonderful manners - and me too, regular society - he said, 'Isn't it unusual for somebody to own three grand pianos?' Three!'"
The room is filled with voices, hushed but expansive, a choir of texts raising up towards the heavens. It is a blessing, it is a gift, to be present each night they meet. To soak in the offerings of the past, to use their words and their wisdom to guide them towards the future. Their future. [Canon] looks to the others: [Taciturn] and their furrowed face, [Path] illuminated in the warm glow. She smiles: she feels love, in this cathedral tonight.
As [Soliloquy] finishes his excerpt, she begins with her hands folded gently ontop of each other. Her words are practiced, passed down from generation to generation. "Thank you, Soliloquy, for sharing your excerpt. We truly appreciate being able to live in its history with you."
She waits for the allotted amount of time: a minute of silence, deep contemplation.
"Having had some time, what do we all think of the text? What do you think was the author's intent?" She looks around, kind but expectant. For [Soliloquy] to divulge such paramount parts of his identity is a gift that must be appreciated. She expects them to have answers; it is only right, it is only just, to show him the respect he has shown to them.
"Would anyone like to go first?"
Excerpt & title from The Adventures of Augie March by Saul Bellow, which while certainly is written well, is not a book i particularly enjoy whatsoever
