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[albedo]: notes to rubedo
Jan. 12th, 2004 02:09 am(10 Jan. 4768 TC)
What a fragile thing a world is, Rubedo! Do you see the threads underpinning our existence? The way everything is held together? Miltia is the spider at the center of the web, drawing us all back...
The sad-eyed boy who is wise beyond his age, with wings like a cherub and a name like the enemy of God, and the golem he loves because she is what he's not. The girl who built her, the past she's running from, the things she pretends she doesn't see. And there behind her, the man she's ignoring, the loyal dog that will follow her to the ends of the earth.
The ageless child and his galaxy-spanning club. The little kid with his guns, his black-haired father, their coterie of exiled mutants, and the sweet-faced girl and tin man they brought under their wings. And one wild violet-eyed emperor, laughing as the universe burns to the tune of his fiddle.
Do you see the threads? The dead men telling no tales, the monsters and the lies we tell ourselves about them, the forbidden fruit, the texts and Dead Sea scrolls. They have already woven the tapestry, and pulled it tight enough that we're within touching distance of each other. Do you have enough objectivity to see it?
The spun threads, the spun glass. I have held ma peche's heart in my hands; it is as fragile as any world, a little self-contained globe waiting to be dropped. Shatter it, break her heart, and the whole world falls inward into the void. Don't you see it? What a beautiful gift you've taken for yourself, my greedy other half! Of course you wouldn't share her--of course I need to take her from you! I will teach you restraint; I will teach her endurance, to forestall the end of the world when you inevitably let her down.
After all. We were programmed to die. And you were made to fail.
What a fragile thing a world is, Rubedo! Do you see the threads underpinning our existence? The way everything is held together? Miltia is the spider at the center of the web, drawing us all back...
The sad-eyed boy who is wise beyond his age, with wings like a cherub and a name like the enemy of God, and the golem he loves because she is what he's not. The girl who built her, the past she's running from, the things she pretends she doesn't see. And there behind her, the man she's ignoring, the loyal dog that will follow her to the ends of the earth.
The ageless child and his galaxy-spanning club. The little kid with his guns, his black-haired father, their coterie of exiled mutants, and the sweet-faced girl and tin man they brought under their wings. And one wild violet-eyed emperor, laughing as the universe burns to the tune of his fiddle.
Do you see the threads? The dead men telling no tales, the monsters and the lies we tell ourselves about them, the forbidden fruit, the texts and Dead Sea scrolls. They have already woven the tapestry, and pulled it tight enough that we're within touching distance of each other. Do you have enough objectivity to see it?
The spun threads, the spun glass. I have held ma peche's heart in my hands; it is as fragile as any world, a little self-contained globe waiting to be dropped. Shatter it, break her heart, and the whole world falls inward into the void. Don't you see it? What a beautiful gift you've taken for yourself, my greedy other half! Of course you wouldn't share her--of course I need to take her from you! I will teach you restraint; I will teach her endurance, to forestall the end of the world when you inevitably let her down.
After all. We were programmed to die. And you were made to fail.