2004-09-03
Do I Really Actually Believe In Fate? And Cupid?
hearing: nothing
reading: nothing (finished Till We Have Faces)
feeling: unbearably sick
�Everyone is under her control from birth, but some, she gives a special brand to. For good or for ill is never revealed until the drama is played out. Sometimes, she will not reveal herself until the tapestry of history is full woven.
This brand goes beyond strings of unfortunate events. It goes beyond the hardships and luck charms which come in swirling eddies. Everyone is subject to these trifles.
No, this is not about the ordinary events. This is about something greater. She branded an unlikely little boy and brought him against a giant to be king. She branded a very young peasant girl and made her a virgin mother.
She brands at birth those with the odds against them, and pulls them out of the mire, and visibly raises their fates above ordinary history.
But there are many she brands that she never raises above the mire into renown. Some she brands to be failed undercurrents of the patterns of greatness and infamy.
No one can say who they are. It seems prideful to claim oneself one of her underdogs, for that in and of itself, is a great honor.
Yet sometimes those defeated know. Sometimes God makes her send one of her angels out to whisper in the ears of the marked.
The voice haunts. The angel looms.
It�s more than misfortune.
It�s more than the trifles: lost classes and late textbooks� they have no bearing�
It�s deeper.
It�s more ominous.
It�s Fate.�
"Oh...Oh oh... you mutt...wretched girl... you crossbred angel... your father was Cupid, your mother was Fate.
Why did you brand me? Why did you mark me out to be your victim? I did not want this. I did not want your mark.
You sent me a turtle dove. First I thought to be a tame pet. It is not tame though, nor can it be. It is wild and free and cannot be conquered by all the wisdom and skill a man or woman could bring.
So then, I thought 'twas to be my precious comforter. I fondled it. I nourished it. I cherished it as my own child.
But then it used me ill. It turned upon me and tore out my heart and brought it to you.
I followed, for I must go wherever my heart is.
I found it bound to puppet strings, dangling from your soft, white fingers.
You had it captive, and thus, you had me.
And now you play it. You strum and wring and twist it beyond my reach or control, sending me through cruel, violent spirals of emotion.
Until the playing gets softer, but more consistent.
And I grow weak and helpless.
I cannot fight any longer. I am languishing under your grasp.
But I plead, once more, Angel, oh angel bred of Cupid and of Fate, release my heart. Give it back to me. Sew it up in my chest. Let me go to seek out angels with their turtle doves untainted by the blood of Fate. Release me from this spell...
Before you drain the life entirely from me..."
(bases)
The latter story is more likely I think. BUT BUT BUT don't take that as the entirety of the explanation for my current situation...
I am so sick. I am so violently ill. Wretched wretched...with so much to do...
I must drive my father to another state tomorrow. It will be a 3 hour drive round trip.
I don't think I can do it...
I don't know how I drove or functioned at all today...scarcely conscious...scarcely awake... dizzy with hunger...dizzy with exhaustion...
Head hurts...hurts...aches...
Let me to lay down by the window to sleep...
Give me the leisure to pretend to be snuffed out of existence...
Leisure though, I do not have...
I think I should just like to lay in someone's arms right now and sob. But I can't do either...more empty wishes...
I wish far too much lately...