Archive for the ‘Farhain’ Category

Thursday, May 29th, 2008

The girl.

I suppose it is inevitable that my writing touch upon her. And it was with great effort that I avoided mentioning her up until this point. But what do I have to say about my ward? I would like to think that my lack of acknowledgment of her has spoken volumes already.

Does the blame rest with her or that damned woman? Chicken or the egg, there. One hypothesis I have conceived in my hours of solitude, holed up in my study with nothing but a quill, an inkwell and a ream of paper, is that they are possibly the same entity. The physical likeness is there, certainly. The girl disavows any knowledge of Amalthaea, though.

Regardless, I keep our lessons brief and to the point. As I am for all rights bound to this imprisonment for the time being, I have upheld a personal policy of work-to-rule. As she (both of us, rather) struggled through I admit that I have felt something close to pride in her progress. This of course is offset by her abysmal, embarrassing, unmitigatable failures. I do confess as well that despite her being my single pupil and ward that I possess only a rudimentary understanding of the girl.

I must keep my view fixed on the straight on narrow. Escape is my priority. And freedom from this cursed half-life. This unlife.

Tuesday, May 20th, 2008

The sun!

My God, the sun!

On these rare days that I can finally see it clearly through the clouds, it makes me wish I were a more eloquent man… So that I could properly express the surge of emotion I feel when I see it. How warm it is. How with the caress of its light it can make this drear country look so much less desolate and almost like home.

Monday, March 10th, 2008

Label me an uncultured philistine if you must, but I believe there is a decided lack of the masculine in poetry at large. Perhaps I haven’t read enough Baudelaire to properly assert this claim, however with examples such as Wilde and Byron I do not think I am in the wrong.

Is there anything more manly than the death poems of the east?

Actually, strike that last comment. I feel doubt when I reread it.

Sunday, March 2nd, 2008

When I was a young, naive and rather stupid boy I believed that gaining control of the world would have made me happy. As an adult I find it rather alarming knowing full well that there are many adults who have not grown out of this mindset. If I could live into old age with no cares but for a garden, a steady supply of truly fine whiskey, a list of novels to keep me going and possibly the Internet, I think I would be content with just those.

A touch and a smile from a pretty woman once in a while would make it all the better.

Saturday, February 9th, 2008

I have been considering growing a beard.

I did try to grow one out many years ago, when I was but a strapping young lad out of school, but I did not have the patience to follow through–despite how little effort is actually required. Days would go by and I would recognize less and less of myself in the mirror–and then there was the itching. I would recall staring enviously at aged gentlemen with their well-kept, well groomed, imperious beards. Magnificent (though thinking back on it now… my obsession with such a trifling thing as overgrown facial hair is somewhat troubling). Some sort of symbol of their authority and station, I probably thought. Now, having left that green, younger me behind after all these years… I see it as a change. Something different. Nostalgia, maybe? No, I doubt it.

I’ve felt so very static recently. The air, these clothes, this house… the formulaic antics of that girl–those girls, I mean–and those other two. I’ve played the game long enough to know the rules and the extent of the field. I grow tired and weary of it.

There’s an odd comfort to it, though, I must admit. Because… it is nice to be able to count on something.