(Ragged) Answers?
«
He rose from the depths of his fevered life, rose like snow flakes rebounding up to the sky.
His eyes were bright and wide and red, crusted yellow and shining white. He unfurled like a black serpent,.
He sat up, slowly, tugging weakly at the welter of blankets that swathed him. Cold sweat misted his pale brow, tangled with strands of dark hair. He lifted his hand, feeling the icy weight of his star necklace against his chest. He shivered, opened his mouth, and found out his voice had fled, leaving him alone with the soft blankets and writhing fever.
He fell back on the bed, clutching the necklace ; waiting.
He next awoke to the Moon, its wide silver face speckled with grey seas and dust. It was unerringly starring at him, whispering its fickle light against his senses, endlessly running on the blue field that was the sky. Then the Moon turned yellow, suddenly exhausted and panting. He blinked the Moon away and saw a face starring into his eyes. He startled and burrowed deeper inside his cloak. The face smiled as it slowly swam into focus.
« How do you feel today, butterfly ? »
He knew that voice. It was Lo’s. Old Lo’s voice. A hand settled on his forehead, and he bit his lips, enduring the touch. Then it was mercifully gone and he drew a deeper breath. He tried to say ‘‘Don’t touch me again’’ but his voice was still wandering he knew no where.
"The fever is still as bad » Lo said thoughtfully. He starred again into his eyes, looking for something…an answer ? He did not have answers. He closed his eyes, slamming his lids purposefully. He wished the fever would leave him alone, instead of eating his flesh and chewing his thoughts. "
A rag's fever. I like this piece. It's not marvelous art, but I can almost feel the rags through those words. But they're in English, and if they're translated into French, they won't be the same.
One cannot write a rag in two langages at the same time. But i think i'll make a French version and an English one. Both will be quite different, but ! English is wonderful language, and French too. And every language, because words are wonderful.
An English version....That could be interesting. One of the 'characters' is called "Taille-Crayon", which could be translated by : Pencil-Sharpener. Sharp. Pencil'pener. Pencil'pener, or just Pencil. Nice.
I quite like Taille-Crayon. He can be so provocative. He thinks poetry is butchery. The rascal!
He rose from the depths of his fevered life, rose like snow flakes rebounding up to the sky.
His eyes were bright and wide and red, crusted yellow and shining white. He unfurled like a black serpent,.
He sat up, slowly, tugging weakly at the welter of blankets that swathed him. Cold sweat misted his pale brow, tangled with strands of dark hair. He lifted his hand, feeling the icy weight of his star necklace against his chest. He shivered, opened his mouth, and found out his voice had fled, leaving him alone with the soft blankets and writhing fever.
He fell back on the bed, clutching the necklace ; waiting.
He next awoke to the Moon, its wide silver face speckled with grey seas and dust. It was unerringly starring at him, whispering its fickle light against his senses, endlessly running on the blue field that was the sky. Then the Moon turned yellow, suddenly exhausted and panting. He blinked the Moon away and saw a face starring into his eyes. He startled and burrowed deeper inside his cloak. The face smiled as it slowly swam into focus.
« How do you feel today, butterfly ? »
He knew that voice. It was Lo’s. Old Lo’s voice. A hand settled on his forehead, and he bit his lips, enduring the touch. Then it was mercifully gone and he drew a deeper breath. He tried to say ‘‘Don’t touch me again’’ but his voice was still wandering he knew no where.
"The fever is still as bad » Lo said thoughtfully. He starred again into his eyes, looking for something…an answer ? He did not have answers. He closed his eyes, slamming his lids purposefully. He wished the fever would leave him alone, instead of eating his flesh and chewing his thoughts. "
A rag's fever. I like this piece. It's not marvelous art, but I can almost feel the rags through those words. But they're in English, and if they're translated into French, they won't be the same.
One cannot write a rag in two langages at the same time. But i think i'll make a French version and an English one. Both will be quite different, but ! English is wonderful language, and French too. And every language, because words are wonderful.
An English version....That could be interesting. One of the 'characters' is called "Taille-Crayon", which could be translated by : Pencil-Sharpener. Sharp. Pencil'pener. Pencil'pener, or just Pencil. Nice.
I quite like Taille-Crayon. He can be so provocative. He thinks poetry is butchery. The rascal!
posted by transparency at 1:26 e.h.
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