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kuithesun · 1 year

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IN THE PRESENCE OF ABSENCE

By: Mahmoud Darwish

February 11, 2013

Love, like meaning, is out on the open road, but like poetry, it is difficult. It requires talent, endurance, and skillful formulation, because of its many stations. It is not enough to love, for that is one of nature’s magical acts, like rainfall and thunder. It takes you out of yourself into the other’s orbit and then you have to fend for yourself. It is not enough to love, you have to know how to love. Do you know how? You cannot answer, because you cannot relive the ecstasies that shook you and scattered you all over the lilac’s escapade, electrified you and tortured you with the scorching taste of honey. You cannot recall the liveliest and sweetest modes of death; when your “I” left you for your woman, and you encountered your self, fresh as a ripe fruit, in her.

When recalled by words, those moments are impervious to the attempt to raise the body to the station of the soul. Who among us has not said to his woman: “I only exist in you,” and was truthful. We were truthful, as well, when we found our existence in a similar utterance in a different place. So do you know how to love? You cannot answer, perhaps because you did not notice the subtle atmospheric shifts when traveling from pole to pole: love and passion, rapture and infatuation, ardor and affection, fondness and devotion, blazing love and bewildering love, craving and caprice, dalliance and desire, longing and lust, admiration and attraction, and other desires in search of senses. In every station the body has a certain state, and for every state there is a station between death and life. So you never know where or how you are.

But as you look over your life now, like a mariner considering his own disappointment with the unfathomable secrets of the sea, you ask: Where is my port? You are uncertain how your heart returned safe and solid, like a quince still too hard to bite. Why did you cry, then, when the virgin by the tree was no longer a virgin because one of those who tame the wind had beaten you to her? And why did you cry again, when the second one did not open the door as you stood in the bitter cold shivering from humiliation, not from the cold that lit up your furnace? And why did you cry a third time when the third one departed without noticing that you were hugging a pillow, not a body of silk and ostrich feathers?

There is no love, you say, because no love is like any other. The magnetic pull that uproots a being from its being cannot be defined. So forceful is it that he never asks about his spirit when it is exiled, nor about his freedom when it has become voluntary slavery: I am yours! With one lock of hair astray in the wind, mountains are moved. Two parted lips ripen cherry orchards before their time. With a word without meaning, interpretation makes you a king on a throne of dust.

As if electrocuted, you walk aimlessly, drifting with falling leaves. The storm and your emotions make you dizzy and you make them dizzy. You do not know if you are happy or sad, because the confusion you feel is the lightness of the earth and the victory of the heart over knowledge. You will later learn that love, your love, is only the beginning of love. In the beginning of love you are prepared, like a musical instrument, to compose according to the dictates of the air. Every breeze is a musical note and every silence a prayer of gratitude.

You are prepared also for a nocturnal reconnaissance of every sound coming to you from the star’s abode. So prolong this beginning, the beginning of love, so that imagination will submit to you as a horse to its rider. So that language will conquer you and you it, like a man and a woman racing to greet the unknown with the generosity of mutual obedience.

In the beginning of love, beginnings swarm down on you, deep blue. At the height of love you live it, you forget it, it forgets you and makes you forget the beginnings. At the end of love you look long at the clock. In absence, beginnings find the residual aches of the room: not having a second glass of wine, a missing blue shawl. The poem is filled with missing elements, and when you complete it with an incompleteness that opens into another poem, you are cured of memories and regrets. The gold in you does not rust. As if writing were, like love, the offspring of a cloud. When you touch it, it melts. As if the utterance were only incited in an effort to make up for a loss. The image of love reveals itself there; in a profoundly present absence.

And when you step out of yourself, as if you were you, you look at yourself from a distance as if you were he: standing in the rain on a street crowded with pedestrians, a bouquet of red roses in your hand. You do not feel cold in your peculiar stance, you feel the chill of mockery. You wonder: Was it love or passion or lust? And you forget your emotion. You forget it and do not look for it. You are not hurt or regretful. You simply greet it from afar as it moves toward a distant memory that will not make you sleepless. A memory you control as you might control the VCR: you place the end at the beginning, or freeze the image according to the wishes of your mercurial heart.

You laugh, embarrassed by words that were so excessive in praising lust that they consumed it. A lust that starts with a pair of feet sculpted by a sliver of sun, moving up two skillfully cast legs from where lightning flashes, and on to knees that were certified miracles. Higher still: the belly ebbs. Farther up: sunset gradually absorbs you with noble, bashful voraciousness. You approach and retreat, rise and fall, sweat, sigh, and drown in an enchanting night of sultry darkness. Her hands, or maybe yours, gather and carry you like an eagle swooning in a sky dripping with stars. You peek at her half-open eyes peeking at your half-closed eyes. Each of you wants to make sure that you are budding inside one another.

But no one makes a peak his abode. You both slip together from the highest heaven into a dewy drowsiness. You both whisper in the shared silence and say nothing, but it is more lucid than anything. You dream together, and separately, that this embrace might last forever, until you realize that “forever” has a very short life span, and that eternity does not heed anyone. It often circulates and shifts from one minute to another and from one state to another.

You, who only know love when in love, do not ask what it is, nor do you look for it. But when a woman once asked you if you were in love with love itself, you were evasive and escaped by answering: I love you. She persisted: Do you not love love? You said: I love you, because of you. She left you, because you could not be trusted with her absence. Love is not an idea. It is an emotion that can cool down or heat up. It comes and goes. It is an embodied feeling and has five, or more, senses. Sometimes it appears as an angel withdelicate wings that can uproot us from the earth. Sometimes it charges at us like a bull, hurls us to the ground, and walks away. At other times it is a storm we only recognize in its devastating aftermath. Sometimes it falls upon us like the night dew when a magical hand milks a wandering cloud.

But all of these forms coalesce – become visible, perceptible, and tangible – in a woman, not in the idea itself. We love the lure of form, and imagination devotes itself to discerning what is mysterious and wondrous within. As for souls, they acquaint themselves and become intimate with its glittering form through its essence. You might disagree about what one body says to the other, so you move on to the transparent and slip into bodies brimming with water, harmony, and music. Love shifts, transforms, and is impervious to identification. It is being seized in such a manner that infatuation becomes confused with illumination. It is what you do not know, and know that you do not know. It is the completion of meaning with non-meaning, because of its excessive tendency to take things for granted and squander its presence. It resists repetition and negates the need to mend air with color. Otherwise, it might become a marriage where correcting each other’s assertions replaces the improvisation of poetry, from which love breathes. The prose of domestic chores is not conducive to keeping two fresh pears on a marble plate, or for inciting the unknown to block the road in the face of the known. There must be a secret. There must be an ongoing secret for love to remain a surprise and a gift. So do not open the closet that contains the secrets of her nature.

If infatuation subsides, love drifts, little by little, toward the daylight of friendship. You say to her: How beautiful is our friendship, to age together and lean on each other and feel compassion for each other in an old people’s home when we lose our memory. But I would rather lean on my cane, and not on you. I do not want to see Romeo and Juliet, or Qays and Layla grow old before me. Love has an expiration date, just like life, canned food, and medicine. But I would prefer love to collapse from a cardiac arrest at its peak of desire and infatuation, like a horse falling off a mountain into an abyss.

I asked you: Who is she? You said: She has so many selves that I myself do not know her. She and not she. She and her personae, when they come together in a love poem, that draws on many sources, search for the fulfillment of what cannot be fulfilled, are moved by a call that overwhelms us without our realizing that it has yet to arrive, and by a renewed thirst next to the spring. She and not she; she is present and absent, it is as if her presence holds my absence within her, and her absence carries the presence of details. But she moves with so many names it is impossible to know if she is she, or one of the women my imagination and mercurial desires have invented. But it seems that she is an invention, because I never confuse names. I never call another by her name, which I have forgotten because so rarely did I use it.

I asked you: Do you not know how to love, then? I was astonished when you said: What is love? As if I had not loved, except when I imagined that I was in love. Such as when I am taken by a hand waving out of a train window – perhaps not meant for me – but I take it as such and kiss it from afar. Or when I see a girl waiting for someone at the entrance of a cinema and I imagine that I am that someone and take a seat next to her and see myself with her on the screen during a romantic scene. I do not care whether I am happy or sad by the end of the film. Because I look for her in what comes after the end. I do not find her next to me after the curtain falls.

I asked you: Were you acting, my friend?

You said: I used to invent love when necessary. When I walked alone on the riverbank. Or whenever the level of salt would rise in my body, I would invent the river.

Are you an artist, or know someone who is?

(PEN AMERICA

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#In the Presence of Absence #Mahmoud Darwish #nonfiction #poetry #PEN Literary Awards #art #5th dimension #Love #what is love #how to love #new earth #self discovery

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kamreadsandrecs · 24 days

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#books #pen literary awards #publishing

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kammartinez · 24 days

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#books #pen literary awards #publishing

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randimason · 1 year

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youtube

EDITED TO ADD: St. Louis University posted the 2023 St. Louis Literary Award ceremony; Neil’s talk starts about 40 minutes in. (Thanks DanGuyF)

In an interview before the event [Neil] Gaiman said that when he started writing comics, he “wasn’t even in the gutter.”

He said: “I used to look up and admire the people in the gutter. The science-fiction people were in the gutter, the children’s literature people were in the gutter, too, and I was so far down, I was in the storm drain.”

Great writeup by Jane Henderson from the St. Louis Post-Dispatch sharing highlights of Neil’s talk at the St. Louis Literary Award!

#neil gaiman #comics #st louis #st louis literary award #it does look like a fountain pen #writing #genre #quotes #book talk #fantasy #with love from florida #Youtube

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arablit · 1 year

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Noor Naga, Sofia Samatar, Zein El-Amine, Iman Mersal & Robyn Creswell Make 2023 PEN Literary Awards Longlists

JANUARY 20, 2023 — PEN America today announced the longlists for literary awards in eleven categories, including fiction, nonfiction, poetry, biography, essay, science writing, and translation: of both poetry and prose. Among the honored books on the “Jean Stein Book Award” longlist, which goes to “a book-length work of any genre for its originality, merit, and impact, which has broken new…

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#PEN Literary Awards 2023

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sayruq · 24 days

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PEN America has canceled its 2024 Literary Awards ceremony, which was previously scheduled to be held at the Town Hall in New York City on April 29, although some awards will still be conferred. The move follows months of steadily mounting criticism of the organization over its response to the humanitarian crisis in Gaza, which culminated last week in 28 authors withdrawing books from consideration for the awards, including nine of the 10 authors nominated for the organization's top prize, the PEN/Jean Stein Book Award.

The $75,000 prize accompanying the PEN/Stein award will be donated, this year, to the Palestine Children’s Relief Fund at the direction of the Literary Estate of Jean Stein. The late Stein "was a passionate advocate for Palestinian rights who published, supported, and celebrated Palestinian writers and visual artists," her daughters, Katrina and Wendy vanden Heuvel, and literary agent, Bill Clegg, said in a collective statement. "While she established the PEN America award in her name to bring attention to and provide meaningful support to writers of the highest literary achievement, we know she would have respected the stance and sacrifice of the writers who have withdrawn from contention this year."

The event that led to this moment

#yemen #jerusalem #tel aviv #current events #palestine #free palestine #gaza #free gaza #news on gaza #palestine news #news update #war news #war on gaza #pen america #boycott divest sanction #bds movement #writers on tumblr #edited

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scotianostra · 3 months

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On February 16th 1954 the writer Iain Banks was born in Dunfermline, Fife

Banks was a son of a professional ice skater and an Admiralty officer. He spent his early years in North Queensferry and later moved to Gourock because of his father’s work requirement. He received his early education from Gourock and Greenock High Schools and at the young age of eleven, he decided to pursue a career in writing. He penned his first novel, titled The Hungarian Lift-Jet, in his adolescence. He was then enrolled at the University of Stirling where he studied English, philosophy and psychology. During his freshman year, he wrote his second novel, TTR.

Subsequent to attaining his bachelor degree, Banks worked a succession of jobs that allowed him some free time to write. The assortment of employments supported him financially throughout his twenties. He even managed to travel through Europe, North America and Scandinavia during which he was employed as an analyzer for IBM, a technician and a costing clerk in a London law firm. At the age of thirty he finally had his big break as he published his debut novel, The Wasp Factory, in 1984, henceforth he embraced full-time writing. It is considered to be one of the most inspiring teenage novels. The instant success of the book restored his confidence as a writer and that’s when he took up science fiction writing.

In 1987, he published his first sci-fi novel, Consider Phlebas which is a space opera. The title is inspired by one of the lines in T.S Eliot’s classic poem, The Waste Land. The novel is set in a fictional interstellar anarchist-socialist utopian society, named the Culture. The focus of the book is the ongoing war between Culture and Idiran Empire which the author manifests through the microcosm conflicts. The protagonist, Bora Horza Gobuchul, unlike other stereotypical heroes is portrayed as a morally ambiguous individual, who appeals to the readers. Additionally, the grand scenery and use of variety of literary devices add up to the extremely well reception of the book. Its sequel, The Player of Games, came out the very next year which paved way for other seven volumes in The Culture series.

Besides the Culture series, Banks wrote several stand-alone novels. Some of them were adapted for television, radio and theatre. BBC television adapted his novel, The Crow Road (1992), and BBC Radio 4 broadcasted Espedair Street. The literary influences on his works include Isaac Asimov, Dan Simmons, Arthur C. Clarke, and M. John Harrison. He was featured in a television documentary, The Strange Worlds of Iain Banks South Bank Show, which discussed his literary writings. In 2003, he published a non-fiction book, Raw Spirit, which is a travelogue of Scotland. Banks last novel, titled The Quarry, appeared posthumously. He also penned a collection of poetry but could not publish it in his lifetime. It is expected to be released in 2015. He was awarded multitude of titles and accolades in honour of his contribution to literature. Some of these accolades include British Science Fiction Association Award, Arthur C. Clarke Award, Locus Poll Award, Prometheus Award and Hugo Award.

Iain Banks was diagnosed with terminal cancer of the gallbladder and died at the age of 59 in the summer of 2013.

#scotland #scottish #history #author #fifer

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betterthanapokeintheeye · 9 months

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Rob Wilkins - In Bath talking about Terry Pratchett, A Stroke of the Pen

Rob Wilkins will be in Bath talking about, and signing the book, Terry Pratchett: A Stroke of the Pen

Date: Wed 22nd November 2023 Doors Open 7pm

Location: Topping & Company Booksellers of Bath, York Street, Bath, Somerset BA1 1NG

Rob Wilkins, Pratchett’s former assistant, friend, head of the Pratchett literary estate & author of Terry Pratchett: A Life With Footnotes joins the team at the shop to talk on A Stroke of the Pen: the recently rediscovered short stories by Terry Pratchett.

The book is a truly unmissable, beautifully illustrated collection of unearthed stories from the pen of Sir Terry Pratchett: award-winning and bestselling author, and creator of the phenomenally successful Discworld series. It contains twenty early and once-lost short stories by one of the world's best loved authors, each accompanied by exquisite original woodcut illustrations.

These are rediscovered tales that Pratchett wrote under a pseudonym for newspapers during the 1970s and 1980s. Whilst none are set in the Discworld, they hint towards the world he would go on to create, containing all of his trademark wit, satirical wisdom and fantastic imagination.

Tickets available from https://www.toppingbooks.co.uk/events/bath/rob-wilkins-for-terry-pratchetts-a-stroke-of-the-pen-2023/

#terry pratchett #books #rob wilkins #discworld #not discworld #A stroke of the pen #book event

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chrollohearttags · 1 year

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𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐂𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐫: 𝐡𝐱𝐡 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 (𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏/𝟑)

extra incentive • c. lucifer

synopsis: your study buddy has always been the laid back type, never really showing interest in anything other than books…that is until the two of you decide to relieve some stress before an upcoming exam.

“You know what they say about the quiet ones. Is it true?” “You’re more than welcome to come find out.”

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content warning: modern/college au, black fem reader, fingering, hair pulling, corruption (ish) kink unprotected sex, oral sex (f. receiving), riding, squirting, choking, nerd!Chrollo, talk of sex/inexperience

word count: 3.8K

this is the first installment to a three part commission from @annie-franny. Thank you so much for your support and entrusting me with this piece! HunterxHunter is my all time favorite show and I’m happy to be writing for some of my favorite characters. Hope you enjoy, love! 💕

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faint raindrops rang outside the windowpane of the fourth floor dormitory..co-ed and co-opted by bright eyed, eager attendees of Yorknew State College. A learning facility of the highest caliber; regarded in the ranks of Cambridge and Oxford in terms of intelligence. Among those in the top bracket of brilliant minds were none other than Chrollo Lucifer. A prodigal genius who came from very humble beginnings and managed to secure a full ride scholarship to the school due to his exceptional educational achievements. Including two award winning literary dissertations on inequality and disproportionate educational opportunities in lower income neighborhoods. A life he knew all too well. Doing so while only being a senior in a vocational school. A man who was as handsome as he was mysterious, leaving many to wonder how he ended up at such a prestigious place. His knowledge only ascended from there and now, he sat as a shoe-in for valedictorian and alongside him was the only person who could probably be considered his equal and quite honestly, one of his only friends.

(Y/N) (L/N), a bright eyed beauty with a kind soul and kindred spirit. Born with an innate gift for reading and all things literature related, you excelled above your peers in no time, surpassing even the most intelligent in every subject. You would spend your lunchtime in the library, grasping every novel, book or composition pertaining to the studies of history; more so specifically your own that the school system refused to teach. Such a curious mind so it came as a surprise to no one when doing college applications, you were among the first to receive an acceptance letter from Yorknew State College nonetheless. Somehow, someway..you and Lucifer ended up intertwining and crossing paths in the campus bookstore. Where a bond formed and you’ve been close ever since, bouncing off ideas, sharing your love of reading and always studying together..hence why now, he was seated in the middle of your floor, cross legged and glued to a textbook as he tapped the back of his pen to the edge of the small table in front of him.

“Damn, Chro. You’re gonna drive me up a wall with that. You’ve been doing it for the past ten minutes.” An obviously irate (y/n) blurting out from the comfort of your bed, knees cradled to your chest with your laptop secured on top of them. You weren’t one to be on edge ever but in comparison to this man, he’d make even the most serene person look mad. Never even getting angry once in all the time you had known him, he truly had the patience of a saint. Oftentimes leaving you to wonder would anything make him tick..

“Oh, I’m sorry, (y/n). Didn’t even realize it. I’ll stop.”

but today, you were both a bit nervous, due in part to a huge assignment coming up in your most important course. One that would determine many things going forward for both of you. More so in terms of personal achievements but important nonetheless. In a frustrated huff, you’d close your computer and slump over, releasing a whiny sigh. “Ugh, I can’t wait for this stupid test to be over. I can’t take it anymore. I feel like I’ve read at least ten different books in the past two days. My head is about to explode.” As dramatic as it sounded, Chrollo most certainly mirrored your sentiments, even if he wasn’t as expressive of it. An exam with over two hundred questions pertaining various works throughout time on random subjects and you’d have to quote excerpts, pick out lines from precise chapters and remember not only the details but page numbers as well. It was so much. “Patience, my sweet (y/n). We’ll knock this exam out of the park and it’ll be done before you know it.”

but luckily you had one another to bounce ideas off of and keep each other accountable. However, it wasn’t lost on you that it was Saturday evening and you were spending it holed up in a room, studying. Normally, it was something that never really crossed your mind. Truthfully, a lot of your peers lacked focus and drive. Not too worried about their failures or fuck ups because they had a silver spoon awaiting them if they couldn’t feed themselves. It infuriated Chrollo and thus, he withdrew even more from his classmates. Isolated and feeling like a loner, he clung to you like a moth to a flame shockingly. So much so, he had eyes for no one else. Even when girls all around campus practically threw themselves at him constantly and had paid them no mind. Dating, relationships, hookups…it all seemed like such a hassle. Trivial things that served him no purpose. He much rather be nose deep in a book, expanding his knowledge than doing anything else. Still, he’d be lying if he said his mind didn’t wander from time to time…

about that girl with these wired rim, round glasses…concealing those dark, deep set eyes. Black coils setting pretty atop your head, skin like honey of the richest variety…needless to say, Chrollo was rather smitten and it wasn’t an honor that he wielded loosely. It took a lot to catch the eyes of the prodigal genius. So when you posed a rather peculiar question, he was a bit nervous to answer.

“Hey, Chro?”

“Yes?”

turning his attention towards you with his signature flat smile..those handsome boyish looks that always caused a flutter or two in your heart. Jet black tufts fluttering on either side of his porcelain smooth face, tied by a headband to keep strays tucked back. Tonight, sporting a hoodie with the school insignia along with a pair of gym shorts covering his lanky frame. It was easy to see why he had everyone’s attention.

“Why don’t we ever go to any parties? Are we like the only ones on campus reading like an old couple on a Saturday night?” However, it wasn’t something that phased him in the slightest and rather than being offended, Chrollo would just laugh and flip to the next page of his very intriguing novel.

“You’re free to go if you’d like, no one’s stopping you from attending any of them.” Stating so matter of factly without so much as even glancing in your direction. To most, things like that came off as condescending but you knew that he just didn’t show much emotion about anything. If you asked him a question, he’d simply answer it with no motive or malice behind it. It was something that initially frustrated you but that you had now grown to love. As with many things about this enigma of a man. Slouching off of the bed, (y/n) crawled a few feet over to him, slinging an arm around the back of his neck in a flustered huff. “I knowww, but they wouldn’t even be fun without you.” “I couldn’t understand why. I’m not much for gatherings so I’d be nothing more than a wallflower..if anything, I’d be rather boring." That's when you’d probe him with another question, still hanging onto his slender frame..your head resting on his back. With your hands coiling his chest, you could feel his heart racing and obviously, nothing ever got him excited but it was something so different about you. He wasn’t much for affection or physical touch but somehow, he didn’t mind when you held him. You guys were incredibly close and comfortable so it came as no surprise that you’d ask him such a thing with no shame. “…Chro..are you a virgin?”

causing the dark haired man to choke up in laughter. You two rarely ever kept secrets from one another but then again, most information relayed between you guys was pertaining to academics and knowledge. None of this trivial nonsense. However, something must’ve sparked this sudden curiosity about his intimate life. “That’s a bit invasive, don’t you think?” “Just answer the question please.” obvious that you were going to persist on this, he’d release a deep breath and shut his book, turning to properly face you as he gave you his response. “If you must know…no, I am not a virgin.” He was, however, completely celibate until the proper person came along and changed it. Even so, it shocked you and he’d cackle, wondering why your mouth was agape.

“What? Are you surprised?” And as horrible as it sounded to admit, you were a bit taken aback. “A little bit! Just doesn’t seem like it’s something you’d be into. No offense.” You figured him to be completely clueless on the topic of sex but alas, he had been with two people in his young lifetime. Some woman he lost his virginity to and a girl he hooked up with in a one off exchange. Neither time was some profound experience that kept him coming back for more or even drew him closer to the girls. It was just something that happened and it wasn’t something that he had ever pondered on. However, spending the last year or so growing closer to you had his mind wandering. Believe it or not, he was rather smitten with you. The only one to really make him take a second look nowadays. Watching you switch around in those frilly dresses and tight little skirts, looking all cute and bubbly. He’d oftentimes find himself blushing as he watched you part your curls, moisturizing them after wash day. Even offering to help..just because he enjoyed your presence. Carrying your stuff to class and always lingering around, waiting on you to get out as if you were still in high school. How you hadn’t seen it yet was beyond him. Hence why he didn’t do random hookups..you were the sole object of his carnal desires when they arose. Like this current moment.

“None taken. But I have to ask, why the sudden inquisition?..something on your mind?” Questioning so casually with that soft smug smirk on his face. He had to know where this was coming from. Roping a hand around his shoulder blade and collar bone, (y/n) teased his black wefts between your fingertips and giggled. There were a lot of things running through your mind at this point. Things that you weren’t certain you should say out loud…out of fear of rejection or sounding too forward. But since you could trust one another so well…there was no point in hiding it.

“You could say that..I guess what I’m trying to say is..I could use a distraction for a while.” Admitting as you teased your fingertips across his chest. And it didn’t take long for him to pick up the hint you had so blatantly thrown down. Flicking his tongue across his lips, Chrollo ogled back at you for a moment, turning to tip your chin up. It was obvious that there was rising tension between you two that could only be solved one way. That festering desire wasn’t going to disappear unless one of you acted on it.

“So what you’re saying is..” talking so smoothly that in one fell swoop, Chrollo was able to spin and capture you in his grasp, landing both of you on the carpet, his body atop yours and your faces only mere inches apart. “You want me to fuck you? Is that it?” Having never heard him use such brash language. Either way, it was so attractive and sexy. There was a certain glare in his eyes, as if he too had been waiting on this moment. Snaking a hand up your outer thigh, he’d crawl slowly between your parted legs. He wanted you and desperately, all you had to do was give him the say so and he’d dispel any and all preconceived notions you’d had about him. “I mean…I’m simply hoping to test a theory. You do know what they say about the quiet ones. Is it true?” “You’re more than welcome to come find out.”

with that, it was all the declaration you needed. The two of you began engaging in a heated makeout session. Cupping your hands to his face, shoving your tongues into each other’s mouths…trying to peel back layers of one another’s clothing. Swirling them around one another in a flustered haze. Moaning and whimpering whilst things became much more intense. It didn’t take long for either of you to render the other nude or even find your hands roaming all over your entangled bodies…his hands on your hips, running along the seams of your clothing. Sharp gasps elicited by subtle neck sucking; the warmth of his breath brushing against your skin…even whimpering and tossing your head back when he’d glide down to your nipples, faintly licking them just to make you shudder. He’d then work his way between your thighs, glaring up at you with those usually cold, dark eyes; so full of life and lust as he hungrily parted your thighs. His primal instincts took over in an instant. As were your own. “..look at that. So sexy..” in reference to that slick covered slit and swollen pearl protruding through those plump lips. A sight like he had never witnessed before; it was beautiful. “You won’t be mad if I get a taste, will you?” Shaking your head with a slight whimper, anticipating his next move. Mere seconds later, you’d find him greedily feasting on your soaked sex. Flicking his tongue so delicately throughout the sensitive area; teasing the clit, sucking on those folds and leaving soft kisses on that pretty pussy of yours. “Haah!—ahh, Chro! Fuck!..” crying out in a fit of pleasure, sandwiching his head between your hands. Curling your fingers through his soft hair, gently tugging at them but trust, he needed no assistance. “You taste so sweet, my love.” Not with the way he was sloppily spitting and lapping on your cunt. He was so skilled and intricate with the way he did it, you were sure you’d be seeing stars. “Mmmm! Ahh..” making all of those pitiful babbling noises that were only further fueling his desire to devour you. Fucking you tirelessly with his tongue. Feasting until your legs began to shake violently and those sweet nectar-like fluids could no longer be contained and you’d find yourself coming on his tongue..squirting from his impeccable oral. You’d cover your face, in half embarrassment and shock as it riddled your body. “Don’t be shy now, let me see that pretty face..” It wasn’t until he came up for air, his hands softly groping at your breasts did it really dawn on the two of you what was transpiring. But it was a tad bit too late to back out now. Instead, he’d shift to his side midway, propping your smaller frame up on his thigh as to balance you against it. That docile demeanor seemed to dissipate before your eyes and a side you’d never think to see began to awaken..one you’d like very much.

“You see, my sweet (y/n)…what I lack isn’t knowledge, not by a long shot. But experience..experience with the right person.” declaring so sweetly as he stroked the side of your face to help you calm down from your climatic high, only to induce another. Working those pale, slender digits between your jaws and whirled them around. “See..I know things that would make your body tick. Things that would send you into shock and make you cry my name out to the heavens. I would make love to you in ways that would cause your soul to erupt into flames. Every little movement, I’d make certain you fell deeper for me..so addicted that you won’t even dream of another man touching you..alas, I never found that person.” was a mere taste of what I’m capable of.”

all the while he was speaking to you, filling your ear and head with perverse thoughts, Chrollo’s opposite hand snaked around your throat and his eyes averted downward. By now, you were a drooling mess…letting that trail lube your already dripping folds as he shoved those same digits inside of you..working them around. “Hnghh!” “Shhh..just relax.” But he wouldn’t be the only one at work. Soon, he’d instruct you to grasp at his exposed member and coil your fingers around his shaft, slowly working it over. Not for nothing, but he wasn’t lacking in size either..girthy and thick but long also. That pink tip emitting pearlescent white precum. You were so needy and impatient, wanting to feel him right away but it wasn’t plausible. He doubted that you couldn’t even take it…

“That is until now. Until I met you, (y/n). I’ve dreamed of this moment and having you all to myself..now I’ve gotten it.” grunting into your ear, sucking on his teeth as you continued to massage him between your fingertips. Neither of you could maintain this charade of teasing much longer so with one final kiss to your temple, Chrollo hoisted you up ever so slightly, barely breaking the contact of your skin and gave one last command:

“Go ahead, put it in yourself.”

something about that primal energy he was tapping into really turned you on. Making you yelp while you worked yourself down to his aching tip. Pulsating as it split you open..causing you both to audibly gasp once it met the silky warmth of your insides. He had to all but restrain himself from hammering up into you but it had been quite some time since he felt a sensation like this one. “Mmmm…God, you’re so tight. But don’t worry..I won’t go too fast. We’ll take our time until you can fit all of me. We won’t rush it.”

talking you through those movements his palms placed to your hips and your back to his chest. It was while you were becoming one and getting acclimated with those strokes did he begin to buck upward very gently; meeting you halfway while giving you steamy, sloppy tongue kisses. You couldn’t stop moaning into his open mouth and he couldn’t keep his hands to himself. He wanted to squeeze on those beautiful breasts, pinch your nipples between his fingertips and especially, massage that swollen clit. Although, he’d save that last one for the right moment. You’d more than likely come entirely too quickly. So he’d settle for giving you affirmations to keep you going. Bouncing up and down on his dick, trying to eventually make it disappear inside of that pretty pink flesh. But as it stood, you could only take it about halfway to the hilt. Sounds of squelching and colliding flesh filled your tiny room and right there on that floor, your bodies clashed in heated ecstasy and bliss. Eventually, he was able to push it in a bit more before you found an established rhythm. “Keep going. Yes..you’re doing so good. Riding me like this…and you’re creaming all over it. Are you going to milk me too, sweetheart?” Cooing whilst sucking on his teeth, tossing his head back in pure pleasure. That pussy was something special and he wanted to savor it for as long as possible.

“Yes, ‘wanna make you come for me…fuck!” Whimpering so pathetically and sweetly, it made his cock twitch..that throbbing, continuing to fill your flesh. By now, the two of you had established a synchronized rhythm and pace. (Y/N) riding him, rolling your hips and subtly shaking your ass; standing atop your tiptoes even, when he fucked you. “Ooh, just like that. Look at how nicely you’re taking me now. Opening up so good..” now gripping the thick of your plump ass, now starting to thrust upward. He was enjoying your little tricks and show but he couldn’t hold back any longer. Having not been releasing pent up energy or realizing that he needed to, Chrollo was coming undone by the second, rutting his hips into you with that firm grip. “You don’t have to hold back, sweetheart. Come..make a mess of me. Let it all out..” with that affirmation, you’d release every drop of your sweet, squirting cum..as well as any stress or agitation in your body. Those much needed endorphins rushing through your systems. Spent and out of breath, you’d collapse against one another right there on the floor..panting and laughing. You couldn’t remember the last time either of you had felt this good.

“That was…something.”

“Yes it was..”

most certainly agreeing on that front. Something that was beneficial for the both of you. Now he felt as if they were able to conquer anything after that. And so did you!..clutching your arm, he’d gently caress it and kiss your forehead. “Well I suppose that’s one way to clear your mind.” Making the joke as he turned to face you, staring at you in a way he’d never stared at anyone in his entire life. Because in all honesty, he had never shared a connection like that with anyone. He’d never been one for a relationship or even casually hooking up..his sole focus was academics but after this? He felt as if he could make an exception for his favorite person perhaps. Clasping your fingers together, Chrollo made another declaration, one you couldn’t refuse. “I don't know about you, but I’m ready for this test now. My head is ten times more clear than it was.” “I’m glad to hear it. Tell you what…pass it and I have much more where that came from.” Just then, your features illuminated with a sparkle he had never quite seen in those beautiful eyes of yours..

“Mmm..I don’t think that’ll be much of a problem.”

giving you all the extra incentive you need.

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deadpanwalking · 18 days

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The cancellation of the 2024 World Voices festival reminded me that I meant to make a post about this last week, when PEN America announced that it could not hold its annual literary award ceremony because so many authors and translators had withdrawn their submissions. I don’t doubt that there's another post of this sort making the rounds, but since the ceremony was going to be tomorrow, I wanted to celebrate the literary achievements of every Finalist with a demonstrable backbone.

This is a list of writers who acted with integrity by withdrawing their work from the American subset of PEN International, an organization which has served as a bridge between literature and human rights for over a century. PEN America has largely built its reputation by supporting persecuted writers, and has let down the entire international literary community by failing to take a meaningful public stance against the ongoing genocide of the Palestinian people.

The following titles have been withdrawn from consideration at the request of the authors and translators:

PEN/Jean Stein Book Award

To a book-length work of any genre for its originality, merit, and impact, which has broken new ground by reshaping the boundaries of its form and signaling strong potential for lasting influence.

Hangman by Maya Binyam

Biography of X by Catherine Lacey

Poem Bitten by a Man by Brian Teare

Blackouts by Justin Torres

PEN/Robert W. Bingham Prize for Debut Short Story Collection

To an author whose debut collection of short stories represents distinguished literary achievement and suggests great promise for future work.

The Sorrow of Others by Ada Zhang

PEN/Hemingway Award for Debut Novel

To a debut novel of exceptional literary merit.

Promise by Rachel Eliza Griffiths

Natural Beauty by Ling Ling Huang

PEN/Voelcker Award for Poetry Collection

To a poet whose distinguished collection of poetry represents a notable and accomplished literary presence.

Couplets by Maggie Millner

suddenly we by Evie Shockley

PEN Translation Prize

From From by Monica Youn

For a book-length translation of poetry from any language into English.

Owlish by Dorothy Tse translated from the Chinese by Natascha Bruce

Trash by Sylvia Aguilar-Zéleny translated from the Spanish by J.D. Pluecker

#there's a lot more to it. i can't go into detail but it's been a fucking shitshow these past 4 months. it did NOT have to be this way.#so many people reached out to them with patience and grace but they just kept on keeping on.#the nerve of thinking writers would still show up to collect their cereal box prizes. the NERVE of trying to go ahead with World Voices.#naturally their big gala is still on so do please show up for the cocktail reception at 6PM at the natural history museum on thursday 5/16 #resources #gaza

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librarycards · 24 days

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Following months of escalating protest over the organization’s response to Israel’s war on Gaza, and the recent withdrawal of over a third of this year’s nominees, the 2024 PEN America Literary Awards have now officially been cancelled. In the last hour, PEN America confirmed this cancellation in a press release published on the organization’s website: PEN America announced today the cancellation of its annual Literary Awards ceremony, and released the names of its 2024 award finalists and winners. It was a very difficult decision not to move forward with a public celebration to recognize this year’s honorees, according to PEN America’s Literary Programming Chief Officer Clarisse Rosaz Shariyf. “We greatly respect that writers have followed their consciences, whether they chose to remain as nominees in their respective categories or not,” said Rosaz Shariyf. “We regret that this unprecedented situation has taken away the spotlight from the extraordinary work selected by esteemed, insightful and hard-working judges across all categories. As an organization dedicated to freedom of expression and writers, our commitment to recognizing and honoring outstanding authors and the literary community is steadfast.” [...] For the cash prizes that could not be conferred, a decision about how to allocate the funds will be made on a case-by-case basis, according to the specifications of each award contract and the wishes of our generous award underwriters. Of the 61 authors and translators nominated for a book award this cycle, 28 authors chose to withdraw their books from consideration. Nine of the ten authors recognized as nominees for the PEN/Jean Stein Book Award withdrew their work from consideration. Katrina Vanden Heuvel, Wendy Vanden Heuvel, and Bill Clegg, on behalf of the foundation and the Literary Estate of Jean Stein, provided the following statement: “Jean Stein was a passionate advocate for Palestinian rights who published, supported, and celebrated Palestinian writers and visual artists. While she established the PEN America award in her name to bring attention to and provide meaningful support to writers of the highest literary achievement, we know she would have respected the stance and sacrifice of the writers who have withdrawn from contention this year. To honor their decision the Estate of Jean Stein has directed PEN America to donate the $75,000 award to the Palestine Children’s Relief Fund.”

#GUYS WE FUCKING DID IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#FREE FREE PALESTINE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#gd what a fucking pesach gift b"H #mine #palestine #news #readings #gd i am so fucking proud. this is the kind of joy that sustains us

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visualtaehyun · 9 months

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When I started getting interested in Thai not even a year ago, I certainly didn't expect to be reading poetry at this point but here we are now:

มิ่งมิตร (ming mit) - the poem from Be My Favorite EP.11

It's part of a book of poems called ขอบฟ้าขลิบทอง (horizon trimmed in gold) and the author's pen name is อุชเชนี (Eugenie). Since 2017, the year after her passing, there's been a literary contest dedicated to her, the Eugenie Awards (website is in Thai).

I've copied over the entire thing from the end of the episode + the translation from the subs + included screenshots with the exact lines (unless it just shows Pear reading, unrelated to the line).

In Pear's recital there's two lines missing/left out that I tried to translate (=*) to the best of my *cough* limited *cough* abilities.

Anything marked in red is either an annotation of mine or where I felt the translation needed clarification.

I ran out of time so make of all of this what you will. I might come back to this post with some comments or meta before Friday.

Disclaimer: I'm a learner of Thai, not a native speaker, so feel free to correct me on anything 🙏

มิ่งมิตร เธอมีสิทธิ์ที่จะล่องแม่น้ำรื่น Dear Friend, You have the right to sail along and glide (along a river)

ที่จะบุกดงดำกลางค่ำคืน ที่จะชื่นใจหลายกับสายลม To venture into the woods in the dead of night To revel in the joy of a gentle breeze's sway

ที่จะร่ำเพลงเกี่ยวโลมเรียวข้าว ที่จะยิ้มกับดาวพราวผสม To sing your song with the harvested rice To grin (smile) at the stars above shining bright

ที่จะเหม่อมองหญ้าน้ำตาพรม ที่จะขมขื่นลึกโลกหมึกมน To gaze upon the grass with tears in your eyes To absorb as much bitterness as desired (To be deeply bitter, the world inky unmoving)

ที่จะแล่นเริงเล่นเช่นหงษ์ร่อน ที่จะถอนใจทอดกับยอดสน To be cheerful as a swan soaring free To vent it out with the top of the pine tree

ที่จะหว่านสุขไว้กลางใจฅน ที่จะทนทุกข์เข้มเต็มหัวใจ To plant glee in the hearts of people To take in (endure) as much misery (suffering, one of the Four Noble Truths in Buddhism) as you're able

ที่จะเกลาทางกู้สู่ฅนยาก ที่จะจากผมนิ่มปิ้มเส้นไหม *To smooth the path to recovery for someone poor (a way out of being poor) *To leave (?) hair soft almost like silken threads

ที่จะหาญผสานท้านัยน์ตาใคร ที่จะให้สิ่งสิ้นเธอจินต์จง *To boldly unite, to defy the eyes of others *To let things end as you envision

ที่จะอยู่เพื่อฅนที่เธอรัก ที่จะหักพาลแพรกแหลกเป็นผง To live for someone you love dearest To battle until your body turns into ashes (no mention of what turns to dust here as a result of bending, fighting, breaking)

ที่จะมุ่งจุดหมายปรายทะนง ที่จะคงธรรมเที่ยงเคียงโลกา To achieve what you strongly desire To pursue fairness (dharma, justice, truth, virtue) for humankind

เพื่อโค้งเคียวเรียวเดือนและเพื่อนโพ้น เพือไผ่โอนพลิ้วพ้อล้อภูผา For the sickle, the crescent moon, your dear friends For the swaying bamboo trees and the mountains

เพื่อเรืองข้าวพราวแพร้วทั่วแนวนา เพื่อขอบฟ้าขลิบทองรองอรุณ For the abundant rice in the paddy to remain For the golden skyline to come once again (For the horizon trimmed in gold to cradle/prop up the dawn)

#be my favorite the series #be my favorite #thai bl #local woman harps on about linguistics #yup this is a tag now

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