I've heard there's joy untold, lays open like a road in front of me

[leahbobet]

I never have to think about Phonology of L2 Accent or Poetry 1900-1960 ever again. I handed in the term paper for one and wrote the exam for the other yesterday. And then I got some sushi, ate it, and slept in this morning, and I am feeling an appropriate degree of lightness for the removal of two courses from my shoulders.

(No, I still don't have the e-mail which is supposed to tell me what's on the exam I'm to write tomorrow morning. Nobody in the class does, I think. But I could drive myself mad about that or...I could not.)

The balcony door has been open all afternoon, and the apartment is not yet cold. Also, the sun is shining, and all my avocado plants seem to know the season's turned. They're sprouting like crazy, as is the teeny money tree and the sage. And I woke up with a first line in my head: "For years after, (something four beats long)*, they did not put the place on maps." The post-apocalyptic city of "Six" has been eating my head since I subbed that story, to the point where I was reluctant to let it go, and I dreamed about it last night. Y'know, in case I didn't get the memo that the place wanted another story or three.

Specifically, running through the ruined garment district with China Mieville, since he had made himself a meta-author insert character and people were mad at him about it. We went to the bookstore. It was untouched and clean. Nobody loots books after the apocalypse, apparently, but also because books have their own magic and are self-protecting. We turned on the back light and ran our hands over the spines on the shelves, and I started thinking how I might live there in all the quiet ruined beauty of an abandoned Queen West. And for years after, weary with matters of chickens and salt, they did not put the place on maps.**

---

*Yes, I construct my sentences on the most fundamental level based on rhythm.

**That is not the right four beats.

Comments

[clarentine]

For years after, fearing attention, they did not put the place on maps.

[leahbobet.livejournal.com]

Alas, only two beats there. *g*

[clarentine]

Oh, I was thinking in terms of syllables! How about "fearing their father's attention?"

[leahbobet.livejournal.com]

I'll figure something out when the time comes to use the line. :)

[desperance.livejournal.com]

*Yes, I construct my sentences on the most fundamental level based on rhythm.

But of course. Also, alliteration. And numerous other resonances less easy to explain outside one's own head.

And for years after, cautious as they had learned to be, they did not put the place on maps.

[leahbobet.livejournal.com]

*turns that over*

That might be the right four beats. :)

[samhenderson.livejournal.com]

not til the embers had faded away
tired of lying to children in school
after the language had died in the womb
hoping the tigers had grown back their stripes
praying the gods had forfotten again

[leahbobet.livejournal.com]

You should fashion that chunk into poetry.

[samhenderson.livejournal.com]

Maybe I will at that! : )