Tag: song

“there’s a truth about pain that most people never learn, unless they’re really unlucky. Or really long-lived, long enough to have felt almost every kind there is. Pain has a signature to it, a type, a song. The first time you experience a new one, it’s a bright, white-hot, cutting edge; or a searing, brain-twisting burn; or a shattering, soul-crushing thud; or any of the thousand other forms it takes to torment you. But the second time? Or the third? Or the fiftieth? No. It’s still terrible, still rage inducing, still debilitating, but it’s not the same shock as at first. You know this song, all its terrible highs and dismal lows; you can hum it with your eyes closed, because it’s just that familiar. Not like a friend—never that—but like an old enemy you’ve grown to know as well as to hate, his weapons and his limits. You know what he can do to you.”

Karen Chance, Shadow’s Bane

On a Night filled with Fear and Anxiety About So Much This Hit Me A Little Bit More Than Usual

I live in Florida and as I said in previous posts, every time a hurricane passes us by is a miracle and as I watched Harvey decimate Texas and Louisiana I was in equal parts inspired and appalled by the men and  women who joined together to help, taking any bit they had, be it boats or water, time or money, clothing or food… And appalled by those who made excuses for why they could not help, citing the water unsafe as there was no way to know what might be in them or difficulty in securing transportation or any other thing they could pull out of thin air…

Now we face another hurricane and it is poised to hit Florida and I find myself praying that this one passes us by, although that looks less and less likely as time passes.  I am watching my neighbors go insane, making runs on drugstores and supermarkets and discount clubs and I don’t know what to say or do about the insanity I am seeing but it is insanity on a grandiose scale or done large… 

And I am binge watching some TV shows as I look around my home wondering how I can take all the irreplaceable things in my home in hours if necessary, finding myself overwhelmed by the prospect of even trying to pack that bag. The wedding albums, my ketubah (the Jewish contract of marriage, of which there is literally one in all of the world as those who have signed in, most noticibly my husband and one of the witnesses, have died in the intervening years), the hours of videotapes from when the girls were born and of course the dog and all of his stuff… Do I take my high-school and college diplomas or the… The list goes on and on into perpetuity. Luckily, as much as it might kill me to lose the physical copies of my books, they exist somewhere on the cloud, so though I will lose their physical copies, I can enjoy them again with the digital versions. And so when a cover of this song played on the TV show that is the background upon which I ponder these questions it hit me harder than it usually would… Forever Young

May God bless and keep you always
May your wishes all come true
May you always do for others
And let others do for you
May you build a ladder to the stars
And climb on every rung
May you stay forever young

May you grow up to be righteous
May you grow up to be true
May you always know the truth
And see the lights surrounding you
May you always be courageous
Stand upright and be strong
May you stay forever young
Forever young, forever young
May you stay forever young.

May your hands always be busy
May your feet always be swift
May you have a strong foundation
When the winds of changes shift
May your heart always be joyful
And may your song always be sung
May you stay forever young
Forever young, forever young
May you stay forever young.

May God bless and keep you always
May your wishes all come true
May you always do for others
And let others do for you
May you build a ladder to the stars
And climb on every rung
May you stay forever young
May you stay forever young

And now I have to see if I can put my money where my mouth is. Can I believe that as long as my family and I are alive and together the rest of it, no matter how treasured, is irrelevant… I will pray that this storm passes us by and I don’t have to make those choices, but come what may all I can do is my best and hope that somehow it will be enough this time… Although all too often these days it is not…

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An apropos song for me today

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Buy this Special Edition and Support an Awesome Writer!

Hello My friends…This is one of my favorite authors and I hope you will help her out by buying this special edition…
I also have a little secret I’ve been keeping…You might just recognize the character Elizabeth, HMMMM wonder if she could be based on a certain Elizabeth who loves these books as much as I do…
 
From recent newsletter…
News from Shiloh
 
Kit’s Five
 
Blade Song – Special Edition
 
Kit was introduced to the world five years ago.
 
HBA few months ago, a special group of readers helped me introduce Damon’s side of the story. When I started the Patreon platform, the original intent was that the short stories written for my patrons would be specifically for them.
 
However…
 
A few months ago, my life was very much different.
 
Not only has my father moved in with me, but my sister in law and two of her kids have moved in with us.
 
My household has…well, grown exponentially, while my income has dropped. As many of you know, Samhain Publishing and Ellora’s Cave are no longer in business and I’ve yet to sell another trilogy so funds are…tight.
 
I talked things over with the readers who have opted to become patrons, because I started bouncing an idea around.
 
Kit’s five, after all. (And what a mouthy five year old she is…). It should be celebrated.
 
I had this story that other readers would probably enjoy. But it wouldn’t be out without the support of my patrons.
 
My patrons told me, emphatically, to do what I needed to do. So…that’s what I’m doing.
 
Viola. A special edition of Blade Song.
 
The special edition is available at the current price of $2.99 only through the link below.
 
Payloadz
 
The book includes Blade Song, and a snazzy new cover.
 
 
Buy now
 
The book set, as mentioned, will be loaded to other platforms this summer, but the price may be a bit higher as other platforms will, naturally, take their cut.
 
The stories included:
 
A Stroke of Dumb Luck
 
Bladed Magic
 
Damon
 
Blade Song
 
Proceed with Caution
 
Proceed with Caution isn’t a story, per se. It’s a collection of deleted scenes, character POVs and odd snippets that I’ve had tucked into various places. One of the deleted scenes is two chapters long and has never been seen by anybody.
 
Buy now
http://www.writerspacenews.com/t/2921519/9937496/43964/20/
 
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Goddess by Comsat Angels

slightlybitchyclairvoyant:

Chanceverse Graphics Request – Cassie + Song Lyrics for @windsurfingthroughhell

Goddess by Comsat Angels

And I fall every time
Goddess
She’s staring at the sky
Goddess
Almost a sacrifice
Goddess
Got nature on her side
Goddess

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Amy Lane Wounded

We are going to entertain you with a fiction,” He continued, “A faerie tale, a story, something dreamt of dozens of tens of years ago. Imagine my surprise when it turned into…” "A memory.” Cory stepped forward at his right and carried the narrative thread, just as they had rehearsed. “A memorial, a lament, a dirge, a paean…” "An exultation.” Bracken stepped forward carefully avoiding another touch with Cory, but at her other shoulder, “A cleansing, a triumph, a celebration.” "Yes.” Green took up his part now. “All of this and more, because this is a love song for our friend,” "Our lover,” said Cory and Andres.  "Our brother,“ Said Bracken. "Our son,” Said Arturo and Grace. “Our leader,” Said Renny and the vampires as they stepped forward together in a group. “Our beloved,” they all intoned together, and the echoes of their true love for their lost dear one lingered in the room for more than a few heartbeats. “We’re singing for Adrian,” Cory said then, alone, clearly, the heartbreak throbbing in her voice and in her intense, thin face. Her shoulders were bare, and she bore his mark on her back, and it was all Green could do to keep his throat clear for singing. "We will always sing for Adrian,” Cory added bravely, “Even though we hadn’t known he’d missed, and struck the opening chords of an old, old melody that now lay forgotten except in the minds of the fey who had grown up in the old countries and woods of Northern England, Ireland, and Wales. Singing in parts and counterpoint, Green, Bracken and Cory poured their heart into a song he’d written long before he’d left his home, met Adrian, or dreamt of Cory. Corinna and Allen and Graeme, Over the hills they ran A bonny bright girl with a ribbon,  O, two boys as thick as kin. They toddled under the lime tree, O, they toddled under the rose They toddled ‘till sun set, behind the Oak, they toddled from when the sun rose. Corinna why are you crying, O, Over a shirt stained red, Rain will fall and trees will grow And you will find lovers again. O We’re young; there is no time to waste. Corinna and Allen were lovers in fall, Over by yonder rose tree, Graeme came looking for his beloveds And wept at what he did see. Corinna why are you crying O, Over a shirt stained red, Rain will fall and trees will grow And you will find lovers again. Graeme ran like a man possessed He ran like he was followed by hell, He snapped his strong leg in painful two When into a gully he fell. So Graeme sat, with bounded leg When the militia came to town desert We aim to hunt them down. “ Corinna why are you crying O, Over a shirt stained red, Rain will fall and trees will grow And you will find lovers again. Allen came calling in darkest night And begged, "My brother, forgive me. I fed my love and broke your heart And we all can no longer be. But I run away to fight the day That our young men must wear red. I leave Corinna to your care, my friend. “ And with these words he fled. Corinna why are you crying O, Over a shirt stained red, Rain will fall and trees will grow And you will find lovers again. fight. No letter came, no friendly word Til field and moor turned green A spent young man came bearing a burden In which a bloody shirt could be seen. "Corinna, this is from Allen, know Your lover now lies dead. “ "Oh, Graeme, our friend, my life has ended I’ll never love again.” Summer passed and winter too, Corinna sat and wept. Graeme’s leg healed, but not his heart Until his promise then he kept. "Corinna, come stop your crying, O No. Not while the Spring is here. Corinna you must leave your weeping, O Please, beloved, please come. My arms are aching to hold you, know My heart can be your home. “ Corinna and Graeme were married, O As the summer died to fall. Their hearts still ache for Allen, though They love each other as all. And Rain will fall and trees will grow And you will have lovers again… Rain will fall and trees will grow And we will be lovers again. The end of the song was a repeat of the chorus, broken up and sung in passionate roundels. Cory’s voice soared over the chanted refrain of rain will fall, trees will grow, aching with the promise of hope and the heartbreak of loss as Green and Bracken called Corinna back to the land of the living. The fey in the harmony, intertwining, echoing, repeating the pain and the joy of love lost and found. The roundel built, and rose, and the emotion in the room crested, a giant wave of anguish, grief, and rebirth, and as their skin prickled with passion, their power—fed by anger and love and sex and emotion—burgeoned, grew, lifted, moved, heaved the pitch of the room to breathlessness, and everyone on stage raised their wounded wrists and released their bindings, and everyone off stage with a similar wound did the same, and Bracken finally, finally, answered the call of all that freely offered blood.

Amy Lane, Wounded
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chasin-thegoodlife:

appropriately-inappropriate:

hermionefeminism:

aneurysmsandanalogues:

the-courage-to-heal:

When I first encountered the literary classic Lolita, I was the same age as the infamous female character. I was 15 and had heard about a book in which a grown man carries on a sexual relationship with a much younger girl. Naturally, I quickly sought out the book and devoured the entire contents on my bedroom floor, parsing through Humbert Humbert‘s French and his erotic fascination for his stepdaughter, the light of his life, the fire of his loins — Dolores Haze. I remember being in the ninth grade and turning over the cover that presented a coy pair of saddle shoes as I hurried through the final pages in homeroom.

Although I remember admiring the book for all its literary prowess, what I don’t recall is how much of the truth of that story resonated with me given that I was a kid myself. Because it wasn’t until I reread the book as an adult that I realized Lolita had been raped. She had been raped repeatedly, from the time she was 12 to when she was 15 years old.

As a young woman now, it’s startling to see how that fundamental crux of the novel has been obscured in contemporary culture with even the suggestion of what it means to be “a Lolita” these days. Tossed about now, a “Lolita” archetype has come to suggest a sexually precocious, flirtatious underage girl who invites the attention of older men despite her young age. A Lolita now implies a young girl who is sexy, despite her pigtails and lollipops, and who teases men even though she is supposed to be off-limits.

In describing his now banned perfume ad, Marc Jacobs was very frank about the intentions of his sexy child ad and why he chose young Dakota Fanning to be featured in it. The designer described the actress as a “contemporary Lolita,” adding that she was “seductive, yet sweet.” Propping her up in a child’s dress that was spread about her thighs, and with a flower bottle placed right between her legs, the styling was sufficient to make the 17-year-old look even younger. The text below read “Oh Lola!,” cementing the Lolita reference completely. The teenager looks about 12 years old in the sexualizing advertisement, which is the same age Lolita is when the book begins.

And yet Marc Jacobs’ interpretation of Lolita as “seductive” is completely false, as are all other usages of Lolita to imply a “seductive, yet sweet” little girl who desires sex with older men.

Lolita is narrated by a self-admitted pedophile whose penchant for extremely young girls dates all the way back to his youth. Twelve-year-old Dolores Haze was not the first of Humbert Humbert’s victims; she was just the last. His recounting of events is unreliable given that he is serially attracted to girl children or “nymphets” as he affectionately calls them. And his endless rationalizing of his”love” for Lolita, their “affair,” their “romance” glosses over his consistent sexual attacks on her beginning in the notorious hotel room shortly after her mother dies.

This man who marries Lolita’s mother, in a sole effort to get access to the child, fantasizes about drugging her in the hopes of raping her — a hypothetical scenario which eventually does come to fruition. Later on as he realizes that Lolita is aging out of his preferred age bracket, he entertains the thought of impregnating her with a daughter so that he can in turn rape that child when Lolita gets too old

Lolita does make repeated attempts to get away from her rapist and stepfather by trying to alert others as to how she is being abused. According to Humbert, she invites the company of anyone which annoys him given that the pervert doesn’t want to be discovered. And yet, he manipulates her from truly notifying the authorities by telling her that without him — her only living relative — she’ll become a ward of the state. By spoiling her with dresses and comic books and soda pop, he reminds her that going into the system will deny her such luxuries and so she is better off being raped by him whenever he pleases than living without new presents.

Given that Humbert is a pedophile, his first-person account is far from trustworthy when deciphering what actually happened to Lolita. But, Vladimir Nabokov does give us some clues despite our unreliable narrator. For their entire first year together on the road as they wade from town to town, Humbert recalls her bouts of crying and “moodiness” — perfectly understandable emotions considering that she is being raped day and night. A woman in town even inquires to Humbert what cat has been scratching him given the the marks on his arms — vigilant attempts by Lolita to get away from her attacker and guardian. He controls every aspect of her young life, consumed with the thought that she will leave him with the aid of too much allowance money or perhaps a boyfriend. He interrogates her constantly about her friends and eventually ransacks her bedroom revoking all her money. Lolita is often taunted with things she desires in exchange for sexual favors as Nabokov writes in one scene:

“How sweet it was to bring that coffee to her, and then deny it until she had done her morning duty.”

Lolita eventually does get away from her abusive stepfather by age 15, but the fact that she has been immortalized as this illicit literary vixen is not only deeply troublesome, it’s also a completely inaccurate reading of the book. And Marc Jacobs is not alone in his highly problematic misinterpretation of child rape and abuse as “sexy.” Some publications and publishing houses actually recognize the years of abuse as love.

On the 50th anniversary edition of Lolita, which I purchased for the sake of writing this piece, there sits on the back cover a quote from Vanity Fair which reads:

“The only convincing love story of our century.”

The edition, which was published by Vintage International, recounts the story as “Vladimir Nabokov’s most famous and controversial novel” but also as having something to say about love. The back cover concludes in its summary:

“Most of all, it is a meditation on love — love as outrage and hallucinations, madness and transformation.”

“Love” holds no space in this novel, which details the repeated sexual violation of a child. Although Humbert desperately tries to convince the reader that he is in love with his stepdaughter, the scratches on his arms imply something else entirely. Because the lecherous Humbert has couched his pedophilia in romantic language, the young girl he repeatedly violated seems to have passed through into pop culture as a tween temptress rather than a rape victim.

Conflating love or sexiness with the rape of literature’s most misunderstood child is dangerous in that it perpetuates the mythology that young girls are some how participating in their own violation. That they are instigating these attacks by encouraging and inciting the lust of men with their flirty demeanor and child-like innocence.

Let it be known that even Lolita, pop culture’s first “sexy little girl” was not looking to seduce her stepfather. Lolita, like a lot of young girls, was raped.

Source: http://www.mommyish.com/2011/11/16/lolita-novel-sex-rape-pedophilia-541/2/#ixzz3N4PFEyex

I was going through this at age 11 when i got my hands on the book, and i never read it as sexual. I cried and related to her on such a deep level. Anyone who thinks lolita is a love story is gross.

Too real. Lolita means so much to me, because I was raped by an older adult man when I was 15 and years later when I came forward about it people said it was my fault because I flirted with him. A friend of his even teased me with the comment “weren’t you his little Lolita?” Lolita. Is Not. A love story. The continuous sexual abuse of a teenage girl is not love.

What chaps my ass is that NABOKOV didn’t see it as a love story. He found Humbert repugnant and went out of his way to make him so.

He hated that people saw it as romantic when he’d meant to write a fucking horror novel.

I hate when people call themselves Lolita or that fucking Lana del Rey song.This book is about a little girl being raped constantly and they make it seem like a seduction or tease.Please people read this article or read what the book really is this story makes my gut churn.I was being molested as a kid and had mental games played on me.Please Please Please to save another persons life stop romanticizing this story let people know this isn’t no old century love this is rape

Rape is never ok.  Nor is a relationship between an adult and a child.  I read a lot but it is imperative that this be a truth of our age.  Too many people refuse to stand up to protect that truth.  Many of my favorite heroines were abused as children.

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Jacqueline Carey / Kushiel’s Dart

sexartandpolitics:

“Whip us till we’re on the floor, we’ll turn around and ask for more, we’re Phedre’s Boys!”

“We like to hurt, we like to bleed, daily floggings do we need, we’re Phedre’s Boys!”

“Man or woman, we don’t care; give us twins, we’ll take the pair! But just because we let you beat us; doesn’t mean you can defeat us!”

Perfect.

You have to love their song, but their loss will break your heart

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