What poem? Poems got all sorts of meanings and, like, I can ask a few friends off-offhandedly about it if you need. Obviously I won't say where it's from, but I have been interested in poetry because of Raven and Lily so it might not seem too weird.
[Hands over his notebook; it has the following poem carefully copied down:]
[Quattrocento by Margaret Atwood
The snake enters your dreams through paintings: this one, of a formal garden in which there are always three:
the thin man with the green-white skin that marks him vegetarian and the woman with a swayback and hard breasts that look stuck on
and the snake, vertical and with a head that’s face-coloured and haired like a woman’s.
Everyone looks unhappy, even the few zoo animals, stippled with sun, even the angel who’s like a slab of flaming laundry, hovering up there with his sword of fire, unable as yet to strike.
There’s no love here. Maybe it’s the boredom.
And that’s no apple but a heart torn out of someone in this myth gone suddenly Aztec.
This is the possibility of death the snake is offering: death upon death squeezed together, a blood snowball.
To devour it is to fall out of the still unending noon to a hard ground with a straight horizon
and you are no longer the idea of a body but a body, you slide down into your body as into hot mud.
You feel the membranes of disease close over your head, and history occurs to you and space enfolds you in its armies, in its nights, and you must learn to see in darkness.
Here you can praise the light, having so little of it:
it’s the death you carry in you red and captured, that makes the world shine for you as it never did before.
This is how you learn prayer.
Love is choosing, the snake said. The kingdom of god is within you because you ate it.]
I figure it's about, like... Eden, you know? But if he can give us anything more than that, that'd be real good. If you got any ideas, too, I'm all ears.
I'm thinking, like... if this was an answer. Should we be looking for a way to get to the angel from the garden? Up in heaven?
[ she reads it over. ] I'm kind of getting the same sort of vibes. Like, hm, [ she's going to do a quick search on helloogle. ] it might be a good idea to dig into the author, er, poet, Atwood, because apparently it's a pretext for her [ clears her throat. ] reflecting on the human body as a hybrid of material existence and immaterial consciousness.
[ hums, thoughtful, ] so if we consider everything, then, like, Heaven isn't technically supposed to be in Hell, so it's kind of the hybrid in this case, since it's not fully here. I wouldn't doubt that it's a way to get to the Angel. I wonder if that stupid cube guard *thing* is part of the equation.
[ what the fuck am i reading right now. she just stares at it, reading it over and over like it'll magically make sense. ]
This is making my head hurt. [ she laughs. ] I'm not even sure what this is trying to say. [ squints. ] And they did it with... mushrooms? [ blinks. ] Lemme see the pics, that actually sounds neat to look at, if nothing else.
[He hesitates - offers up his phone and fiddles with it for a second to bring up the gallery]
It's the next two.
[The next two pictures show the interior of a decaying hotel, bubble-chic French Baroque architecture salt stained and half covered in vines and ferns and established greenery. Its sprawling beach patio opens straight to the sand and beyond that the ocean, though the promenade of graceful statues are now crumbling, and rather than cafe tables or lounge chairs, only moss and bioluminescent mushrooms venture over the once ornately tiled floor.]
[On the floor, the mushrooms have spread a little more in each image, mycelia sending out filaments that weave together to form words]
Is this, like, their dominion or something? [ squints. ] It's kind of neat, NGL, if you're totes into that mushroom stuff. [ reads over the messages and, oh, h- hm. ] Is it from something or is it just a bunch of nonsense they made up on the spot? Second verse is kind of, ah, dark. Did you get a picture of them? I kind of want to see what this dude or dudette looks like. But overall it kind of seems like a real weird encounter.
...sounds, uh, strange. And talking in nothing but poems and junk is a pain in the ass, but definitely not unheard of. Do we know what faction it's from?
I know NaFunAi and her boss. Like, ok, not intimately, but that's kind of how I helped fix the city following the demon blob goo monsters. I managed to reach out to them.
But I think the tech people are just those that deal with the Production itself and making sure shit runs smoothly.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Re: Day 380
Re: Day 380
But... I wrote down what I remembered, and me and Nem looked it up later. Turns out she was quoting a poem.
Re: Day 380
Re: Day 380
...who're you thinking to ask? Me and Nem are planning on hitting up a couple literary types.
Re: Day 380
Re: Day 380
[Hands over his notebook; it has the following poem carefully copied down:]
[Quattrocento by Margaret Atwood
The snake enters your dreams through paintings:
this one, of a formal garden
in which there are always three:
the thin man with the green-white skin
that marks him vegetarian
and the woman with a swayback and hard breasts
that look stuck on
and the snake, vertical and with a head
that’s face-coloured and haired like a woman’s.
Everyone looks unhappy,
even the few zoo animals, stippled with sun,
even the angel who’s like a slab
of flaming laundry, hovering
up there with his sword of fire,
unable as yet to strike.
There’s no love here.
Maybe it’s the boredom.
And that’s no apple but a heart
torn out of someone
in this myth gone suddenly Aztec.
This is the possibility of death
the snake is offering:
death upon death squeezed together,
a blood snowball.
To devour it is to fall out
of the still unending noon
to a hard ground with a straight horizon
and you are no longer the
idea of a body but a body,
you slide down into your body as into hot mud.
You feel the membranes of disease
close over your head, and history
occurs to you and space enfolds
you in its armies, in its nights, and you
must learn to see in darkness.
Here you can praise the light,
having so little of it:
it’s the death you carry in you
red and captured, that makes the world
shine for you
as it never did before.
This is how you learn prayer.
Love is choosing, the snake said.
The kingdom of god is within you
because you ate it.]
I figure it's about, like... Eden, you know? But if he can give us anything more than that, that'd be real good. If you got any ideas, too, I'm all ears.
I'm thinking, like... if this was an answer. Should we be looking for a way to get to the angel from the garden? Up in heaven?
Re: Day 380
[ hums, thoughtful, ] so if we consider everything, then, like, Heaven isn't technically supposed to be in Hell, so it's kind of the hybrid in this case, since it's not fully here. I wouldn't doubt that it's a way to get to the Angel. I wonder if that stupid cube guard *thing* is part of the equation.
Re: Day 380
...you think?
Re: Day 380
Re: Day 380
Thanks, dude. I guess we gotta come at it from all angles.
Re: Day 380
Re: Day 380
[He flips forward a page in his notebook and hands it over]
This was everything I could remember, word for word. The mushrooms spelled stuff out, too. That I got pics of.
Re: Day 380
This is making my head hurt. [ she laughs. ] I'm not even sure what this is trying to say. [ squints. ] And they did it with... mushrooms? [ blinks. ] Lemme see the pics, that actually sounds neat to look at, if nothing else.
They didn't hurt you, did they?
Re: Day 380
It's the next two.
[The next two pictures show the interior of a decaying hotel, bubble-chic French Baroque architecture salt stained and half covered in vines and ferns and established greenery. Its sprawling beach patio opens straight to the sand and beyond that the ocean, though the promenade of graceful statues are now crumbling, and rather than cafe tables or lounge chairs, only moss and bioluminescent mushrooms venture over the once ornately tiled floor.]
[On the floor, the mushrooms have spread a little more in each image, mycelia sending out filaments that weave together to form words]
[In the first picture:
—o͡f͜ ą ̢mon̸s̕tru̷ct҉ arca̧d͜ias ͟t̕o r͟evel͠at͘įǫn wa̧s ͘to ͟forge͝t m̢y̢se̴lf̴:͘ w͝ashed̀-̢o̴ut,̶
c̡ol͜d, ͢p̶o͠n̨d̡w̕eèd҉ ta̛ng͟l̨ed in ͏t́he͝ me̛mb̀er҉ wer҉e ̀s̨ha͜l͟l ͡còm͝e ͢to ̸r̷eve͞l͡,̵ iǹ fl͡o͟w͝e̡re͢d͢ éxit ͡w҉ou͢n̡ds—
T҉h̛a̛t wh̵i҉ćh͝ ̡sh̡all̶ ̨be ́wr̛i͘t̴e̡
͏ ͘ ́ ͢ ͘ ̧ ͘ ̛ ͡ ͞ ̡ ̕dest҉inies ̴a̴ro̷u̡nd̀ ̨wit̵h à
leth͠a̸l̷ ̸b̀egging,̧ ͞a ̸th͘ou̢şed and ͡càp̢t̴ưr͟ed͝, t́h͞at wheth͟er i̵t ìs̀ n͏o͝t̨
f̵o̢rgív̶e̛n...]
[And in the second:
her͞e, ̡ever͞y͡ ͜v̛i̧ne͘ ͢& ͟root͏ de̕mands ̨bl̸oo̡d͘ ̷–̛ ̵ ͜ ̡ ̡͘
͠ ͏ ̷ h͟eré,͡ ̧év̴eŕy l̨i͏fe͞ i͘s͢ ̴biŕthed ͡f҉r̢om hơlloẃ ̡a͟b͟s̢enc͞e ̧–̴
̀Be̢twe͜e͜n th͟e ͝rib̶ca̷g̛e͏ ͏tur̷ned ͞vi̵n̨e͠ riv̀u͘let, ͞survived
͟ ̕ ͟ ͝ ̴ ͜ b͏ef̛o̸r͜e̷ you̶ ͡s͜lidé ҉down ̸i͘n͏t̴o your ̡fin̕g͠ers.͏ ͠I̡ ̶h̀ave ͘s҉e̴en̴ t̀h͠ȩ m͡e͜m̕b̕ra̢n͠es of ͏d́įs̛eas̵e͟
̕clos͘e ̶ov̨e̛r̸ y͞o̢ur ͏hèa̴d,̷ ánd his͜tor͠y̕
óccur̨s̛ ͠to͢ y͞o͞u̢r bod̨y̕ a͟s͏ a ̴f̕a҉l͝l҉i̵ng ͞i̸nto̶ ͢h̛ot ̷m̴ud]
Re: Day 380
Re: Day 380
Didn't get a pic of her after she formed, but the mushrooms kinda like... came together to make a big mushroom person.
Re: Day 380
Re: Day 380
Maybe neither? There's a whole 'nother prince of hell that deals with disease and stuff, and she did a whole lot of talking about that, so.
Re: Day 380
Re: Day 380
Re: Day 380
Re: Day 380
...but yeah. I guess there's those two and then whoever's heading up the tech, and then... this mushroom, maybe? If she's on her own.
Re: Day 380
But I think the tech people are just those that deal with the Production itself and making sure shit runs smoothly.
Re: Day 380
Re: Day 380
Re: Day 380
Re: Day 380
Re: Day 380
Re: Day 380
Re: Day 380
Re: Day 380
Re: Day 380
Re: Day 380
Re: Day 380
Re: Day 380
Re: Day 380
Re: Day 380
Re: Day 380
Re: Day 380
Re: Day 380
Re: Day 380
Re: Day 380
Re: Day 380
Re: Day 380
Re: Day 380
Re: Day 380
Re: Day 380
Re: Day 380
Re: Day 380