Disclaimer: I have nothing. Given that IB acquired my soul two years ago, and that all my money is now property of Musiclab™ Record Store, the lawyers decided to take my witty-retort superpowers. Goddamn them.
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If I
could be
another man
I'd be
with you
all the time.
I will
arrive
at home
so tired…
Manta Ray - Another Man
"Due in great part to a complete misunderstanding of their armed power and their enemies, the Triple Alliance and the Triple Entente rushed into a war they foresaw as short and decisive. Both sides' generals failed to grasp the possibilities and implications of quick mechanized warfare fed by large industrial complexes. Instead, they locked their armies into slow, stagnant, bloody battles. World War I started because each side was certain they had an assured, quick victory."
Our History of the XX Century professor had scribbled mounds of little notes on my paper. She hadn't found any conceptual mistakes, she had told me, but the writing was confusing at times and it was very unusual to see that many misspellings in my papers. She was slightly worried. Was I alright?
And I was, I assured her. Just a bit distracted. Oh, yes, of course, how could she forget. Li. How was he? Stable. She smiled weakly and gave me a handwritten list of work he'd have to catch up on. I grabbed his books on my way out.
I stopped by his place a couple of hours ago.
They're lying at the foot of the bed now, a silent tell tale heart.
This isn't my bed.
His stuff is all over the house. Waiting. To be taken home, to be burned to ashes or axed to splinters in frustration. I don't want to see them anymore. Sakura's presence runs around them like streaks, like I was seeing her photograph taken with a slow shutter. Syaoran's is just as fast, mostly, except it pools in places. Like his spot, on the right side of this bed.
Nakuru is busy harassing the salesmen about their return policies. Her "mint condition," her "not a scratch on them," her "that'll teach you to hang up on me, bastard" echo from the study downstairs into the dusty hallways by the guestroom. They seem distant, disconnected from me and from this.
Syaoran had been sleeping in one of my guest beds, transplanted from these dusty quarters to his bedroom. Everything else in the apartment had been store-bought, some-assembly-necessary furniture.
He looked small. He'd hate that adjective, I know. I don't like it much either. Hand fisted on the covers, messy pillow hair, soft breathing. I could almost hear a faint crick with every exhalation. He was otherworldly.
Sakura calls. She asks me how he is and I say nothing. She says my name with earnest weight, and I'm beginning to be afraid. She needs to speak with her, she says, in a way she doesn't get the upper hand.
Gods…
Is she sure about this? Does she really want to do this?
"Want"? If she can't protect him… If she can't protect him, Eriol, who can? She can do this. She has to.
When I walked out of his bedroom, his books were still in my bag. Every step of the way home, I could feel them. Silent tell tale hearts.
I was being silly. Why did I have them with me? I should have left them there.
… I can always go back tomorrow.
Metatext:
nahui 13: You'll figure it out before.
The Free Air: Probably not, if I couldn't figure out they would just get new furniture.
nahui 13: keep thinking in that line.
The Free Air: Actually, I figured that would be it but sometimes your
creativity surprises me and I really wanted to hear it from you.
nahui 13: well, let's hope the discourse is surprising, even if the story isn't.
The Free Air: Oh come on. It's not like that's the whole fucking chapter.
The Free Air: "Dear liminal, Nakaru-the-design-major forced us to buy a
peach pink bedroom set because she swears they must have fucked at
least bi-hourly on the old mattress"
nahui 13: that's going on the metatext.
The Free Air: Whoohoo
The Free Air: See? You find me clever and refreshing.
nahui 13: I find you weird.
The Free Air: You find me clever and refreshing.
nahui 13: ...
The Free Air: So what about my Eriol impression won you over? It was the peach pink and the bi-hourly thing, wasn't it?
nahui 13: ...
The Free Air: No?
The Free Air: ...
nahui 13: you have problems.
… copypasted verbatim, completely unmodified, swear on Lou Reed's dog collar.
I wanted to name this an imaginary number. I wanted square root of 17,
but I couldn't put the special characters in the title. Sigh.
The customary hat off to Doña Catalina –Kate, that
is– for being a wonderful beta, even at a time not quite easy for her.
love ya, mah sistah.
Should I give up and say this thing is updated biannually? It's been a wild semester, well beyond anything I could have remotely foreseen. Those of you who care about course of my life and being will be glad to know that I find college fulfilling and fascinating, a rich, fun, mad, mad, mad experience. Those of you who don't will whine about lack of updates. And you'll be completely right.
The semester was crazy-busy, and so is the summer so far. I'm writing reviews for an e-zine and volunteering for a Hispanists' Congress among various other projects, most of them personal. Much hard work and no fucking pay. I figure it's a good idea to squeeze as many of my starving artist projects into the years when my mother still supports me economically. This update, late as it was, was delayed a few days for an impromptu weekend vacation. Yes, it was weirdly fun. Thank you for pretending to care about my life. I truly appreciate it. Liminal cookies to all of you.
Iram: e-mail me. Please.
I am in need of some serious outline reengineering. I lost my outline draft again, and it really doesn't matter because I have to change it –also again– anyway. I need more space to make Dead Gods Sakura coherent with canon. Which I know she isn't right now. And Syaoran… poor boy, I've put him through so much. And for what. A couple of beauty shots and an over protective girlfriend.
And then he fell down dead.
(Leave that for sonambulating to decipher)