ęší (Kim Feel) -Â ę´´ě (Monster) (Feat. ę°ě´ěą, ęł ěě§)

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@deadbones
ęší (Kim Feel) -Â ę´´ě (Monster) (Feat. ę°ě´ěą, ęł ěě§)

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circa 2006, in another life with @deadbones
Date: XXX, XX XX 2006 XX:XX:XX To: [email protected] Subject: ě¤ë ěě ëľěĽ ěěźëŠ´ ë 죽ëë¤!!! From: [email protected]
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Date: XXX, XX XX 2006 XX:XX:XX To: [email protected] Subject: Re: ě¤ë ěě ëľěĽ ěěźëŠ´ ë 죽ëë¤!!! From: [email protected]
hi Soojung,
why you sent me email? I am going to your house soon. ě˘ ěěźëŠ´ ëłźęťë° ě ě´ëŠěź ëł´ë´ęł ꡸ë .-.Â
My English is not good. It is funny? í... ëę° ë ě겨... ë ęąąě ě´ë í´, ë íęľě ěŹëęš ěě´ ëŞťí´ë ë쌚 ă ă ă ă ă ă ë ěë§ íęľěě 100ë ě ë ęłľëśí´ěźë¨ ă ă ă ă ꡸ëë ë ě§ě§ ë§ě´ ě˘ěěĄě! ě¸ě ! b(^_^)
Yes, I know ěŹęłź. ë ꡸ě ëë ěęą°ë -_- I love apple! ë ěŹęłź ěë 뼴기 ěěźëŠ´ ë´ę° ëęşź ë¤ ë¨šěꚨ~ 죽ěźëŠ´ ě ëëęš~ ë ěźě´íŹë ë¤ęł ę°ëęš ěě¤ë§íí ě기í´ě¤. ëšěěźëĄ ě°žěę°ëŠ´ ěě ěěźëęš! ë âě ěŹâëźęľŹ.... ě ë ¸ ě í맨??Â
I didnt forget! Promiseë íęľë§ëĄ ě˝ěě´ěź. What do U want to eat at the í¸ěě ? ëšěźęą° ë§ęľŹ, ë ě´ë˛ëŹ ěŠë ęą°ě ë¤ ěźě´ ă ă ë¤ěě íęľ ěě ëśěě§ěě ëĄëłśě´ ěŹě¤ęť. ěě§ ě ę°ë´¤ě§? 깰기 very delicious íęą°ë ~
I donât know who you talking about. ëíí ę´ěŹěë People íëëŞ ě´ ěëëęš...â ă ă ă ěíź ęąąě íě§ë§, ë ęłľëśí ěę°ë ěëë° ë´ ë§ëëź ě°žě ěę°ě ěę˛ ë OTL
ꡟë ëë ë ě˘ěíë ě íëŞ ěëë° ëšë°ě´ě§ëĄą ă ă ă ě˝ě¤ëĽ´ě§ ă ă ă ă ă ëě¤ě ě기í´ě¤ę˛!Â
ě´ě ë늴 ëľěĽíęą°ë¤! ëě¤ě ë ëłźë ëľěĽ ěíë¤ęľŹ ěëš ęą¸ě§ë§Â ಠ_ŕ˛
--
~ San Lee ~
ë 돴ěíë ěę°, ë ě¸ěě... âThe Endâ
ě´ě , ěë .
for @rarenight: in which san and soojung finally run out of time.
San had often contemplated what his eventual death would be like. He knew his mortality was more or less connected to the portrait in his closet; ergo, it wasnât important what happened to him, but what happened to the portrait itself. It was all simply a matter of how and when. All he had to do, whenever he so desired, was get rid of the portrait. It wasnât exactly the kind of thing he could ask someone else to do for him, so heâd have to destroy it himself when the time came.Â
He imagined heâd do it after a few more decades spent lazing about and traipsing around the world, once life had nothing left to give him and he had nothing left to return. Heâd leave the bookstore to his favorite employee, and all of his money would go to charity (or something like that). Heâd like his ashes to be scattered in Russia, but if that couldnât be arranged for, then maybe a rocky creek in the southern countryside would do just as well.Â
All of these plans were nebulous at best, thanks to Sanâs inability to take his own business seriously, but they were plans nonetheless. He figured he still had quite some time to sort his affairs outâ after all, he technically had all of the time in the world. One step at a time, and heâd get there eventually.
There was, however, one thing that San failed to consider: nothing in life works out according to plan.
4ć12ćĽ
ě ęľëŻź, ěë, ě ě¸ęł ěŹëë¤ě´ ě´ě°ě˛ëź ě´ęł ěë¤ęł íë¤. ěŹíě 깰댏ë기ëź... ꡸ěę˛ë ꡸ě ěźěěź ëż. ěěŚ ë°ëź ěëë¤ë ěěźë ěą ë°Šë ě ě ěŹęł , ě°ě ě ëŞěźëě ě§ěě ěŚęą°ě´ ë°ąěěíě ëëŚŹęł ěěë¤. ěŹě§ě´ ë¤ëë ęľíęšě§ ě ě 돸ě ëŤěě ě§ě ëę°ěźě ęą°ě ěěë¤. íźěě ě§ěěëę˛ ě˘ě ě°ě ęľłě´ ę˛ŠëŚŹíëë§ëĽ ě§ëë¤.Â
꡸ëŹë ě´ë° ęł ë í ëë ë¤ě í¨ęťí´ěŁźë ëë°ěę° ě긴 ěěë¤.Â
꡸ë¤ě´ ě˛ě ë§ëŹë ë , íě°ę° ěěěĄë¤. íŠëí 깰댏뼟 ę°ě ęąˇë¤ ë§ěŁźěš ëě ěąě°ëšëĽź íźíë ¤ íŠę¸í ě°ě ě§ěźëĄ ę°ě´ ë°ě´ę°ëë°, ꡸ëŹë¤ ꡸ë ë ę°ě´ ě°ě§ ë˛ě¨ 3ë ě ë ëë¤. 133ë ëě í´ěë ěŹëě¤ ęˇ¸ë 뼟 íĽí ěŹëě´ ę°ěĽ ěěíë¤.
ë§ęł ě´ëĄąě´ëĄąí ëěźëĄ ëëíę˛ ë´ë ¤ë¤ëł´ëŠ´ ë돴ë ěíŹí ꡸ë . ë°¤ěë ěě ěŹëě¤ë˝ę˛ ëą ëśě´ě 곤í ě ëë ꡸ë .Â
âLes Fleurs du Malâ with the authorâs notesÂ

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Random question but, what made you choose Catholicism for your muse out of all the denominations of Christianity?
ainât no guilt like catholic guilt because catholic guilt donât stop
in the end I will stand over God with a knife in hand because he does not own me.
â you remind me of the way flowers bloom so furiously in spring. â
for @eterneli, from this meme status: still accepting if youâre okay with waiting forever
there are few things san finds more fascinating than a new immortal. correction: there are few things he watches more carefully than a man coming to terms with his newfound permanence. half of him perversely wants to watch them make the same mistakes that he did, to see them also fly too close to the sun. the other half of him prays for their soul. byun baekhyun, however, keeps san entirely too busy to do anything of the sort.
chungwoon seems to attract other immortal beings, perhaps because itâs one of the only places in seoul where the antiques being sold are as old as the person selling them. the bookstore is lined with history, the small joys of a past century suspended in the present. when baekhyun sauntered into the store for the first time, slender fingers dragging across rows of weathered spines like he owned them, san simply assumed he did. it never really occurred to him to question the fact that this boy with a baby face was calling him âkidââ after all, anyone with so much confidence in their seniority couldnât be any younger than 200. imagine then, sanâs chagrin upon finding out that the pianist was a paltry twenty-something, a mere millennial!
yet despite baekhyunâs uncanny knack for getting under sanâs skin and his dogged insistence on calling him diminutive names, he makes a fairly decent customer and, surprisingly, even better company. (perhaps san is getting lonelier as the years go by, or maybe he just has something of a soft spot for the other.) sometimes heâll let himself into the store after hours and imperiously order a latte, and sometimes, heâll send san on a wild goose chase around the store, snapping out fickle orders just because he can. but when the sky mellows into a sunset glow, so does he. san likes the way baekhyun speaks sometimes, pensive and serene. âyou remind me of the way flowers bloom so furiously in spring.â he has no immediate response.
âweâre perennials, people like us. we get a chance to try our hand at life over and over again,â he says after a pause. âhave you ever been to church? they say no matter how much you sin, if youâre a christian, youâre reborn every morning. i have no choice but to bloom again with the full force of god.â
my dear basil,
a playlist for @pomiifer and that which could have been
âyou can´t feel what I feel. you change too often.âÂ
âah, my dear basil, that is exactly why i can feel it. those who are faithful know only the trivial side of love: it is the faithless who know love´s tragedies.â
listen on spotify
pomiiferâ:
âdid you always like books this much? âŚi donât remember everything. it comes back to me in pieces.â
one thing about living forever: san never really forgets. itâs not easy to forget, not when a different skeleton tumbles out of his closet every morning, dressed in vivid shades of someone elseâs hurt. they say time heals all wounds, but they forget that eternity is plenty of time for san to pick at his cuts until they fester and bleed. each one of his days begins the same way it endsâ on his knees, praying not to be forgiven, but to forget. hail mary, full of grace.
his memories wear the same faces, take him back to the same places without fail. most often, he is brought back to his attic in saint petersburg, to familiar, pleading eyes and the smell of drying oil paints. as befitting of a man named after the sunset, noeulâs memory casts long shadows in the dusky corners and cloudy mirrors san least expects him to be. some days, noeulâs voice lingers in his ears, whispers of âitâs not too lateâ and âthis isnât who you areâ crashing into each other and ebbing away like waves on a rocky shore.
san hatedâ hatesâ the moral higher ground that noeul stood upon with such ease. how could he preach goodness and mercy when he was the one who had placed such terrible power within sanâs open palms, all but saying, âthis is now yours, do with it what you willâ? and how, then, could he return to tell him to beg for his soul, to seek absolution before certain damnation? though san didnât acknowledge it until a half-century later, noeul was right. in fact, if his friend was around to see his current milquetoast lifestyle, heâs quite certain heâd finally drop dead just from his abject mortification.Â
the bookstore, therefore, serves as his only concession of his wrongs; it is a whispered apology that only he can hear. it is his own personal hell, a study in scholarly silence and self-denial. he putters around the two floors night and day, both prisoner and warden. san forces himself into a position of service, remembering a quote someone had read to him years agoâ âi slept and dreamt that life was joy. i awoke and saw that life was service. i acted and behold, service was joy.â lord, he hates that quote with all his heart. his days pass by in a gauzy blur as he watches the sun rise and set from the same window overlooking the seoul skyline.
a voice pulls him out of his haze, familiar and melancholy as a childhood lullaby, and san blanches. is thatâ he turns slowly, putting back the book heâd been flipping through carefully, as if any sudden movements will make the figure before him go up in dust ânoeul? he canât tell what heâs more afraid of, that noeul is just another manifestation of his own guilt or that heâs living flesh, breathing and heart blood-beating. yes, san stands quite still, trapped in a maze of books and faced with the one person heâs been running from for a century, holding his breath as time freezes around him. he dares not move a muscle. part of him wants to take the first step forward, to embrace an old friend and take refuge in the comfort of the past, and yet something holds him back. perhaps it is himself; perhaps he knows that the past is no place to return.
out of the blue, san hears his own voice, venomous and icy, ringing in his head:Â âi never want to see you again!â selfishly, he hopes noeul doesnât remember that, not just yet at least.
âit seemed like something you might have liked me to do.â he says in that lilting, oddly old-fashioned korean of his, then pauses. âthe world hasnât done you any favors, it seems. what a terrible thing it is to remember.â

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in aeturnum.
lee san. based on the picture of dorian grey.
you met god at a gas station at 3 am and he hated you
Sehun for Marie Claire ⢠July 2017 B&W