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assigning CR4 characters “the crane wives” songs!!
• thimble — take me to war (“take me to war, i dare you / i’ll be the sweetest thing / to ever scare you / give me a fight i can’t resist”) (“but i keep snapping at goliath’s hands”)
• wick — arcturus beaming (“this blinding light, this reckoning / there’s more to life than suffering / but there’s still time / it’s not too late / nothing will change until i change”)
• tyranny — scars (“we were fucked from the start”) (“was i born with a hole in my heart?”) (“but i couldn’t help you build it, and i dont know why”)
• kattigan — black hole fantasy (“even in my fantasy, i cant commit to believing / that I’ll get what i want, im afraid of what i want”) (“the months blur together / i watch the ceiling buckle / i wonder when it’s caving in”)
• teor — can’t go back (“you can’t always be trying to dig up / what you’ve already buried”) (“it’s not fair (when have you ever known the world to be fair?)”)
• julien — not the ghost (“if only i could break the chain of disappointment weighing me down / shake off the ghosts that whisper warnings whenever you’re not around / i won’t be afraid of all the things that i wanted”)
• thaisha — the garden (“put your ear to my heart, or set your teeth against my throat / give me something pretty to wear beneath my bloodstained clothes / my darling, the devil knows my name”)
• vaelus — time will change you (“someday / time will change you / you’ll leave behind what doesn’t move / time will change you / we all outgrow our roots”)
• occtis — turn out the lights (“a running list of all your doubts and your dead ends”) (“what good has ever come of it, what answers will you find?”)
• azune — scars (“all the love, all the kindness, all your best laid plans / couldn’t stop me from becoming the way that i am”) (“maybe born in a storm beneath an angry sky”)
• hal — allies or enemies (“now you’re not so quick to forget / are we allies or enemies? / this will be the death of me x2 / all is fair in love, and war / but i cant fight with you anymore”)
• murray — hard sell (“im one deep breath away from a breakdown / my nerves are wrecked and coming unbound”) (“is it me? is it really just me? does everybody have it together, or are we all just pretending?”)
• bolaire — say it (“haunted by your tenderness / you gave me a soft place to land / held up a mirror, and showed me what i’ve been / hiding from for years / was that just sleight of hand?”)
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Anya is LIVE right now
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Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
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I just think a horrible little man should be able to want to carve up his lover’s autonomy and play awful mind games until they are his obedient weapon whilst ignoring his own trauma in an attempt to conquer the very concept of death, that’s all
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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The useless dawn finds me in a deserted streetcorner; I have outlived
the night.
Nights are proud waves: darkblue topheavy waves laden with all
hues of deep spoil, laden with things unlikely and desirable.
Nights have a habit of mysterious gifts and refusals, of things half
given away, half withheld, of joys with a dark hemisphere.
Nights act that way, I tell you.
The surge, that night, left me the customary shreds and odd ends:
some hated friends to chat with, music for dreams, and the
smoking of bitter ashes. The things my hungry heart has no
use for.
The big wave brought you.
Words, any words, your laughter; and you so lazily and incessantly
beautiful. We talked and you have forgotten the words.
The shattering dawn finds me in a deserted street of my city.
Your profile turned away, the sounds that go to make your name,
the lilt of your laughter: these are illustrious toys you have
left me.
I turn them over in the dawn, I lose them, I find them; I tell them
to the few stray dogs and to the few stray stars of the dawn.
Your dark rich life…
I must get at you, somehow: I put away those illustrious toys you
have left me, I want your hidden look, your real smile
—that lonely, mocking smile your cool mirror knows.
II.
What can I hold you with?
I offer you lean streets, desperate sunsets, the moon of the ragged
suburbs.
I offer you the bitterness of a man who has looked long and long
at the lonely moon.
I offer you my ancestors, my dead men, the ghosts that living
men have honoured in marble: my father’s father killed in
the frontier of Buenos Aires, two bullets through his lungs,
bearded and dead, wrapped by his soldiers in the hide of a
cow; my mother’s grandfather—just twenty-four—heading
a charge of three hundred men in Peru, now ghosts on vanished
horses.
I offer you whatever insight my books may hold, whatever manliness
or humour my life.
I offer you the loyalty of a man who has never been loyal.
I offer you that kernel of myself that I have saved, somehow
—the central heart that deals not in words, traffics not with
dreams and is untouched by time, by joy, by adversities.
I offer you explanations of yourself, theories about yourself, authentic
and surprising news of yourself.
I can give you my loneliness, my darkness, the hunger of my
heart; I am trying to bribe you with uncertainty, with danger,
with defeat.
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