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Question 245
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Funeral Vow
I have been to less weddings than funerals. I have farewelled more friends than blessed their unions. And maybe it is the folly of youth To live recklessly and fully until the candle is nothing but smoke, But what a tragedy it is.
I do not need any more evidence of the unfairness of life, And I know that a blaze of glory is not the only warmth we can count on. I just wish I could have gone to their weddings instead. I wish I could have seen the people they grew up to be, I wish every flower got its chance to bloom in the mid-day sun, But the world is not kind enough to allow us that grace. Too much good goes unappreciated And this is no exception.
We can only appreciate what was. We can only remember who they were. And maybe one day I will have been to enough weddings, But I will never stop going to funerals.
On November 10, 2994 (Third Age of Middle-Earth), the dwarf king Balin was murdered by an Orc's arrow in his mine kingdom of Moria. He was laid to rest in the Chamber of Mazarbul. (Fellowship of the Ring, Bk)
[lapela ...13...]
Ouvía cada alento que saía da sua boca, podía entender cada palabra que dicía, podía ouvir todo o que facía; os seus ollos abrían-se moito, as súas meixelas semellaban cen tons de violeta, ría-se a cachón, o seu corpo comezaba a mover-se nunha danza, con un berro de dor. Pero deixei-na chorar por min. Era tan bonita na sua primeira noite que seguín pensando que era un anxo ou unha deusa a que facía o que facía, e un dia, cando acordei con ela estábamos moi apertados, comecei a pensar que o anxo tivera razón. E entón comecei a odiar aos conselleiros familiares, e a pensar nela todos os días A noite en que o seu sexo se abriu a min me dixen: "¡Ah, encanta-me existir!".
Sempre de ondas (work in progress)
© Manoel T, 2022

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writing tip #2994:
start a pyramid scheme
Typewriter Series #2994 by Tyler Knott Gregson . Fractures from the fighting from long before it, cracks in the veneer of us how skilled we were as painters, couldn’t hardly see the lines. . There is a limit to the water we can hold, a weight that defined us, granted trickle to prevent the flood. . Enough now, come forth the landslide, ring out those high bells before they ring out no more. . This could carve out and separate, this could divide and segregate, dam walls heaving like lungs choking for air, like eight minutes forty seven seconds too long without it. Those fissures spread, those splits brought by slave ship and whip, and I want this country soaking wet and shivering, I want what we were submerged. . Before the flood, let us swim to one side together, let us stand and stare across the deep waters. Let us link arms and sing out the song of solidarity, let us wave goodbye to all those too lost and afraid to join us. . -Tyler Knott Gregson- (at Helena, Montana) https://www.instagram.com/p/CBMyV-blZCn/?igshid=17tt8yh9yl4sy