The comm hosted this little event a couple of years ago, and as November 2 is an auspicious day for our darling Sam, today would be the perfect time to revisit this challenge. Welcome to the Triple Play 2015!
FILLED: Maleficuscrowroad3November 10 2015, 07:36:23 UTC
Maybe you thought it would cure, herd of leech and blade; all the parasites.
You’ve always faithed yourself dry, boy; to a powder, to dust.
*
The trees are ash, the insects locust; the voice of the cunning-man lisps geomancy, nine directions for the body's blood.
No use anymore for humours, but here you are, another deal; a day mausoleum’d in the book, diviner-herbalists, plant-animal-mineral, blood; find yourself a dreamer, a sleep-flyer, bone-thrower who knows the roots of the blood-words and even the ur-stain might be--
“You come to be cleansed, boy?”
Yes, you say, and kneel in the pasture, hand over the broke-necked sacrifice; put your head, hairs a spill, into your marrow-bruised elbows.
If in the Biblical sense you’re lost, go back before; go back before.
Didn’t take as long as you’d think--
to find a cunning-man in Kansas.
*The blade’s a sickle; the moon’s down. Cunning-man has eyes like flytraps.Two-Sisters and Two-Brothers, horned assists, stand by in the cowfield, heifers long gone, bantam-spirits in the coop;
( ... )
RE: FILLED: MaleficusindiachickNovember 10 2015, 09:25:31 UTC
This is beautiful. As is your other fic - I really, really love how you use language in a sparse, sharp way, pared to perfection, able to really evoke the senses even without the traditional structures of narrative to back it up. It's kind of amazing.
In this one, especially, the conjuring of a vague half-glimpsed ritual, the birds, desperation and shame, "cutting-man has eyes like flytraps", the alliteration of Screech-owl sounds in the glade; snap of a shrew-spine. Love it! Thank you so much :)
2. Witch doctors
3. Blood-letting
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You’ve always faithed yourself dry, boy; to a powder, to dust.
*
The trees are ash, the insects locust; the voice of the cunning-man lisps geomancy, nine directions for the body's blood.
No use anymore for humours, but here you are, another deal; a day mausoleum’d in the book, diviner-herbalists, plant-animal-mineral, blood; find yourself a dreamer, a sleep-flyer, bone-thrower who knows the roots of the blood-words and even the ur-stain might be--
“You come to be cleansed, boy?”
Yes, you say, and kneel in the pasture, hand over the broke-necked sacrifice; put your head, hairs a spill, into your marrow-bruised elbows.
If in the Biblical sense you’re lost, go back before; go back before.
Didn’t take as long as you’d think--
to find a cunning-man in Kansas.
*The blade’s a sickle; the moon’s down. Cunning-man has eyes like flytraps.Two-Sisters and Two-Brothers, horned assists, stand by in the cowfield, heifers long gone, bantam-spirits in the coop; ( ... )
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In this one, especially, the conjuring of a vague half-glimpsed ritual, the birds, desperation and shame, "cutting-man has eyes like flytraps", the alliteration of Screech-owl sounds in the glade; snap of a shrew-spine. Love it! Thank you so much :)
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Thank you for sharing :)
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