soit parjure a ton roi

And on my CD player, Yseult sings that she is the "slave of a conflagration, of this lava which flows through my veins... Tristan, can you open your arms to me? I could die to be yours. Tristan, be forsworn to your king! I would die if only I could be yours..."

Wonderful fodder for opera, musicals, books, manga, anime, and any of a hundred different vehicles for epic and for pain.

2 or 3 weeks ago, I persuaded my parents to watch Saiyuki Requiem with me, and, as I believe I mentioned at the time, we had an interesting discussion afterwards. There was something else that I didn't mention at the time: my father gave me a copy of Kafka's story Before The Law to read. (Well, to be precise, he gave me a copy of Kafka's Trial, as the story's recounted in that, and then discussed by the characters.) He felt I might be interested in it, given my commentary on Sanzou's actions.

So I share a link to an online version of it here.

http://www.pith.net/pithfiles/b4law.htm

I don't have any answers, either.

Mary Sue in Saiyuki

A passing note. Dougan in Saiyuki Requiem really is a Mary Sue.

I mean, he wants the main character to love him, he artificially gives himself powers so that he's as cool as all the other main characters . . .

. . . so, all would-be Mary Sues, take good note of what happens to him.

Libertine

I wonder if anyone else sometimes has the urge to post something drastic, exotic, and untrue in their LJ, just to imagine the reaction. It's the equivalent of shouting, "Fire!" in a crowded theatre, or tossing a fat tomato from the second floor of a mall down to the ground floor, or . . . well, whatever. It's just because you could. And sometimes you get the urge to do it, just because you could. It'd be stupid. Totally stupid, painful to others, ultimately painful to yourself, inflammatory, pointless . . .

. . . but just to do or say it. A stupid little impulse. "Why yes, I . . . " Okay, let's cut it there, because I'm sure you could think up better than anything I could possibly declare. (Readers might even post witty, "I always knew it!" which might be a touch embarassing. And I'm still not convinced that that online test was accurate about me being seme.)

It's just that, every one in a while, I have the urge to toss that metaphysical dynamite. I'm not sure why. Just because.

---

"Who are you, then?"
"The Immortal One."
"Say your name."
"The King."
"Say my name. I told it to you but a minute since. Say my name!"
"You are not real. You have no name. Only I exist."
"You exist, without name, without form. You cannot see the light of day; you cannot see the dark. You sold the green earth and the sun and stars to save yourself. But you have no self. All that which you sold, that is yourself. You have given everything for nothing. And so now you seek to draw the world to you, all that light and life you lost, to fill up your nothingness. But it cannot be filled. Not all the songs of earth, not all the stars of heaven, could fill your emptiness."
_The Farthest Shore_, Ursula Le Guin