From 1ba115f934fff16e621df40f54bb05a8e19f8f7e Mon Sep 17 00:00:00 2001 From: Madison Scott-Clary Date: Thu, 15 Jun 2023 06:50:05 -0700 Subject: [PATCH] update from sparkleup --- writing/3/terrifying/intro.md | 2 +- writing/3/terrifying/triumph.md | 8 ++++---- 2 files changed, 5 insertions(+), 5 deletions(-) diff --git a/writing/3/terrifying/intro.md b/writing/3/terrifying/intro.md index 944b381c..08d093c8 100644 --- a/writing/3/terrifying/intro.md +++ b/writing/3/terrifying/intro.md @@ -12,7 +12,7 @@ Is asking so many questions just feeding into that anxiety? > we breathe ourselves out and away. From ember to fading ember, > we give off a fainter scent. Oh, someone may tell us: > You get in my blood, this room, the springtime, -> is filled with you...\footnote{\parencite[23]{duino}} +> is filled with you...\footnote{\cite[23]{duino}} I have recently had several conversations about this, about how much space I take up. Almost all of them take place over text, too, as they often come with a worry that synchronous communication might be too much of a demand. Some of them take place between my partners and I speaking frankly about how we interact with each other. Others take place between other versions of me, characters I role play or those that I write, each expressing their own anxiety. diff --git a/writing/3/terrifying/triumph.md b/writing/3/terrifying/triumph.md index a46674d3..01454f1d 100644 --- a/writing/3/terrifying/triumph.md +++ b/writing/3/terrifying/triumph.md @@ -2,7 +2,7 @@ That is the thing about hate, about loathing, even of oneself. There is a certain amount of love that has to go into that struggle. There is a certain amount of need and desire, because if there is no one there to vanquish, then what are we-who-strive even to do? -> I wish I could see your triumph.\footnote{\parencite[128]{timewar}} +> I wish I could see your triumph.\footnote{\cite[128]{timewar}} I wish I could see your triumph, me. I wish I could look up at you, broken and shattered, bleeding in the dust of unknown plains, and know --- truly, utterly know --- that I have been defeated, that I have been crushed and destroyed. @@ -14,17 +14,17 @@ I wish I could see your triumph. I wish I could see elation in your eyes. I wish I wish I could see your triumph, and I wish that, should you see mine, you understand just how much love goes into our struggle, just how much need and desire I hold for you. -> Do you laugh, sea foam? Do you smile, ice, and observe your triumph with an angel's remove?\parencite{\parencite[128]{timewar}} +> Do you laugh, sea foam? Do you smile, ice, and observe your triumph with an angel's remove?\footnote{\cite[128]{timewar}} As always, Rilke dogs me, a lingering taste hidden around some corner of my mouth. Every now and then, I think, *every angel is terrifying*, and then I'll go about my day, repeating that like a mantra: *every angel is terrifying every angel is terrifying every angel is terrifying every angel...* -He saw someone do that, I think I remember the story went. He was walking, perhaps out in a sulk, and saw someone face the sea, throw their arms wide, cry out to sea foam or ice or some unseen rank of angels, and...well, I don't remember if *he* heard them, necessarily, but that's how it went, right?\footnote{\parencite{duinowiki}} Who, though I cry, would hear me among the ranks of angels, and then hundreds of lines later, ten elegies. +He saw someone do that, I think I remember the story went. He was walking, perhaps out in a sulk, and saw someone face the sea, throw their arms wide, cry out to sea foam or ice or some unseen rank of angels, and...well, I don't remember if *he* heard them, necessarily, but that's how it went, right?\footnote{\cite[323]{lifeofapoet}} Who, though I cry, would hear me among the ranks of angels, and then hundreds of lines later, ten elegies. So whenever I get that awkward-shaped piece of grit between my mouth --- *every angel is terrifying every angel is* --- I think of that scene. I think of the way we elevate the unknown to some higher place that ourselves. I think of the patterns we hunt for in the sea foam, in the waves that can take us under or bash us senseless against some barnacled rock. I think about the crush of worlds implied in the calving of an iceberg and how easily that could destroy. I think about that rank of angels who, holding me to their breast, could so easily annihilate? Do they laugh, the sea foam, the ice, the angels? -> I write in fire across the sky, a plummet to match your rise.\parencite{\parencite[129]{timewar}} +> I write in fire across the sky, a plummet to match your rise.\footnote{\cite[129]{timewar}} So then, my angel, she who would live, I wish I could see your triumph.