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update from sparkleup

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Madison Scott-Clary 2024-02-11 22:54:43 -08:00
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writing/post-self/idumea/001.md
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@ -14,6 +14,8 @@ I do not know how it happened, but one cloudy day, she was asking after her frie
But that was three hundred years ago. But that was three hundred years ago.
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The Woman wanders the world some few times a month, stepping out into unknown nowheres and known somewheres to be seen, to be perceived as still existing. I do not know why she does this, but it is important to her that someone witness her existing. It is a ritual she follows around like a little puppy: she will not know what will happen when she first does it properly, but she hopes it will be something wonderful. The Woman wanders the world some few times a month, stepping out into unknown nowheres and known somewheres to be seen, to be perceived as still existing. I do not know why she does this, but it is important to her that someone witness her existing. It is a ritual she follows around like a little puppy: she will not know what will happen when she first does it properly, but she hopes it will be something wonderful.
The Woman has many rituals. The Woman has many rituals.
@ -40,6 +42,8 @@ She was whole because she maintained — even while overflowing, I think! — so
I think that she would say, however, that she was *too* whole. I think she would say that she was *too* full, too much, too alive. I think she would say that almost three hundred years of a life that was lived as hers was, with her mind turned in on itself, was too much life. I think she would laugh that hoarse, dry laugh that always sounded like tears were on the way, and say that thirty years was probably too much for her. I think that she would say, however, that she was *too* whole. I think she would say that she was *too* full, too much, too alive. I think she would say that almost three hundred years of a life that was lived as hers was, with her mind turned in on itself, was too much life. I think she would laugh that hoarse, dry laugh that always sounded like tears were on the way, and say that thirty years was probably too much for her.
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"I wish," The Woman said some decades after Michelle Hadje uploaded, after she became End Of Endings of the Ode clade, of the tenth stanza, "I wish I could unbecome." "I wish," The Woman said some decades after Michelle Hadje uploaded, after she became End Of Endings of the Ode clade, of the tenth stanza, "I wish I could unbecome."
Her Friend frowned and replied, "Do you mean you wish you could die?" Her Friend frowned and replied, "Do you mean you wish you could die?"
@ -64,6 +68,8 @@ Her Friend was a good person who always treated The Woman well. Ey knew just how
"I think so, just not quite yet." "I think so, just not quite yet."
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Every few years, there would be a gathering on her birthday — their birthday, for Her Friend was also of the Ode clade, also of Michelle Hadje — and they would sit somewhere, whether it was out on the porch of the home The Woman shared with the rest of the tenth stanza, or out on the dandelion-speckled lawn, or, once the door had been built into the house, on rickety chairs outside a cafe over identical coffees. Every few years, there would be a gathering on her birthday — their birthday, for Her Friend was also of the Ode clade, also of Michelle Hadje — and they would sit somewhere, whether it was out on the porch of the home The Woman shared with the rest of the tenth stanza, or out on the dandelion-speckled lawn, or, once the door had been built into the house, on rickety chairs outside a cafe over identical coffees.
Every time they would meet up thus, The Woman and Her Friend would take a few minutes to themselves to have the same conversation: Every time they would meet up thus, The Woman and Her Friend would take a few minutes to themselves to have the same conversation: