UniquenessOver the ages, society has surely preserved many immortal traits, one of them being the uniqueness of an individual. Be it physicality, a skill, habit or even a disorder, something has always been likely distinguished in a person. Yet it is not uniqueness that is recognized but impairment, an imperfection. And imperfection is not something that is unique but purely a shared difference.
Uniqueness is absolute ground zero. It is originality. It is a thing of the ancient days that has been lost through evolution and revolution of the human psyche. The only candidates of such a rarity now are ethereal dreams, fantasies, ideas and life forms that are hidden from the naked eye and are abstract to the human perception. Uniqueness is a conceptual lie preached like a virus by a society that stands firm in its belief that "every person is like a snowflake". Whatever "unique" desires we have discovered for ourselves, we were trained to do so. These desires in turn, become invalid excus
Requiem, KyrieTaut, lost hands rose to his face,
As wode woes flared magnified, this hour;
His hands, bled to his neck, debase,
Memoirs from a breath of his voice turned sour;
" My dearest She She is there
In my mind's eye, in a thought's reach,
My bones canst no more bear
To hearken of my reverie's speech."
Thralled knees bowed, suckling rosewood rust;
His heart lived shrieking enshrouded,
Within his forsaken bosom crust;
Unto an enduring damnable ballad
As vampiric sorrows plagued the caving air,
His walls succumbed to his quivers;
His chambers yielded t'ward throes declared,
Years of transcribed romance reduced to cinders;
The last strained droplets of tears,
Begun to choke his eyes of blinding passion;
For as the life of his corpse leaked of past fears,
The spirit of his soul became unquenchably christened.
The Hope of PariahHe stroked her hair,
Leading the maid into his lair.
Whence he neither slept nor dreamt;
A humble abode of choice contempt.
Amidst salient Minotaur heads, inside lay'st he;
" Cometh away beside me." Say'st he;
Of Herculean contrive, the man bore fright,
For he resembled a Juggernaut's spite!
" What genteel beseech " Thought she;
The lady, but a mere commoner is she;
Such love, she felt of his voice;
Like honey, spewed from the lips of vice.
" But I must return to my kin!
Thou art naught to be seen!
Thine soul liknen the languish of a lamb,
Yet thine report is but a vile sham!"
" Cometh away beside me.
For I am wretch'd and in need.
Thou my chosen, thine soul of Grace;
Thou, prithee! Beside me, thine place!"
The maiden fled her suitor's hand;
Couldst naught eat, neither drink nor stand;
She lay with illness, heart most stricken;
" I must seek him!" She spake unto Heuen.
'Tis been so long since she fled;
Now of grey hair, she faltered to the
My Psychological Synopsis On Loki(A big thank you to baronessofblades for encouraging me to write this.)
Now, I have read a number of Hiddleston's interviews and a few articles on the analysis of Loki. And here are four of them that I could mostly agree with:
Tom Hiddleston Takes Us Inside The Complicated Mind of Loki
Tom Hiddleston Explains The Psychology Of Loki
Tom Hiddleston Talks The Madness of Loki, His Hope For Redemption In Thor 2
A Late Morning's DreamI was found flawless, on a high-rised rosy bed, made entirely of large, crystal staves. The "beds" were vast in numbers. A domain of haunt. There were beasts, as saccharine as the structures. In a slow-mo pace, they were my sleeping hunters. And I am the hunted. Their sole prey.
These freaks, as though they were formed by the very hands of Giger, leapt from bed to bed, some fell, slashed and shredded to their end. One selectively finished its race.
My necrosis had eluded every stake and was now ready to be crowned. However, its mass was just as lithe Instinctively, I lifted the monster with both hands and flung it effortlessly over my edge. Yet this being, was reborn
By fluke they fell to oblivion. But by my hand, shall they be reformed? A fresh head thrived from its first gash as it dangled, mid-air. This new face, new head, new set of fangs much like the mouth of a leech, elongation of its neck t'ward me, line of flight t'ward its mark. Leaving its body wher
The TapestryGrimly hung behind an oaken door
Boasting of rich, Elven lore
There once was an old Tapestry
Woven with histories
Of an unsung Century
Willful of its existing duty
This dandled silken scripting
Wore a dusty grimace
Swearing at each rasp
For its present calamity
Albeit its grumpy nature
Sitting right across the chamber
Our Tapisserie's Compadre
A vandalized, white-washed Mirror
Rejected for reflecting verity
Now our cavalier Mural
How it loved this artless Gaper
For the Mirror, it showed past valor
Precise heroism, like a silent replay
Reflection of the ancient Drapery
They had days that were hustling
For their prison was a queer, little treasury
Where strange beings came about, scuttling
Searching high and low for demanded curiosities
Oft' leaving the chamber with a clash so deafening
Then came a night of much darkness
To the nomadic Adornment's fright
Into the lonesome chamber did arrive
The most cherubic little blue-eyed tyke
Worming 'round with mischief and spite