Hmm…

I feel like being productive today. Here’s what I’ve got to get done before Friday, December 3

Spanish –
[X] BB – Discurso Indirecto – Nov 29
[X] BB – Formato Prueba 4  – Nov 30
[ ] Prueba 3 – Dec 2

British Literature –
[ ] Term Paper – Dec 2 (8-10 pgs)
[X] George Herbert & Marvell Poems – Dec 2

The Politics of Administrative Law –
[X] Read through court cases for the week

Creative Writing – 
[ ] Homage Project – Dec 3
[X] Reading Discussion Paper
[ ] Draft of final portfolio – Dec 3

Wish me luck? 

Advertisements

I miss you

Walk through into my world,
You’ll see an insecure child.
You’ll see a girl, a shy and timid girl,
A girl who just wants to feel loved.

Turn on the light.
Within the corridors, 
You’ll see a girl famished for attention,
You’ll see me, vulnerable, baring my
Thoughts and feelings to you.

I want you to enter,
I want to let you in. 
I want you to break the walls,
I want to believe.

It’s different, I know,
For me to care about you so much.
Slightly strange, my axis askew,
All I know is that when I’m not with you,
I miss you.

Melodious Venom

Because of him, I lie alone at night,
And sing a lone plaintive song of despair.
Heart with no hope, and my life sans light,
My mind is awhirl with a fervent prayer.
Stuck forever with love like woe, tongue
Bitterly tied, unable to speak its mind,
I move aimlessly, wander dead among
Phantom memories in my heart enshrined.
Evidence of your love, so recently turned astray,
Lay strewn over the floor, glittering remnants
Of golden times now turning a slow grey.
His face stares at me still, proud and arrogant.
And yet, his words are like a balm –
He does spew his venom with melodious calm.

PS. I have a cold T_T

A Penned Memory (The Letter – REVISED)

 Dear Christine,

You’ve been asking to know what happened at the Halloween party for over a month now, but I still don’t think I could ever bring myself to tell you this face to face, so I’m going to let my pen do the dirty work for me. I can’t really stand it anymore – I need to tell somebody how dirty I feel. No matter how many times I shower, the faint ghosts of his touch still linger all over my skin. I can’t look at my own body without feeling disgusted. I’m ashamed of letting myself drink so much, but I had thought that drinking with him would make it easier for him to finally make his move. You told me that he was flirting every time he came over to our room, even when I didn’t believe you. You always said it was just a matter of time. I was the impatient one though…maybe if I hadn’t tried so hard that night, I wouldn’t be so ashamed of myself now.

I don’t even think Sim cares, because no matter how many times he has apologized, it won’t change the fact that I was just a mistake to him. I’ll probably never be anything else. You’re my roommate, so I’m sure you know Sim was involved. We’d been texting so much more, and he had seemed pretty excited when I invited him to our party. He explicitly told me that he liked spending time with me more than with his girlfriend. I believed him, but look at the texts he sent me when I invited him to the party – wouldn’t you have believed him too?

Me: Hey Sim, party @ my place tonight. Wear your costume
Sim: Awesome, can’t wait to escape Cindy and party w/ u.
Me: I’ve never heard u say anything positive about her…
Sim: Only bc you’re so much cooler

I guess I’m writing you this letter to sort out my own feelings about him and about the night. It does help that you’ll stop bothering me about it after you read this though. I like him, but you already know that. I just didn’t think he liked me back. Not only that, he was still dating Cindy then…well, the night I invited him over (Halloween), do you remember when I left our room with him for a couple minutes? He told me that Cindy had suggested they take a “break” – as if relationships are like real-life board games you can pause, grab a snack, and come back to. On second thought, that’s probably how Sim decided to take things too, because now that I’m writing out the order of events to you as they happened, I’m starting to realize I was the “snack” he wanted to grab while his relationship was on pause.

But I told myself I wasn’t going to worry about any of that, and just focus on having a great Halloween party. I’d already had two shots of vodka by the time Sim arrived. After we came back in the room, we both had two more shots each before heading over to my bed.

This is where the night got scandalous.

I already knew they were on a break, and we were cuddling in the bed together for some reason. Nostalgia had settled in on us both, and we were just swapping old memories. The first time we’d spoken to one another online, met, fallen asleep on the same bed. Then suddenly he was leaning me to promise me that he didn’t really like Cindy, and I tried to tell him that it didn’t matter to me but his lips were so close to my own that before I could say anything, I was kissing him. Or maybe he kissed me first?

After we shared that first tentative kiss, he moved his face toward mine again. Our lips met and this time, I discovered that he was an aggressive kisser when the pretense of caution was no longer necessary. When we kissed, my senses felt as if they were suddenly ten times more acute. I saw the stubble on his chin, heard his quiet whispers between each kiss, and best of all, felt his lips on mine. I felt as though I could hear his heart thundering in his chest. I felt as though, if I turned around fast enough, I’d see flecks of fairy dust swirling magically around us.

I loved kissing him, but I don’t think it was as magical for him. When I was in the moment, I was perfectly happy, but every moment after he left has been torturing me. We were in the dorm room, not yet fully alone, but that hadn’t stopped him from setting me down next to him and lowering his lips to mine, moving us backward so I was laying on the bed and then sliding his hands all over my body as if I were already his. I feel sickened now, but at that time, all that mattered was that I liked him and he was single, so I let him continue.

The next part is what I’ve had the most difficulty explaining away. It’s the part that’s been haunting me since, and the reason I haven’t just been upfront and explained to you why Sim and I haven’t spoken since Halloween.

After we’d been kissing for a minute, he tried to slide his hands under my shirt, but I wasn’t about to let him do that when he wasn’t even officially single and available. So I jumped off the bed, adjusting my shirt and smoothing my hair as I walked over to Sara and Misha. They were still in the room making Ramen. I invited them over to our place, but it was more of a pre-game kind of party before they went clubbing. I know you wouldn’t have liked it if I threw a huge party while you were gone for the weekend, so I kept it small. Anyway, I walked over to the other side of the room and lined up shots for the four of us. Before we could take the shots though, Sim walked over behind me and pulled me back into him, hugging me from behind as he kissed my neck. Sara turned around, saw this, and made a face at us, so I told him to go chill on my bed for a bit. He had originally planned on going home, but it was already so late that I told him it’d be best if he crashed here instead of taking the subway home to Queens.

I guess I also wanted to test him and see if he would leave or stay. I thought that if he stayed, he liked me. If he left, then he didn’t.
But instead of listening to me, he was hugging me again and leading me back towards my bed with him. We walked past my bed and he pushed me back into the walk-in closet. I saw him slide the door closed, the carpeted floor and Lil Wayne poster and the dingy yellow lighting disappear as the closet shrouded us in momentary black silence.

After I processed what happened, I squirmed and tried kicking him, but my eyes hadn’t adjusted to the dark yet and I couldn’t see him properly yet. He was too strong for me and lifted me off my feet, carrying me to the far corner of the closet and pushing me up against the corner where my coats are. I writhed out of his grasp and almost fell to the floor, but he wrapped his arms around me, secured me to the flat of the wall, and made to kiss me again. I was confused – I didn’t really see the need to push me into the closet this aggressively if he just wanted to kiss me – but his intentions became painfully clear once he moved to slide his hands under the waistband of my jeans. This time, I didn’t try to stop him. A minute later, he had me out of my pants, but in doing that, he trespassed so many boundaries I had set up for myself. He broke all the lines, and marred my morals and ideals. You know I don’t even want to have sex until I’m married, but still, he took advantage of the alcohol in our bodies and tried pushing me entirely too far.

If I hadn’t been so terrified of losing my virginity, I think I would have enjoyed the “making out” part a lot. But as it is, all I could hear was my own frantic heartbeat. I mean, if I described what he did to me, it would probably sound romantic, but the truth of it is that once the alcohol-induced lust wore off, I still liked him painfully more than he liked me. He traced my body with his fingers and despite the fear, I was still mesmerized by the strange beauty I saw in his lust-filled face. In the darkness, the contours of his jaw were lit up subtly by the crack of light peeping through the bottom of the closet door, and the entire effect of the dim lighting made his face look perfectly chiseled and handsome. I think if the situation had been different, it wouldn’t have left me with such bitterness and regret.

I finally pulled his hands off of my body and pushed him away, all the adrenaline in my bloodstream rushing to help me fortify myself against his strength. I told him to stop and moved to open the door. If he had asked me what was wrong then, I think I would have began sobbing, but he just pulled away and stared into my eyes. His own had a fierce and hungry look, like I was just another thing to abuse and get his way with. I think I froze up with fear and wasn’t able to rush out of the closet in time. The moment lost, he grabbed my wrists in a crushing grip that left me with those bruises you asked me about when you got back from home.

He almost raped me – that part is obvious. I almost wanted him to – that’s the part that leaves me riddled with shame. I wanted things to go far, but at the same time, I stopped him before they got so far that we could never go back to being friends. He’s been apologizing to me since, but I’ve ignored the calls and voicemails. I don’t know if I’ll be able to forgive him so quickly for doing that to me, but I can’t bear thinking that my dignity is gone with him. Because in the end, nothing happened, although everything almost did.

Almost’s just not good enough though. He had the audacity to text me that he thinks he likes me. Here’s what he said to me – “I think I like you, but I’m not sure that I can leave Cindy.” Well, then I need to fucking move on, don’t I? And by writing this to you, I already feel a little bit better. Call me when you get this? I need to vent

xoxo
ClaireThe 

Excerpts From: Night’s Captive

On winter nights, just after we’d had a snowstorm, I used to look out the window of my 5th floor apartment and imagine how the scene would look on a postcard. The snow would lightly blanket my block, cover the worn-down sidewalk, and fill in the potholes in the road. It would smooth out the creases of my street, hide its imperfections, and give off a false sense of serenity. In my mind, I would swap out the homeless man bumming cigarettes and replace him with an old-fashioned street peddler. Mr. Frank, that aged man walking home from work a mile away when he should have retired five years ago, would be snuggled in bed already, surrounded by a loving wife and family. In my mind, the spot taken up by Mr. Frank would instead be occupied by a smart businessman walking to his apartment after a hard day at work. The alley that led into my street would have cheery windows, many with pots of greenery lined along their sills, and scattered throughout the windows would be early Christmas trees. There was a gorgeous lamppost on the corner of my street, Emory Road, and Cortlant Alley – the solitary post measured about seven feet in height, extending exquisite metal filigree that encased the globe of light above it firmly in its grasp. By this lamppost, I envisioned a little girl walking her dog, pulling on the leash as her dog stubbornly stood in the warm pool of light. The potential was breathtaking – I had only to close my eyes.

But unfortunately, I lived on the block with the pot-holes in the street, the worn-down sidewalks, and the dingy alleyway. It wasn’t dirty as much as it was dangerous though. Cortlant Alley was rumored to be the home of men with questionable character – the photographer would have had to capture the angle of my postcard picture just right in order to cut off the trashed scraps of life that littered the alleyway itself. This was a fact ingrained into the residents of my building, and although I knew this, my rebellious personality made me disregard the words of advice and decide to cut through the alley on my way home late one night.

I had been returning from a friend’s birthday party. It was already two in the morning, and the alley didn’t seem as fearsome in my current state of my mind. It looked empty and abandoned, and if I got on my tiptoes and craned my neck, I could just make out my own apartment building. As a matter of principle, I usually avoided the alley, but tonight, I just wanted to get home as fast as I could. The alcohol fortified my bravado and I began to speed-walk through the dark alley, the far end of which was illuminated by my lamppost.

This isn’t bad. Everybody’s afraid for no reason…nobody’s even in the alley right now.

Several steps in, I found myself suddenly thrown into a dark niche between two buildings onto an unseen section of the gritty pavement. The world lurched dangerously in my eyes a second before I began to fall toward the ground.

Although I braced myself, I know I would probably see some scrapes and bruises the following morning. I got up and began to make my way toward Emory Road again, unaware of what had caused my fall. I took two steps, and again fell back into the same spot. Got up, confused, and was pushed back down. This time, my legs refused to let me go anywhere, so I just lay there staring up at the shuttered windows of the buildings across from me.

The panic didn’t set in until the hand clapped over my mouth. My muffled scream and ensuing struggle was to no avail – whoever this man was had the upper hand. I was flinging my hands at him, trying to punch him off, and biting him wherever I could, but he just stood there calmly above me, holding one hand to my mouth. I tried to hit him between his legs, and that’s when he punched the breath out of me, grabbed me with his both of his hands, and threw me facedown into the ground.

I’m going to die today.

○○○○○ ◇ ○○○○○

I’d been sitting in the same position for about an eternity. The man had been leering at my body until a minute ago, when he had walked away to answer a crackling walkie-talkie. I had not yet heard his voice, and he had given no indication of explaining his plan to me – I resent the influence that movies have had on my impression of a kidnappings. I needed to know why he had captured me, and I didn’t think I was a random selection. After all, if this guy was a serial killer, he wouldn’t have been so kind to me. I still had my dignity.

It could be worse it could be worse it could be worse

I lay still for the moment because struggling against the ropes that bound my arms, legs, and torso only made them further chafe against my skin. A tear escaped my eyes and slid down my soiled cheekbones before dropping from my jaw to the ground. I squeezed them shut, seeking a temporary solace from the dangerous uncertainty of the night. The trash littered around me disappeared from my view, but the nausea from being trapped did not abate. Two more tears fought their way through my lashes and spilled out from under my trembling eyelashes. I was trying my best to concentrate on escape, but my thoughts continued to stray to what I was positive would happen to me before this night would end. All signs of the alcohol I’d drunk had now disappeared, and the adrenaline that coursed through my body had done an excellent job of finally stunning my body into responsiveness.

The convulsions that ensued were the combination of the damp air with my fear. Before he left to answer that walkie-talkie, he had mercifully thrown a ragged blanket over my naked form. The stench of the blanket hit my nose, and a wave of nausea followed soon after. I hoped that he wouldn’t be gone too long. I didn’t have any way to unbind myself yet, and this blanket felt more torturous than the cold air from before. I was having trouble keeping to my senses. The smells were overpowering me and the world was beginning to swing lazily about in my eyes. The world periodically veered off its axis, and I had to remind myself to blink and re-focus on it.

I had lost count of how long it had been since I had been propped against the wall and sternly forbidden to move. It couldn’t have been more than several hours. The Dark was still heavily upon me, and I felt as though my only hope now lay in the Light and the rescue it would bring. I inched forward a centimeter, then two. Felt my skin scrape the disgusting alley and begin to bleed. I decided that the extra pain had been worth the increase of proximity to freedom, but quickly changed my mind and pushed my feet against the sidewalk to slide painfully back into place as I heard his footsteps approaching.

I called him Malvolio. It seemed fitting. He wore the night like a cloak, and in my head, he appeared to get a little scarier each time I was confronted by his fierce eyes. They were filled with an intense hatred, whether for me or for somebody else, I could not tell. He reflected anger and resentment with every inch of his being, and I secretly believed that touching the cloak he had wrapped around his upper body would crackle with static.

Zap me into oblivion.

Malvolio approached me and stooped down to better stare at me. He pulled the thin blanket off with a vicious thrust, and before I could feel thankful that the smell had receded, he brought his face closer to mine. His fingernail grazed my upper leg, running a line from my knees to my inner thighs, and I tried not to cry as his lips came closer and closer to mine. I was disgusted, and the tears ran freely now, a torrent of frustration and fear that flooded out of my eyes.

Maybe I had been too optimistic before? He’s going to rape me, and there’s nothing I can do about it.

I didn’t know if the man was armed, but I was in no position to take risks. The man had already overpowered me once, and I had the bruising and pain to prove it. He pulled away, and I tried to convince myself that my inability to wipe off the feel of his mouth didn’t bother me.

Somebody needs to come help me now.

“Why are you doing this to me,” I questioned. A blank stare. The coals in his eyes smoldered in response. He walked away, and I heard the walkie-talkie jump to life.

○○○○○ ◇ ○○○○○

“Man, I can’t do this anymore. She’s too innocent. Doesn’t even seem to know her grandmother left her an inheritance. She lives in a shithole apartment in the shadiest part of NYC I have ever seen…Are you sure you wanna kill her?…No, she seems pretty happy where she is…what do you mean, how do I know? I’ve been keeping tabs on her and scouted her out proper, just like you wanted me to…yes, I know my job is to—…aiight boss, it’s your call.”

The walkie-talkie went silent, and I punched the wall. Why did I get myself into this mess? Why does she have to be so pretty? I needed the money, but how could I will myself into messing with this girl’s head. If it was a death he wanted, then why was he trying so hard to make me fail? I wasn’t afraid of going to jail – I was counting on getting caught. The money that I would get from this job was enough to take care of my wife, and that is the sole reason I had signed up for this. It still would have been easier if this woman had been an arrogant New York City hedge fund owner.

She’s got to be the only hedge fund owner who doesn’t live in an amazing condo.

I had seen the inside of her apartment several times, of course, but always the same bits of her life through her window. She forgot to close her blinds once, and I had watched her change. I felt guilty for days afterwards though, and from then onwards, I knew I wasn’t going to be able to murder her without killing a part of me as well. A killer emotionally attached to his victim won’t be able to do it. The crucial moment would come, and I would have to steel myself. Because no matter what, my wife was important to me, and this was the only chance I would ever have to redeem myself in her eyes.

I had already failed her as a husband. I couldn’t fail again. I won’t allow that to happen. If she doesn’t die, then my wife will suffer. If she does die, then I will suffer. If I suffer, will I be able to withstand the agony my wife goes through when I am put away in jail, and she is left with no money or husband. I’ve already got her in my possession. I can’t give up halfway through, I just can’t do it. I can’t allow myself to even think of such a possibility.

That she had decided to walk through Cortlant Alley was a surprise. He had studied her, and she had not seemed the type to take such risks. That he had decided to take up residence here as he observed her was another small miracle then.

But now, he had deviated from his structured plan, and he had her hostage tonight. The Boss was getting increasingly agitated by the minute. The plan was never to be broken. A perfect plan would have no need to be.

But who’s ever heard of a perfect murder?

○○○○○ ◇ ○○○○○

The mind of a serial killer is interesting. I’d always found the mind a fascinating subject, and now that my fear had worn down into resignation, I began to study my Malvolio with increasing interest. I had long concluded that he wasn’t quite sure what to do with me – I was too large an asset to do away with so messily. I wasn’t going to die then. But if I wasn’t going to die, what was his purpose for holding me hostage? I had no rich relatives. I wasn’t famous. I was just an ordinary woman living out her dreams in New York City . I blended into the crowd, and yet, I had been picked.

Or maybe I’m just the idiot who decided to walk through an alley reputed for its danger at 2am. Maybe it could just as easily have been somebody else in my place? I continued to sit in the alley, too scared and weak to cry out for help. Actually, I think I’m just too scared to even try. I wouldn’t be able to bear the disappointment. I wouldn’t be able to bear knowing that my last chance at escape is a futile one.

“My whole body is sore. Can you loosen the ropes so I can move them around a little?” I was disappointed in how timidly my voice had come out.

Malvolio jerked me to my feet. He grabbed my shoulders roughly and shook my entire body. I had to try very hard to control the sobs threatening to escape. He then pushed me back toward the wall of the building. With bricks pushing uncomfortably into my bared back, I finally found the voice to scream.

An instant later, one of his hands was covering my mouth, and the other was unbuttoning his pants. He still hadn’t spoken to me, and my comment had set off some sort of savage hunger. The monster lunged at me.

Shit.

○○○○○ ◇ ○○○○○

She should have seen that coming. The woman had the audacity to ask me to make her comfortable. I’m holding her hostage, not taking her out on a date.

I couldn’t stop myself. She’d been there with nothing on but the ropes I had wrapped around her the entire night. I was a human being too, and the woman was a tease.

Yeah. She definitely had it coming to her.

I don’t know what I was going to do now though. This hadn’t been part of the plan either. I wasn’t a very good murderer. Don’t know what I was going to do now, not a clue. I could take several routes:

I had already satisfied my sexual hunger. Now that I didn’t desire her, I was starting to notice the condition she was in. Hair limp and matted. Body covered in scrapes, cuts, and bruises. Sweaty. Terrified. Ashamed. I did this to her. The knowledge that I could easily kill her now, while she was vulnerable, entered my mind. I had my gun. The gunshot would attract attention, but I would have fulfilled my part of the deal. I could kill her now, go to jail, and know that I had changed at least one life for the better.

If I let her go, she would report me to the authorities. I’d still go to jail, but the Boss wouldn’t be happy. I quickly dismissed that thought.
I could explain things to her first. That way, I could let her go and she wouldn’t say a word. I know her – personal integrity and reputation would exceed her need for revenge. My wife was never going to forgive me. I had to deal with her wrath later, but would she be able to accept my actions if she knew that I had explained myself?

She’s never going to forgive me. Work out that problem later, figure out what to do with the filthy heap lying there first.

I walked over to her and prodded her stomach with the toes of my boot. Her entire body lurched in response and she shuddered violently. I stooped down to see that her body was wracked with sobs.

I want nothing more than to cover her with a blanket and say I’m sorry.

“Sit up.”

○○○○○ ◇ ○○○○○

Malvolio walked back to me. For a second, I thought I saw a flash of guilt on his face, but the darkness in his eyes quickly covered the emotion. Who am I kidding? This monster’s not capable of feeling. He’s a psycho. Nothing more.

○○○○○ ◇ ○○○○○

I don’t know why I did it. If you asked me to explain, I wouldn’t be able to. I loosened her ropes and gave her back her clothes. I removed the bindings and allowed her to dress herself. Then I knocked her out and picked her up, the frail body in my arms reminding me with every step how much I had wronged her.

I left her tucked into her bed. Put a note next to her. Knew that she had the DNA she needed to incriminate me, but was beyond the point of caring.

I left her to judge my future and walked out. Couldn’t bring myself to look back.

King Lear

I have to read King Lear for my British Literature class, so I’m going to use this to post interesting quotes

Sir, I love you more than words can wield the matter;
Dearer than eyesight, space, and liberty;
Beyond what can be valued, rich or rare;
No less than life, with grace, health, beauty, honor;
As much as child e’er loved, or father found;
A love that makes breath poor, and speech unable;
Beyond all manner of so much I love you. 

See better, Lear; and let me still remain
The true blank of thine eye.

I am sorry, then, you have so lost a father
That you must lose a husband.

Fairest Cordelia, that art most rich, being poor;
Most choice, forsaken; and most loved, despised!

Gods, gods! ’tis strange that from their cold’st neglect
My love should kindle to inflamed respect.
Thy dowerless daughter, king, thrown to my chance,
Is queen of us, of ours, and our fair FRANCE:

And my invention thrive, Edmund the base
Shall top the legitimate. I grow; I prosper:
Now, gods, stand up for bastards!
>>>>>> That whole monologue was interesting with its use of the word base/bastard in so many different lights

Yet nature finds itself scourged
by the sequent effects: love cools, friendship falls off,
brothers divide: in cities, mutinies; in countries, discord;
in palaces, treason; and the bond cracked ‘twixt son and
father.

Old fools are babes again; and must be used
With checks as flatteries,—when they are seen abused.

Have more than thou showest,
Speak less than thou knowest,
Lend less than thou owest,
Ride more than thou goest,
Learn more than thou trowest,
Set less than thou throwest

Ingratitude, thou marble-hearted fiend,
More hideous when thou show’st thee in a child
Than the sea-monster!

O Lear, Lear, Lear!
Beat at this gate, that let thy folly in, [Striking his head]
And thy dear judgement out! Go, go, my people.

A fox, when one has caught her,
And such a daughter,
Should sure to the slaughter,
If my cap would buy a halter:
So the fool follows after.

How far your eyes may pierce I can not tell:
Striving to better, oft we mar what’s well.

Fathers that wear rags
Do make their children blind;

But I will tarry; the fool will stay, And let the wise man fly:
The knave turns fool that runs away;
The fool no knave, perdy
>>>>>> I love his fool/clown characters ❤

I will do such things,—
What they are, yet I know not: but they shall be
The terrors of the earth.
When we our betters see bearing our woes,
We scarcely think our miseries our foes.
Who alone suffers suffers most i’ the mind,
Leaving free things and happy shows behind:
But then the mind much sufferance doth o’er skip,
When grief hath mates, and bearing fellowship.
How light and portable my pain seems now,
When that which makes me bend makes the king bow…

I have no way, and therefore want no eyes;
I stumbled when I saw: full oft ’tis seen,
Our means secure us, and our mere defects
Prove our commodities.

Were’t my fitness
To let these hands obey my blood,
They are apt enough to dislocate and tear
Thy flesh and bones: howe’er thou art a fiend,
A woman’s shape doth shield thee.

Gloucester, I live
To thank thee for the love thou showedst the king,
And to revenge thine eyes.
Sorrow would be a rarity most beloved,
If all could so become it.

Get thee glass eyes;
And like a scurvy politician, seem
To see the things thou dost not.

That eyeless head of thine was first framed flesh
To raise my fortunes. Thou old unhappy traitor,
Briefly thyself remember: the sword is out
That must destroy thee.

O you kind gods,
Cure this great breach in his abused nature!
The untuned and jarring senses, O, wind up
Of this child-changed father!

Was this a face
To be opposed against the warring winds?
To stand against the deep dread-bolted thunder?
>>>>>>> Reminds me of Marlowe in Doctor Faustus (the famous line that Dr. Faustus speaks to Helen – was this the face that launched a thousand ships, etc etc etc)

To both these sisters have I sworn my love;
Each jealous of the other, as the stung
Are of the adder.

As if we were God’s spies: and we’ll wear out,
In a walled prison, packs and sects of great ones,
That ebb and flow by the moon.

Despite thy victor sword and fire-new fortune,
Thy valor and thy heart, thou art a traitor;
False to thy gods, thy brother, and thy father;…
…Say thou ‘No,’
This sword, this arm, and my best spirits, are bent
To prove upon thy heart, whereto I speak,
Thou liest.

Thou hast spoken right, ’tis true;
The wheel is come full circle: I am here.

Howl, howl, howl, howl! O, you are men of
stones:
Had I your tongues and eyes, I’ld use them so
That heaven’s vault should crack. She’s gone for ever!

I have a journey, sir, shortly to go;
My master calls me, I must not say no.

The weight of this sad time we must obey;
Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say.
The oldest hath borne most: we that are young
Shall never see so much, nor live so long.