mythopoeics

[filter; private]

There is something about this that seems perfect and so it's unsettling. The last time I had a perfect life was long before Helen crossed Paris' radar, when Troy was strong and true and when my beloved child was in my womb and Hector and I were assured our happiness.

I cannot look at him without feeling guilty and yet here Astyanax is and he looks at me as though I am some radiant sun.

[filter; public]

Hector, I am going for a run. Keep an eye on our son - why does that not seem right? It is too perfect to be right.

(New York in spring is ideal for a photographer.)

[Perfection did not always mean humiliating or crushing the despised. Sometimes it meant warping the smaller ones into tools against the greater foes. And that was happening in her apartment, with her daughter so casually taking it in as if it were normal.

Adam suffered, at her hands, at the hands of an Eve that did not waver or flinch at stepping on him. But, by now, the charm had worn down. It was too right, too well-executed and her toys did not sing like they should have but how her own dreams dictated. There was no reality in it and Lilith was disenchanted.]

I thought at the beginning this was semi-acceptable.

Not so much anymore. Someone come in here and take them away. They have outlived their usefulness.

I don't know what you're all complaining about, because in my flat, things are pretty pantastic fantastic.

The longer my house is full, the longer I want to scream. I may go homicidal crazy.

This went from being really weird to really cool then back to being really weird. Maybe if I give it another day it'll be really cool again.