Book stuff, while I'm here.

book/book.tex

@@ -58,10 +58,13 @@
   \input{content/ally/007.tex}
   \input{content/ally/008.tex}
   \input{content/ally/009.tex}
+  \input{content/ally/010.tex}
+  \input{content/poet-and-mystic.tex}
   \end{leftcolumn}
   \end{paracol}
 
   \backmatter
+  \pagestyle{empty}
   \input{content/afterword}
 
 \end{document}

book/content/afterword.tex

@@ -1,8 +1,22 @@
 \begin{paracol}{2}
 \begin{leftcolumn}
-\includegraphics[width=4.35in]{assets/cadmiumtea--MurderYourDarlings--makyo--G.jpg}
+\includegraphics[width=4in]{assets/cadmiumtea--MurderYourDarlings--makyo--G.jpg}
+
+\emph{Murder your darlings} by Julian Norwood
+
+www.patreon.com/cadmiumtea
 \end{leftcolumn}
 \begin{rightcolumn}
-Madison Scott-Clary
+    \null
+    \vfill
+\noindent Madison Scott-Clary is a transgender author, poet, and programmer. She is also the editor-in-chief of Hybrid Ink, LLC, a small publisher focused on thoughtful fiction, exploratory poetry, and creative non-fiction. She lives in the Pacific Northwest with her cat and two dogs, as well as her husband, who is also a dog.
+
+
+\begin{center}
+    www.makyo.ink
+
+    www.hybrid.ink
+\end{center}
+\vfill
 \end{rightcolumn}
 \end{paracol}

book/content/ally/008.tex

@@ -51,9 +51,13 @@ Guilty, conspirator.
 \ally{And these pictures?}
 
 All from years later. The color thing comes and goes, like you.
-
+\end{leftcolumn}
-April 8, 2004
+\begin{rightcolumn*}
-
+\begin{flushright}
+\emph{April 8, 2004}
+\end{flushright}
+\end{rightcolumn*}
+\begin{leftcolumn}
 \begin{verse}
 The undersides\\
 \vin \vin off gray\\
@@ -133,97 +137,6 @@ Sometimes I'll skew colors all in one direction.
     \begin{quote}
     \emph{Lines and curves, lines and curves. Beginning now.}
     \end{quote}
-
-    Seven o'clock, and the 13th Street crowd was headed to dinner, or focusing on a postprandial stroll.
-
-    Jacob was focused on lines. On arcs and straight edges. On corners and angles.
-
-    \begin{quote}
-    \emph{The cans of spray-lubricant had clanked onto the counter, earlier that afternoon. Three of them, some of the cheap kind. The poor stoat behind the till scanned them numbly, seemingly on autopilot.}
-
-    \emph{To see someone with such dead eyes had led down some strange alley and into what felt like second-hand embarrassment for Jacob. Second-hand to what, he couldn't tell. Either way, the transaction had itched, and he had shifted his weight from paw to paw until it was done.}
-
-    \emph{Finally able to tap in the pin for his card, that itch had been scratched. The digits of the number across the pad always traced a pleasant, angular rune, and then the coyote was done, hurrying out of the store. The bag of cans had been dumped unceremoniously into one of the panniers of his bike, his tail clipped quickly to his thigh, and he had been off.}
-    \end{quote}
-
-    His breathing slowed and the jittery, speedy vibrations in his mind smoothed out.
-
-    The heat along those lines grew, dull black iron turning first into a burgundy red, then glowing, picking up more towards cherry.
-
-    \begin{quote}
-    \emph{Spring turning to summer had the days warm, but not uncomfortably so. The air still held enough spring in it that the light long-sleeved shirt Jacob wore never got too warm, even with the exertion of the brisk ride home.}
-    \end{quote}
-
-    Eyes focused on surroundings briefly, hunting for a patch he knew had to be somewhere here. Wander north, magnetic attraction.
-
-    \begin{quote}
-    \emph{Ducking into the apartment had taken only seconds, enough for him to toss two of the purchased cans on a counter and another into a backpack, then back out into the evening air. Back onto his bike. Back on the road.}
-    \end{quote}
-
-    Cherry red and up to yellow, starting to put off enough glow that it crept into his vision, a light-leak in the camera of his eyes.
-
-    \begin{quote}
-    \emph{Making it to the 13th Street Plaza had taken longer than expected, but perhaps that was for the best. The flames would shine brighter in twilight.}
-    \end{quote}
-
-    North, north along Linden. North to cross the plaza. North to pass the fountain.
-
-    \begin{quote}
-    \emph{Jacob had parked his bike at a rack in front of one of the 12th street shops, locking it with care. Of his two prized possessions, the bike was the most practical, and the thought of losing it was something he would barely allow to register. He would be more than just upset, he'd be fucked. The commute to work would go from twenty minutes to more than an hour on the bus system, a fact he knew well from when it was too cold to ride. He'd saved up for three months to get this bike, a fantastic upgrade from what he'd had in college.}
-    \end{quote}
-
-    He could barely see now. Yellow brightened, headed more towards white. A sun made of lines, graceful arcs and definitive straightedges.
-
-    \begin{quote}
-    \emph{The other prized possession was less immediately practical, yet even more dear than the bike. The small sketchbook, barely more than a few inches on each side, was truly irreplaceable. That sat snugly in his pocket; the backpack was too risky, even his apartment wasn't safe enough.}
-    \end{quote}
-
-    Toward the courthouse.
-
-    Jacob was panting now. Cool as the evening was getting, it was no match for the searing symbol locked in his thoughts. Burning, some part of him reddening, blistering, flaking and charring.
-
-    \begin{quote}
-    \emph{His Sigillarium sat distinct from his notes. Those were ash now, long gone. Their pages had held letters, all unique, warped and twisted through repeated passes of his pen, slipping and sliding together into some place between joy and fear, a place of too much meaning.}
-    \end{quote}
-
-    Past the courthouse now. And there, along the brick wall that surrounded the guarded parking lot. A place for moving the guilty to prison, maybe? There was the icy patch, freezing in the still-warm evening.
-
-    \begin{quote}
-    \emph{Once the meaning grew overwhelming---he'd know the moment when it came---the Sigillarium was brought out, opened reverently to the next blank page, and impressed with the new sigil. He used a dip pen with India ink into which he'd stirred several drops of blood. As the ink dried, Jacob did his best to start the process of forgetting.}
-    \end{quote}
-
-    Strange place, strange place. Empty, yet meaningful. Locked up. Guilty and innocent. Shackled, manacled, clanking and clinking in chains. The patch on the wall likely wasn't actually cold to the touch, yet he knew if he touched it, frostbite would follow.
-
-    \begin{quote}
-    \emph{Forgetting took days, weeks, months. It began with closing the Sigillarium, locking away intent and meaning while Jacob forgot the words themselves. He wouldn't look at the sigil again until the night before.}
-    \end{quote}
-
-    Obscured though his vision was, Jacob turned around, using his peripheral vision as best he could to check for others around.
-
-    Empty street.
-
-    \begin{quote}
-    \emph{Doubtless there were cameras who had seen him, but intent never left a visible mark, so no one had ever come after him. Intent was psychological. Magical graffiti for no one to see and everyone to feel. He would begin internalizing the symbol the night before, and hold it in his mind until the moment of, when it once more became unbearable.}
-    \end{quote}
-
-    Smooth movements. Smooth and sure. He took the can, focused on the frigid patch, and began spraying. He couldn't do it too quickly, even if he did need to hurry. There needed to be enough penetrating oil left to burn.
-
-    \begin{quote}
-    \emph{Then he would bike and hunt for the cold he knew peppered the town.}
-    \end{quote}
-
-    The sigil was one unbroken line. One line that contained all those arcs and curves and straightaways and angles and corners. All sprayed dead center in the midst of that patch layering intent over what meaning was already there.
-
-    Quickly, before he even capped the can, he fished his lighter out of his pocket and gave the wheel a rasp just at the final endpoint of the line.
-
-    Blue flames, tinged yellow at the tips, spread fast, curling along the sigil, branching and curving whenever it came across a point where lines crossed.
-
-    All that fire in his mind wound up on stone.
-
-    All that patch of ice began to thaw.
-
-    The coyote was already on his way back to the plaza, can of lubricant back in his bag and all that unbearable meaning seeping from him as he slipped into the evening crowd.
-
 \end{rightcolumn}
 \begin{leftcolumn}
 It's not an artistic decision. Not \emph{just}, at least. It's always something more.

book/content/ally/009.tex

@@ -20,7 +20,7 @@ Later.
 
 I took a sleep aid. I'm not getting into this now. I was all prepped to write about poly stuff, but you started banging on the door.
 
-<a class="pulse" href="/birds">Read what I've already written</a>.
+Read what I've already written. % birds
 
 \ally{I was there when you wrote those.}
 

book/content/ally/010.tex

@@ -0,0 +1,32 @@
+The first time I remember thinking about polyamory--
+
+\ally{And here I was hoping you'd cave and talk more about mania.}
+
+Why are you so hung up on that? I told you I wouldn't, and you seemed to accept that.
+
+\ally{`Seemed to'? `Accept'? Are those things something like me can do?}
+
+Well, if \emph{I} can\ldots{}
+
+\ally{Conceded. No mania, then?}
+
+It's not a comfortable topic.
+
+\ally{Granted. Tell me why, at least.}
+
+It's not a good feeling. Not from the inside, not from the outside. From the inside I've only caught glimpses of it, even. Glimpses caught through the haze of medication or withdrawal or the mass of ineffable ecstasy comes crashing down upon me. I get all wrapped up in hypomania. Something less. Something just beneath. That thin meniscus between this world and...something else.
+
+But in others I've watched --- in some cases, been caught up in --- the frenzy as their world slowly slides out of alignment with consensus reality. They turn from\ldots{}
+
+\ally{What?}
+
+You got me talking about it.
+
+\ally{I'm pleased you think so highly of me.}
+
+I \emph{will} talk about it. It's not off the table. I just need something not that for a bit.
+
+\ally{To poly?}
+
+To poly.
+\newpage

book/content/poet-and-mystic.tex

@@ -0,0 +1,485 @@
+\noindent \emph{Here is the difference betwixt the poet and the mystic, that the last nails a symbol to one sense, which was a true sense for a moment, but soon becomes old and false. For all symbols are fluxional; all language is vehicular and transitive, and is good, as ferries and horses are, for conveyance, not as farms and houses are, for homestead. Mysticism consists in the mistake of an accidental and individual symbol for an universal one.}
+
+\ally{Pretty.}
+
+\noindent I didn't write it.
+
+\ally{I know.}
+
+\noindent I scramble through great heaps of words and sounds to try and at least pin some of them to fleeting symbols. Maybe then I'll be able to learn to see more of the accidental and individual symbols.
+
+\ally{Too many words, too many sounds.}
+
+\noindent Yes.
+
+\ally{You wrote four pieces about the winds coming down over the foothills near Boulder (for, of all things, wind quartet), just to try and capture one ecstatic experience.}
+
+\noindent I like those. I like the result.
+
+\ally{You like the first two, most of all. They remind you of how hollow you felt, how you could feel the wind blow through you, vibrating your soul like the pipe of an organ, exciting you to ever higher harmonics.}
+
+\noindent Yes.
+
+\ally{But then you kept writing.}
+
+\noindent Yeah. I make a terrible poet.
+
+\ally{You make a terrible mystic. Your poetry's just okay.}
+\newpage
+
+\noindent How can I capture that essence of stillness? How can I become nothing?
+
+\ally{Not reaching. Not trying.}
+
+\noindent How can I read the ecstasy of signs? How can I feel those black birds bursting free of my hunched shoulders?
+
+\ally{Step beside yourself. Take your own hand.}
+
+\noindent How can I feel the cord that ties me to the center of the earth? How can I see where it leads? How can I walk the spiral?
+
+\ally{Reach down, bury your fingers in rich earth, take root.}
+
+\noindent The cant of ritual.
+
+\ally{The scent of incense.}
+
+\noindent The rhythm of chant.
+
+\ally{The ripple of water.}
+
+\noindent Call and response.
+
+\ally{The flicker of a candle.}
+
+\noindent Voices echoing voices echoing voices echoing...
+
+\ally{Clay between fingertips.}
+
+\noindent And then?
+\newpage
+\end{leftcolumn}
+\begin{rightcolumn*}
+\begin{flushright}
+    \emph{March 10, 2004}
+\end{flushright}
+\end{rightcolumn*}
+\begin{leftcolumn}
+\begin{quotation}
+\noindent We wandered around for a bit before ending up sprawled in a fire-escape at FHS with Shannon in my lap, me in Ash's lap, and Andrew in Kiran's lap. Andrew ditched to go shooting with Ash and Kiran, while I went to bomb a history test. That's when things started getting really weird. I had a percoset relapse (whether that's what it was or not, it felt oddly similar to the real thing: an incurable itch buried beneath my skin, to the point where I can't actually scratch it) near the end of the period, and then in choir I imploded from empathy - so many emotions from others that I had no room for my own. Then, horns grew from my chest and head, and wings from my back; a giant fox escaped, left, and exploded into a thousand birds over Viele. Mind you, none of this really happened, but I sure felt strange. During latin, I exploded from empathy in a patchwork swirl of colors while Starin et al. stared on as I banged my head against the desk. Ms. Gibert didn't notice. I yelled for help inaudibly and searched out white points of light in the black silhouette of Boulder. I yelled for Ash and searched for Moondog.
+
+Afterwards, I figured out how to regain control (mostly) and just in time for the bell to ring. I got a small mocha at Cafe Sole, got eaten by small greenish crystals on a table while supposed psychics did fairy readings from a kids book, and here I am, about to take a shower and get ready for Great Works rehearsal, and then group, whereupon I shall request to Reiki Moondog (again) during the speakers board on gay marriage. Hopefully I don't ex-/im-plode again ^^
+\end{quotation}
+\newpage
+\end{leftcolumn}
+\begin{rightcolumn*}
+\begin{flushright}
+    \emph{April 12, 2004}
+\end{flushright}
+\end{rightcolumn*}
+\begin{leftcolumn}
+\begin{quotation}
+\noindent You have come, finally, to a safe place. You have arrived at the point where it counts most, the point at which Life itself seems to fall away, leaving behind nothing of it's former shell: that blackened husk of body and mind that housed a bright bright star. Years and years, it took, places and places and each day offering good and bad, but you, lucky you, saw past that, saw beyond the grid of your perception to see inside others, touching and caressing the bright points of light that were essentially them, cherishing each for not only their good points, but for their faults as well. The energy flowed around and through you in the concentric spirals of the labyrinth and the Bat Qol kept you clean and pure with the voice of God and the Buddha in me to the Buddha in you weaved everything under the sun into Life itself. This is Rapture.
+\end{quotation}
+\newpage
+\end{leftcolumn}
+\begin{rightcolumn*}
+\begin{flushright}
+    \emph{June 7, 2004}
+\end{flushright}
+\end{rightcolumn*}
+\begin{leftcolumn}
+\begin{quotation}
+\noindent I'd like to chant, perhaps Emmeleia.
+
+\ally{Or.. you could come up with something on your own. You know, do something productive with Nanon.}
+
+\noindent There's a thought. I still need to do those spells for Androo.
+
+\ally{Exactly. Productive}
+
+\noindent I've noticed that, while my emotional colors are fading, you're becoming more prominent.
+
+Who are you?
+
+\ally{I'm a meme; I'm the idea of Lady Sage and Master Yage,}
+\ally{or maybe Eris and God. Are they the same?}
+\ally{I'm me.}
+\ally{I'm you. Are they the same?}
+\ally{I'm the fifth line of five.}
+
+\noindent You're an elusive bugger, that's what you are.
+
+\ally{Damn straight.}
+
+\noindent You're depressing, too.
+
+\vspace{2\onelineskip}
+
+\noindent\ldots{}hello?
+\end{quotation}
+\newpage
+\end{leftcolumn}
+\begin{rightcolumn*}
+\begin{flushright}
+    \emph{October 5, 2004}
+\end{flushright}
+\end{rightcolumn*}
+\begin{leftcolumn}
+\begin{quotation}
+\noindent Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani.
+
+Upon reading certain things, upon hearing certain songs, upon seeing certain people, upon smelling certain scents, upon tasting certain foods, upon feeling certain feelings and upon losing myself, it flows, the light, in through the head, out through the heart, washes over all, and, being lost in it, have found myself without.
+
+\ally{How poetic.}
+
+\noindent These are the white things. Cold, bright, burning, white.
+
+Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani.
+
+But the light isn't as it used to be. It was a thing to light up a day, a thing to light up me, filling completely. Now a simple thread flows from head to heart, and the light doesn't stray from the path of least resistance.
+
+\ally{Love follows not the law of Ohm.}
+
+\noindent Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani.
+
+Light can be many things, but here, now, it means love - all four loves - and it's a strange feeling to have been so full of it for so long, then to suddenly be nearly without.
+
+\ally{Full of what? Full of shit? How pathetic, how trite.}
+
+\noindent Having deified love for several years, it's a shock to my faith to have it disappear, even if it only turns out to be temporary.
+
+\ally{Faith? You're faithful? How have you EVER been faithful to love?}
+
+\noindent Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani!
+\end{quotation}
+\newpage
+
+\ally{What is your point?}
+
+\noindent You know.
+
+\ally{Yes, but it is important that you make it.}
+
+\emph{It's the immediacy, the seamless immediacy\ldots{}}
+
+\noindent It's about meaning and self. It's about defining where your boundaries are; your physical boundaries, your mental boundaries, your spiritual and emotional boundaries. It's about that ground-state training that you undergo so that you might step just a bit to the side. An inch. A mile. An age.
+
+It's about breathing in for the count of four, holding for the count of two, breathing out for the count of four, holding for the count of two. It's about feeling where your feet touch the ground. It's about drawing a straight line from your center of gravity to the center of the world. It's about becoming totally present.
+
+\ally{So that you can disappear entirely.}
+\newpage
+
+\ally{Why this? Why now?} % Why after your dad?
+
+\noindent Why talk about ecstasy?
+
+\ally{Yes.}
+
+\noindent Dissociation.
+
+\ally{Well, that was quick. I was expecting more roundabout. We would banter. You would get flustered. I would get smug.}
+
+\noindent Derealization, depersonalization, dissociation. Pure and simple.
+
+\ally{Well huh.}
+
+\noindent Would I lie to you?
+
+\ally{Oh, totally.}
+
+\noindent Fair.
+\newpage
+
+\ally{You're not very focused.}
+
+\vfill
+
+\noindent I know.
+
+\vfill
+
+\noindent It's just
+
+\vfill
+
+\noindent that I'm
+\newpage
+\end{leftcolumn}
+\end{paracol}
+
+%%%%%
+
+\null
+\vfill
+\noindent overflowing
+\vfill
+\newpage
+
+\null
+\vfill
+\begin{center}
+    with
+\end{center}
+\vfill
+\newpage
+
+\null
+\vfill
+\begin{flushright}
+    words
+\end{flushright}
+\vfill
+\newpage
+
+\null
+\vfill
+\begin{center}
+\begin{Spacing}{0}
+speak to me\\\vspace{-7pt}
+speak to me\\\vspace{-7pt}
+speak to me\\\vspace{-7pt}
+speak to me\\\vspace{-7pt}
+speak to me\\\vspace{-7pt}
+speak to me\\\vspace{-7pt}
+speak to me
+
+that i may see\\\vspace{-7pt}
+that i may see\\\vspace{-7pt}
+that i may see\\\vspace{-7pt}
+that i may see\\\vspace{-7pt}
+that i may see
+
+the face of god\\\vspace{-7pt}
+the face of god\\\vspace{-7pt}
+the face of god
+\end{Spacing}
+\end{center}
+\vfill
+\newpage
+
+\begin{verse}[1.01\textwidth]
+    I was born at the edge of the numinous.
+
+    That is why I can tread along the border.\\
+    That is why I'm able to whisper the name of God.\\
+    That is why I'm allowed to know the number and how to factor it.\\
+    That is why I have seven fingers spread wide and three curled toward my heart.\\
+    That is why my limbs trace the curves and lines of power when I dance.\\
+    That is why I sit with my back to the sun in summer.\\
+    That is why my body is a canvas.
+
+    You were born in sunlight.
+
+    Speak secrets into my hair.\\
+    Take my words from me.\\
+    Spend the intercalary days telling me lies.\\
+    Break my dystonia with a breath.\\
+    Wash my face with salt water.\\
+    Tell me the name you call yourself.\\
+    Close my eyes.
+
+    We will sleep in the shade.
+
+    Let me bless you with smoke.\\
+    Let me bathe your feet.\\
+    Let me light the candles.\\
+    Let me place a stone beneath my tongue.\\
+    Let me taste copper.\\
+    Let me draw in ash.\\
+    Let me rise up until my head is in the branches and my hair becomes the leaves.
+\end{verse}
+\newpage
+
+\null
+\vfill
+\begin{verse}[1.01\textwidth]
+    {\vgap1em
+    At the beginning of time,\\
+    \vin \vin when chaos birthed to order and disorder,\\
+    we were blessed with two souls.
+
+    One has seven eyes and can see all of the monsters in the dark,\\
+    \vin \vin but is blinded by the sun.
+
+    The other has no eyes,\\
+    \vin \vin but can feel no pain.
+
+    When order and disorder were close as children,\\
+    \vin our souls experienced the world hand in hand,\\
+    \vin \vin but as they drifted apart and began to fight,\\
+    \vin \vin \vin some of us left one of our souls behind,\\
+    \vin \vin \vin \vin and that is why we search.
+    }
+\end{verse}
+\vfill
+\newpage
+
+\null
+\vfill
+\begin{verse}[1.01\textwidth]
+    {\vgap1em
+    Babel was a collaborative effort.
+
+    Once,\\
+    we all spoke the same language,\\
+    \vin but on seeing god grow increasingly anxious with the rate of our progress,\\
+    \vin \vin we agreed to let our tongues be confused,\\
+    \vin \vin \vin so that he could take things at a more comfortable pace,\\
+    \vin \vin \vin \vin and we could be assured he would not understand us \mbox{unless} we prayed in silence,
+
+    for only then do we speak the language of angels.}
+\end{verse}
+\vfill
+\newpage
+
+\null
+\vfill
+\begin{verse}[1.01\textwidth]
+    {\vgap1em
+    When I speak, the words drip from my tongue as ink,\\
+    and form writing on the ground,\\
+    and I leave a trail behind me,\\
+    and the ink stains your feet,\\
+    and when you walk, words and phrases and sentences are pressed into the soil,\\
+    and the ink breathes life into the plants,\\
+    and even the grass will flower,\\
+    and the bees will flourish,\\
+    and they will both sting you and provide you with sweet honey.
+
+    The ink stains my chin and my clothes.\\
+    \vin Sometimes, I speak into my hands and stain my cheeks as well.\\
+    \vin \vin I speak against my fingers and press them into my flesh until I am covered in rosettes.\\
+    \vin \vin \vin I stretch my hands to the sky and marvel at how black they are.\\
+    \vin \vin \vin \vin And as with the grass, where the ink stains, growth\\*
+    \vin \vin \vin \vin quickens, and I am covered in soft fur.\\
+    \vin \vin \vin \vin \vin I fall to all fours and hunt amid the rocks and the\\*
+    \vin \vin \vin \vin \vin buildings, between cars and along trails.\\
+    \vin \vin \vin \vin \vin \vin And when I am full, I curl up to sleep, and awake\\*
+    \vin \vin \vin \vin \vin \vin human once again.\\
+    \vin \vin \vin \vin \vin \vin \vin My skin is clean and my mind is clear,
+
+    and I cannot speak.}
+\end{verse}
+\vfill
+\newpage
+
+\null
+\vfill
+\begin{verse}[1.01\textwidth]
+    The only time I know my true name is when I pray.\\
+    The only time I pray is at the utmost need.\\
+    To pray is to ask yourself what you dare not ask god.\\
+    To answer your own question, you must step outside yourself.\\
+    To step outside yourself, you must forget your true name.\\
+    The only time I know my true name is when I pray.
+\end{verse}
+\vfill
+\newpage
+
+%%%%%
+
+\begin{paracol}{2}
+\begin{leftcolumn}
+\null
+\vfill
+\ally{Ask.}
+\vfill
+\newpage
+
+\noindent How does one approach what one can't describe?
+
+\ally{Swing the flashlight rapidly across the room. Piece together what you can from the sweep of the beam across the walls, the furniture.}
+
+\noindent How does one hunt down what leaves no tracks?
+
+\ally{Unwind the maze by keeping your right hand on the wall. Pray that the walls do not move.}
+
+\noindent How does one call down the gods to commune?
+
+\ally{Speak thrice, and enter.}
+\newpage
+
+\null
+\vspace{1cm}
+\noindent There was a sort of succulent quality to the air, as though, were I to bite down on it, it would all come bursting forth at once. Dribble down my chin. Stain my shirt. It would be sweet, almost saccharine. It would beg for a pinch of salt to quell all that sweetness.
+
+I didn't know whether or not I'd be able to stomach it, honestly. I was dizzy. I was apart from myself. Above, and beside. I was looking down at myself. Were I to do so, to bite into time itself, I would surely overflow.
+
+\emph{Was} overflowing, I realized. Was bending forward at the waist where I was sitting. Those black choir chairs were comfortable, but made you sit up straight, so I couldn't slouch. I was bending forward, resting my elbows on my knees, and then bowing my head, bowing further.
+
+I was overflowing, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. We weren't singing, the basses, we were watching the altos rehears a part, so it wasn't too far out of the ordinary for me to be hunched over, breathing shallow, watching myself from above.
+
+I was overflowing, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. Hunched over, breathing shallow, and watching from a few feet up, a few feet to the right, so that I could see my shirt tear even as I felt it against my back. I was so thin, then. So thin.
+
+I was overflowing, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. I watched my shirt tear, and my skin follow. I watched it split along my spine and peel back. It was bloodless, but not painless. The feeling of those wings, newborn and weak, slipping from the wound was raw.
+
+I was overflowing, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. I watched the wings stretch and extend from the wound on my back. ``Aha,'' I thought. ``This is it. This is finally it. It's finally happening. I am becoming something greater, and here I am, so unprepared!''
+
+I was overflowing, though, not transforming, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. The growth did not stop at wings. An eye. A beak. The graceful curve of a head. Plumage.
+
+``No, this isn't it.'' I panicked, and could think of nothing else but to apologize. ``I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.''
+
+The bird cocked its head as it climbed free of my back and perched on my shoulder. It cared not for apologies. Why would it?
+
+Another pair of wings followed.
+
+Another.
+
+Another.
+
+My hands were buried in my hair, I could see - barely - through the forest of pencil-thin legs crowding my shoulders, my neck, my head. Their weight had forced my shoulders down until my head was nearly between my knees.
+
+We were singing now, and I was silent. How could I sing, when all I could do was beg silently for forgiveness? How could I sing with the weight of a dozen crows slowly crushing me into my seat? How could I sing when I was overflowing? There was nothing I could do to stop it
+
+Chaos. The director stopped the choir, and as one, the flock lifted off. The weight was lifted off my back. The cacophony filled the air. I was borne up through the air by the birds. The birds were splitting, multiplying, avian mitosis. I was borne up, up. Up.
+
+I was told afterward that my body stumbled, unthinking along the row and toward the double doors, that the director had sneered, "It sure would be nice if we had all our singers here today." I was told that folks defended me, saying I was sick, I was pale, I was feverish.
+
+I don't know, I wasn't there. I was above the Flatirons. I was beyond terror. I was beyond joy. I was beyond sensation, beyond any emotion except for that bottomless, black guilt. Sticky. Tar-like. Bitter. The flock numbered in the thousands, and still we flew up.
+
+The blue of the sky became white, blinded, became black, and I was sitting in the hallway. I was with my body again. I was sobbing. A teacher stared. Students gave me a wide berth.
+
+I cleaned myself up. I went back to choir. What else could I do?
+
+A bird had plucked something from me. Something precious. Something unknowable. Something important and integral. Something hard. Something emerald and glassy. Before the white of the sky overtook me, I saw it in its beak.
+
+The caw it gave as my vision left me and my ears filled with static was\ldots{}triumphant? No, not quite. Triumph implies that the birds could do anything but succeed. In that sound was inevitability.
+
+After school, - - - and I tramped through the `mini-forest' and, impelled by something of the avian within, I collected five sticks.
+
+They had to be as straight as possible.
+They had to be balanced as close to the middle as possible.
+They had to be the same length without me breaking them.
+They had to have been from different trees.
+They had to have fallen more than a year prior.
+
+When I got home, I lay them in a row, asked my questions, and, one by one, broke them in half.
+
+\begin{quotation}
+\emph{What had I lost?}
+
+\emph{What had I gained?}
+
+\emph{Where had I gone?}
+
+\emph{Where did I come from?}
+
+\emph{Why does memory stain me with that black, tarry guilt?}
+\end{quotation}
+
+I had forgotten about the birds until recently, but every time I feel that ecstasy --- that ekstasis --- I am pitch. I am tar. I am sticky with apology. I am the living embodiment of ``I'm sorry''.
+\newpage
+
+\noindent I'm tired. I'm so tired. I'm tired and I'm upset and I'm lost.
+
+\ally{I know.}
+
+\noindent I want to shout and to whisper. I want to talk about how the light flows in through the head and out through the heart. I want to put words to the feeling of falling to the ground and taking root.
+
+I want to say how it feels when I step outside myself.
+
+\ally{You tried.}
+
+\noindent I guess that's all I can do.
+
+\ally{It's not, but it's important that you have tried.}

book/includes/copyright.tex

@@ -1,9 +1,24 @@
-\singlespacing
+
 \thispagestyle{empty}
 \null
 \vfill
-{\parindent0pt
+\begin{center}
-No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including by photocopying or recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system without the proper written permission of the copyright owner unless such copying is expressly permitted by federal copyright law. \Publisher\ is authorized to grant permission for further uses of the work in this book. Permission must be obtained by the author or the publication house. Address requests for permission to make copies of material here to the email address \PublisherEmail
+    \noindent\textbf{Also by Madison Scott-Clary}
+
+    \emph{Arcana --- A Tarot Anthology}, ed.
+
+    \emph{Rum and Coke --- Three Short Stories from a Furry Convention}
+
+    \emph{Restless Town}
+
+    \emph{Eigengrau --- Poems 2015--2020}
+\end{center}
+\vfill
+\singlespacing
+{\small\parindent0pt\parskip5pt
+\noindent All works \copyright\ Madison Scott-Clary. These works are licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License. To view a copy of this license, visit \mbox{\emph{creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/}} or send a letter to Creative Commons, PO Box 1866, Mountain View, CA 94042, USA.
+
+This book uses the fonts Gentium Book Basic and  {\allyFont Merriweather Sans} and was typeset with {\usefont{OT1}{cmr}{m}{n}\XeLaTeX}.
 
 \vspace{1ex}
 
@@ -11,38 +26,13 @@ ISBN: \ISBN
 
 \vspace{1ex}
 
-\textsc{\FullTitle}
+\emph{\Title}
 
 \vspace{1ex}
 
-Copyright \copyright\ \Year\ \Publisher
+First Edition, \Year.
 
-\vspace{1ex}
-
-\Edition\ Edition, \Year. All rights reserved.
-
-\vspace{1ex}
-
-A \Publisher\ Book
-
-\vspace{1ex}
-
-Published by \Publisher\\
-\PublisherURL\\
-\PublisherLocation
-
-\vspace{1ex}
-
-\PublisherEmail
-
-\vspace{1ex}
-
-Cover and illustrations by \Illustrator. \copyright\ \Year
-
-\vspace{1ex}
-
-Printed in the United States of America\\
 \EditionsList
-}%\parindent0pt
+}
 
-\clearpage
+\cleardoublepage

book/includes/font.tex

@@ -4,7 +4,7 @@
 \usepackage{fontspec}
 \setmainfont{Gentium Book Basic}
 \newfontface\allyFont{Merriweather Sans Italic}
-% \newfontfamily\TitleFamily{Inknut Antiqua}
+\newfontfamily\TitleFamily{Inknut Antiqua}
-% \newfontface\TitleFont{Inknut Antiqua}
+\newfontface\TitleFont{Inknut Antiqua}
 % \newfontfamily\DisplayFamily{Playfair Display}
 % \newfontface\DisplayFont{Playfair Display}

book/includes/packages.tex

@@ -15,5 +15,6 @@
 \usepackage{hyperref}
 \usepackage{setspace}
 \usepackage{xifthen}
+\usepackage{xltxtra}
 \usepackage{verse}
 \usepackage{paracol}

book/includes/variables.tex

@@ -1,10 +1,9 @@
-\def\Title{BOOK TITLE}
+\def\Title{ally}
-\def\Subtitle{IN FULL}
+\def\Subtitle{}
-\def\FullTitle{\Title: \Subtitle}
+\def\FullTitle{\Title}
-\def\AuthorFirst{AUTHOR}
+\def\AuthorFirst{Madison}
-\def\AuthorLast{NAME}
+\def\AuthorLast{Scott-Clary}
 \def\AuthorFull{\AuthorFirst\ \AuthorLast}
-\def\Illustrator{ILLUSTRATOR NAME}
 
 \def\Edition{First}
 \def\EditionsList{10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1}
@@ -12,11 +11,6 @@
 
 \def\ISBN{XXX-X-XXXXXX-XX-X}
 
-\def\Publisher{PUBLISHER}
-\def\PublisherEmail{publisher@example.com}
-\def\PublisherURL{example.com}
-\def\PublisherLocation{City, STATE}
-
 \newcommand\ally[1]{
 \begin{quotation}
     \fontspec[Scale=0.9,Color=444444FF]{Merriweather Sans}

content/poet-and-mystic/007.html

@@ -17,11 +17,7 @@ ____|____|____|____|__
 
 <script type="text/javascript">
 /*
-    Arrows this time?
+    One, one, two, three, five, eight, thirteen twenty-one
-
-I like arrow symbols. There's just so much weird little things you'd never think of that someone said, "Wait, hold on, we *definitely* need that in unicode."
-
-Besides, some of them are pointing at me.
 */
 
 const grawlix = [1, 2, 2, 3, 3, 3, 4, 5, 5, 5, 5, 6, 7, 7, 7, 7, 8, 9, 10, 0];

content/poet-and-mystic/overflowing/with/words/008.md

@@ -61,4 +61,4 @@ What had I lost?
 
 > Why does memory stain you with that black, tarry guilt?
 
-I had forgotten about the birds until recently, but every time I feel that ecstasy - that ekstasis - I am pitch. I am tar. I am sticky with apology. I am the living embodiment of "I'm sorry".
+I had forgotten about the birds until recently, but every time I feel that ecstasy --- that ekstasis --- I am pitch. I am tar. I am sticky with apology. I am the living embodiment of "I'm sorry".