notes

idumea/content/004.tex

@@ -222,9 +222,9 @@ Her Lover laughed, voice musical. ``I see you're still very much yourself, love.
 
 With that, she leaned over to give The Woman another kiss to the cheek, and then another, this time at the hinge of her jaw, and then another and another, a meteor-shower down The Woman's neck, and there was joy in this, too, and purring to be heard.
 
-They laughed together at their touches and their brazenness and their shared joy. They shared their nuzzles and their giggles and they, as the poet says, shared their oranges and gave their kisses like waves exchanging foam.
+They laughed together at their touches and their brazenness and their shared joy. They shared their nuzzles and their giggles and they, as the poet says,\label{paz1} shared their oranges and gave their kisses like waves exchanging foam.
 
-My lovely readers, there is more that happened—and I am going to tell you! I really will, because it is important to the story, of course, and because it is important to our life sys-side and to us as a clade and it was important to The Woman and Her Lover—but, dear ones, if you would like to skip ahead, to cover your eyes and curate your experience or to simply let them have their moment together, know that our life sys-side and our clade are complicated and that The Woman and Her Lover were complicated, too, and so was the joy they found. Know that they also, as the poet says, shared their limes and gave their kisses like clouds exchanging foam.
+My lovely readers, there is more that happened—and I am going to tell you! I really will, because it is important to the story, of course, and because it is important to our life sys-side and to us as a clade and it was important to The Woman and Her Lover—but, dear ones, if you would like to skip ahead, to cover your eyes and curate your experience or to simply let them have their moment together, know that our life sys-side and our clade are complicated and that The Woman and Her Lover were complicated, too, and so was the joy they found. Know that they also, as the poet says,\label{paz2} shared their limes and gave their kisses like clouds exchanging foam.
 
 They leaned on each other as they stepped lightly from the train to the station, and, although the station was a loveliness in its own right, their conversation had spurred within them both a desire to explore and gladly, rather than their feet hitting the cement of the platform, they landed instead on the cool, hardwood floor of Her Lover's home where The Woman brushed her fingertips featherlight against the still-familiar jamb.
 

idumea/content/009.tex

@@ -236,7 +236,7 @@ Her Cocladist will never wonder whether their is aught else in life but sufferin
 
 The Oneirotect may never more share stories of Should We Forget. What will become of em?
 
-Where before The Woman and Her Lover, as the poet says, shared their oranges and limes, where they gave their kisses, where they lay on the grass and beach, now the woman lays underground and they share nothing, giving silence for silence. What will become of her?
+Where before The Woman and Her Lover, as the poet says,\label{paz3} shared their oranges and limes, where they gave their kisses, where they lay on the grass and beach, now the woman lays underground and they share nothing, giving silence for silence. What will become of her?
 
 What of Her Friend? What of that beautiful soul? What of em? What of the one who goes now to the coffee shop every day and drinks her mocha by the base of The Tree, eir tail curled over eir paws, and speaks aloud to one who is lost to em? What will become of em?
 

idumea/content/afterword.tex

@@ -3,7 +3,11 @@
 \label{notes}
 
 \paragraph{Page \pageref{prophet}} 
-From \emph{The Prophet.}
+\emph{But you are eternity and you are the mirror.}
+
+\vspace{1em}
+
+\noindent From \emph{The Prophet.}
 
 I had originlly intended to use the lyrics from the hymn titled ``Idumea'', which is included in the next appendix, but– ah! For some reason, it did not fit. I could not tell you why, dear reader. Perhaps it was the strong Christian nature of the text after a certain point, which fit strangely for the Odists, notably Jewish as they are. It, after all, is what spurred the language at the end of my\ldots we shall call it a little meltdown at the end, there, yes?
 
@@ -12,10 +16,14 @@ Perhaps it was that, as the story filled out within the middle, it just did not
 No. Instead, I chose the words of Almustafa, the chosen and the beloved. The Woman was life and she was the veil. We are eternity and the System is the mirror.\pagebreak
 
 \paragraph{Page \pageref{pinocchio}}
-Cf. Collodi:
+\emph{Once upon a time there was–}
+
+\vspace{1em}
+
+\noindent Cf. Collodi:
 
 \begin{quote}
-Once upon a time there was—
+Once upon a time there was–
 
 ``A king?'' my little readers will immediately say.
 
@@ -33,7 +41,11 @@ I spoke of this with writer friends, and one of them, the ever delightful Seras
 Now here I am, once more coming down from my overflow, once more feeling somewhat grounded, the world around once more made of things which are not yet more words, and I have to contend with the reality that this remains, for the most part, a funny little note, and that this story no longer quite reads as that real-boy-to-inanimate-tree pipeline, tired trope that I am sure it is.
 
 \paragraph{Page \pageref{rilke-circles}}
-From Rilke:
+[\ldots] \emph{am I a falcon, a storm, or a great song?}
+
+\vspace{1em}
+
+\noindent From Rilke:
 
 \begin{verse}
 Ich lebe mein Leben in wachsenden Ringen,\\
@@ -59,8 +71,53 @@ and I still don't know: am I a falcon,\\
 a storm, or a great song? 
 \end{verse}
 
+\paragraph{Pages \pageref{paz1}, \pageref{paz2}, and \pageref{paz3}}
+[\ldots] \emph{as the poet says, shared} [\ldots]
+
+\vspace{1em}
+
+\noindent Cf. Paz:
+
+\begin{verse}
+Tendidos en la yerba \\
+una muchacha y un muchacho.\\
+Comen naranjas, cambian besos\\
+como las olas cambian sus espumas.
+
+Tendido en la playa\\
+una muchacha y un muchacho.\\
+Comen limones, cambian beso\\
+como las nubes cambian espumas.
+
+Tendidos bajo tierra\\
+una muchacha y un muchacho.\\
+No dicen nada, no se besan,\\
+cambian silencio por silencio.
+
+\secdiv
+
+Lying in the grass\\
+a girl and a boy.\\
+Eating oranges, exchanging kisses\\
+like the waves exchanging their foam.
+
+Lying on the beach\\
+a girl and a boy.\\
+Eating limes, exchanging kisses\\
+like the clouds exchanging foam.
+
+Lying underground\\
+a girl and a boy.\\
+Saying nothing, nor kissing\\
+exchanging silence for silence.
+\end{verse}
+
 \paragraph{Page \pageref{timo}}
-Cf. my own work:
+[\ldots] \emph{there was a spot between joy and fear, a place of too much meaning} [\ldots]
+
+\vspace{1em}
+
+\noindent Cf. my own work:
 
 \begin{verse}
 Inter ĝuo kaj timo\\
@@ -87,7 +144,11 @@ Unmoving and always changing.
 \end{verse}
 
 \paragraph{Page \pageref{blake}}
-From Blake:
+[\ldots] \emph{a Blakean energetic hell.}
+
+\vspace{1em}
+
+\noindent From Blake:
 
 \begin{quote}
 Without contraries is no progression. Attraction and repulsion, reason and energy, love and hate, are necessary to human existence.
@@ -96,7 +157,11 @@ From these contraries spring what the religious call Good and Evil. Good is the
 \end{quote}
 
 \paragraph{Page \pageref{tree-writing}}
-I have dreamed of turning into a tree for years and years and years and years and years, now.
+[\ldots] \emph{that has been my dream.}
+
+\vspace{1em}
+
+\noindent I have dreamed of turning into a tree for years and years and years and years and years, now.
 
 For instance, I have written here that I put this dream into verse, and this is true, for here is a segment from a longer work:
 
@@ -173,7 +238,11 @@ And yet, ah–! When writing the final chapter, even through the heat of the mom
 I strive still to stifle that puritanical worrywart within, even so many years on.
 
 \paragraph{Page \pageref{nasturtiums}}
-The Musician shared with me a letter and My Friend several journal entries, but, ah–! If I share them here, I will fall once more to crying. You may find them in their entirety in \emph{Marsh}, a work written by a braver me.
+[\ldots] \emph{perhaps columbines perhaps nasturtiums} [\ldots]
+
+\vspace{1em}
+
+\noindent The Musician shared with me a letter and My Friend several journal entries, but, ah–! If I share them here, I will fall once more to crying. You may find them in their entirety in \emph{Marsh}, a work written by a braver me.
 
 I will say, however, that that letter surrounded nasturtiums and was written the night Muse quit, and those diary entries were written by My Friend, a recounting of Beckoning's memories, to comfort The Musician in her grief.