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Sun and Steel
“At one time, I had been the type of boy who leaned at the window, forever watching out for unexpected events to come crowding in towards him. Though I might be unable to change the world myself, I could not but hope that the world would change of its own accord. As that kind of boy, with all the accompanying anxieties, the transformation of the world was an urgent necessity for me; it nourished me from day to day; it was something without which I could not have lived. The idea of the changing of the world was as much a necessity as sleep and three meals a day. It was the womb that nourished my imagination.”
Dreamer
Sun And Steel
Yukio Mishima
The Tyrant’s Tomb
“This young woman,” said Diana, “was responsible for the destruction of the Triumvirate’s fleet.”
“Well, I had a lot of help,” Lavinia said.
“I don’t understand,” I said, turning to Lavinia. “You made all those mortars malfunction?”
Lavinia looked offended. “Well, yeah. Somebody had to stop the fleet. I did pay attention during siege-weapon class and ship-boarding class. It wasn’t that hard. All it took was a little fancy footwork.”
Hazel finally managed to pick her jaw off the pavement. “Wasn’t that hard?”
“We were motivated! The fauns and dryads did great.” She paused, her expression momentarily clouding, as if she remembered something unpleasant. “Um…besides, the Nereids helped a lot. There was only a skeleton crew aboard each yacht. Not, like, actual skeletons, but—you know what I mean. Also, look!”
She pointed proudly at her feet, which were now adorned with the shoes of Terpsichore from Caligula’s private collection.
“You mounted an amphibious assault on an enemy fleet,” I said, “for a pair of shoes.”
Lavinia huffed. “Not just for the shoes, obviously.” She tap-danced a routine that would’ve made Savion Glover proud. “Also to save the camp, and the nature spirits, and Michael Kahale’s commandos.”
Hazel held up her hands to stop the overflow of information. “Wait. Not to be a killjoy—I mean, you did an amazing thing!—but you still deserted your post, Lavinia. I certainly didn’t give you permission —”
“I was acting on praetor’s orders,” Lavinia said haughtily. “In fact, Reyna helped. She was knocked out for a while, healing, but she woke up in time to instill us with the power of Bellona, right before we boarded those ships. Made us all strong and stealthy and stuff.”
Hazel asked, “Is it true about Lavinia acting on your orders?”
Reyna glanced at our pink-haired friend. The praetor’s pained expression said something like, I respect you a lot, but I also hate you for being right.
“Yes,” Reyna managed to say. “Plan L was my idea. Lavinia and her friends acted on my orders. They performed heroically.”
Lavinia beamed. “See? I told you.”
The assembled crowd murmured in amazement, as if, after a day full of wonders, they had finally witnessed something that could not be explained.”
Apollo
Hazel Levesque
Caligula
Diana
Reyna Avila Ramírez Arellano
Lester Papadopoulos
Lavinia Asimov
Terpischore
The Tyrant’s Tomb
“Reyna said, swinging her sword again. “Something they’ll hate worse than Apollo.” Her eyes lit up. “Apollo, sing for them!”
She might as well have kicked me in the face again. “My voice isn’t that bad!”
“But you’re the—You used to be the god of music, right? If you can charm a crowd, you should be able to repulse one. Pick a song these birds will hate!”
Great. Not only had Reyna laughed in my face and busted my nose, now I was her go-to guy for repulsiveness.”
Apollo
Reyna Avila Ramírez Arellano
Lester Papadopoulos
The Art of the July Monarchy: France, 1830 to 1848
“In this watercolor Gavarni portrays an individual whose father was an industrialist and whose older brother was a distinguished professor. From the looks of him, Hippolyte Beauvisage Thomire had a keen eye for fashion in casual clothing, however.
He represents the new generation of bourgeois consumers that emerged during the July Monarchy. He is the modern young man off the newly invented fashion plates and out of the cast of Balzac’s Human Comedy.
Charles Baudelaire, the great cultural critic of Louis Philippe’s reign in latter years, called the artist Gavarni “the poet of official dandysme." Dandysme, Baudelaire said (in his famous essay “De l’heroisme de la vie moderne” [The heroism of modern life], which appeared in his review of the Salon of 1846), was “a modern thing.” By this he meant that it was a way for bourgeois men to use their clothing as a costume in order to stand out from the respectable, black-coated crowd in an age when aristocratic codes were crumbling and democratic values had not yet fully replaced them.
The dandy was not Baudelaire’s “modern hero,” however. “The black suit and the frock coat not only have their political beauty as an expression of general equality,” he wrote, “but also their poetic beauty as an expression of the public mentality.” That is why Baudelaire worshiped ambitious rebels, men who disguised themselves by dressing like everyone else. “For the heroes of the Iliad cannot hold a candle to you, Vautrin, Rastignac, Birotteau [all three were major characters in Balzac’s novels] . . . who did not dare to confess to the public what you went through under the macabre dress coat that all of us wear, or to you Honore de Balzac, the strangest, most romantic, and most poetic among all the characters created by your imagination,” Baudelaire declared.”
Baudelaire
Balzac
Dandyism
Team Pursuit
“As she screams her words, she slaps me like the worldchampion surf lifesaver she is, with full hip rotation and follow-through. Magnificent core strength. Textbook technique. Open hand to cheekbone, cheek, and jaw. Nope, she couldn’t have hit me better. Ten out of ten, say the judges. The crowd cheers. Deuce, no make that game to Chelsea. The nose—that’s where I feel it. It’s just like at the beach when a dumping wave strikes with the power of Aquaman, causing salt water to dance, prance, and gurgle in and out of the nostrils. I feel the pressure of that slap like that wave is holding me down for seconds and seconds. I see this weird combination of circling stars. Under pressure such as this, my core values are wobbling. I could whack her right across the chops. I’m livid. That’s how I feel. In my eyes, she’s a piece of shit right at this point. A fake. A liar. A fucking pretender. I always knew she was hiding something. She was always too damn good to be true. That’s why she does so much for the community: because she’s rotten to the core. No. I fucking love her way more than I can cope with. Jerome Kremers, book 2, TEAM PURSUIT.”
Australian Sport
Love Maker
“You sounded good tonight, Boone.” The honeyed voice sliced through the crowd noise.
He froze, keeping his eyes on the row of shot glasses over the register and his back to the sound. Memories of summer nights, skinny-dipping, Christmases, horseback riding, hot skin on skin, and her sweet lips came rushing back, making his heart stop.”
Second Chance Romance
Cowboy Romance
Lonesome Cowboy Romance
“The habit of a virus is to live in the crowd, the habit of a crow is to show its crowd but the habit of a legend is to stay alone in the crowd”
Crowd Mentality
Legend Quotes
Crowd Quotes
Herzog
“They made a sweeping turn into Park Avenue and Herzog clutched the broken window handle. It wouldn’t open. But if it opened dust would pour in. They were demolishing and raising buildings. The avenue was filled with concrete-mixing trucks, smells of wet sand and powdery gray [sic] cement. Crashing, stamping pile-driving below, and, higher, structural steel, interminably and hungrily going up into the cooler, more delicate blue. Orange beams hung from the cranes like straws. But down in the street where the buses were spurting the poisonous exhaust of cheap fuel, and the cars were crammed together, it was stifling, grinding, the racket of machinery and the desperately purposeful crowds - horrible!”
Vorticism
Crime and Punishment
“But now, strange as it seems, a peasant's small, scrawny. light brown nag is harnessed to such a large cart, one of those horses he's seen it often that sometimes strain to pull some huge load of firewood or hay. Especially if the cart has gotten stuck in the mud or a rut. The peasants always whip the horse so terribly, so very painfully, sometimes even across its muzzle and eyes, and he would always feel so sorry, so very sorry to witness it that he would feel like crying, and his mother would always lead him away from the window. Now things are getting extremely boisterous: some very large and extremely drunken peasants in red and blue shirts, their heavy coats slung over their shoulders. come out of the tavern shouting, singing. and playing balalaikas. “Git in. everyone git in!" shouts one peasant, a young lad with a thick neck and a fleshy face, red as a beet, “I'll take ya all. Git in!" But there is a burst of laughter and shouting:
“That ol’ nag ain't good for nothin'!"
“Hey, Mikolka, you must be outta yer head to hitch that ol' mare to yer cart!"
“That poor ol' horse must be twenty if she's a day, lads!"
“Git in, I'll take ya all!" Mikolka shouts again,jumping in first, taking hold of the reins, and standing up straight in the front of the cart. “Matvei went off with the bay," he cries from the cart, “and as for this ol' mare here, lads, she's only breakin' my heart: I don't give a damn ifit kills ’er; she ain't worth her salt. Git in, I tell ya! I'll make 'er gallop! She’ll gallop, all right!" And he takes the whip in his hand, getting ready to thrash the horse with delight.
"What the hell, git in!" laugh several people in the crowd. "You heard 'im, she'll gallop!"
“I bet she ain't galloped in ten years!"
"She will now!"
“Don't pity 'er, lads; everyone, bring yer whips, git ready!" "That's it! Thrash 'er!" They all clamber into Mikolka's cart with guffaws and wisecracks. There are six lads and room for more. They take along a peasant woman, fat and ruddy. She's wearing red calico, a headdress trimmed with beads, and fur slippers; she‘s cracking nuts and cackling. The crowd’s also laughing; as a matter of fact, how could one keep from laughing at the idea of a broken down old mare about to gallop, trying to pull such a heavy load! Two lads in the cart grab their whips to help Mikolka. The shout rings out: “Pull!" The mare strains with all her might, but not only can’t she gallop, she can barely take a step forward; she merely scrapes her hooves, grunts, and cowers from the blows of the three whips raining down on her like hail. Laughter redoubles in the cart and among the crowd, but Mikolka grows angry and in his rage strikes the little mare with more blows, as if he really thinks she’ll be able to gallop. “Take me along, too, lads!" shouts someone from the crowd who’s gotten a taste of the fun.
“Git in! Everyone, git inl" cries Mikolka. “She'll take everyone. I‘ll flog 'er!" And he whips her and whips her again; in his frenzy, he no longer knows what he’s doing.
“Papa, papa," the boy cries to his father. “Papa, what are they doing? Papa, they‘re beating the poor horse!"
“Let's go, let's go!" his father says. “They’re drunk, misbehaving, those fools: let’s go. Don't look!" He tries to lead his son away. but the boy breaks from his father‘s arms; beside himself, he runs toward the horse. But the poor horse is on her last legs. Gasping for breath, she stops, and then tries to pull again, about to drop.
“Beat 'er to death!" cries Mikolka. ”That's what it's come to. I‘ll flog ‘er!"
“Aren't you a Christian. you devil?" shouts one old man from the crowd.
“Just imagine, asking an ol' horse like that to pull such a heavy load,” adds another.
“You‘ll do 'er in!" shouts a third.
“Leave me alone! She’s mine! I can do what I want with 'er! Git in, all of ya! Everyone git in I'm gonna make 'er gallop!”
Animals
Dream
Cruelty
Violence
Abuse
Horse
Dostoyevsky
Humans And Animals
Mare
Love in the Afternoon
“Additional flowers had been piled into a pair of massive baskets that were strapped across the back of Beatrix's mule, Hector. The little mule led the crowd at a dignified pace, while the women walking beside him reached into the baskets and tossed fresh handfuls of petals and blossoms to the ground. A straw hat festooned with flowers had been tied to Hector's head, his ears sticking out at crooked angles through the holes at the sides.
"Good God, Albert," Christopher said ruefully to the dog beside him. "Between you and the mule, I think you got the best of the bargain." Albert had been freshly washed and trimmed, a collar of white roses fastened around his neck.”
Animals
Albert
Wedding
Dressed Up
Mule
Hector
Terrier
Wedding Flora
Christopher Phelan
Lady Sophia's Lover
“She felt awkward and stiff at most gatherings, although Ross's mother assured her that she would feel more comfortable as time passed. She found it somewhat easier to mix with "second-tier" sorts, such as Sir Grant and his wife, Victoria, and the crowd of professionals who were not nearly as rarefied as those in the first circles. These people were far less pretentious, and far more aware of ordinary matters like the cost of bread and the concerns of the poor.”
Societies
Charity Organizations
Victoria And Grant
Sophia Sydney
Revenge of the Lawn Gnomes
“Lawn Lovely is a store two blocks from our house. It’s the place where Dad buys his lawn ornaments. A lot of lawn ornaments.
Dad is as nuts about lawn ornaments as he is about gardening. We have so many lawn ornaments in our front yard, it’s impossible to mow the lawn!
What a crowd scene! We have two pink plastic flamingos. A cement angel with huge white wings. A chrome ball on a silver platform. A whole family of plaster skunks. A fountain with two kissing swans. A seal that balances a beach ball on its nose. And a chipped plaster deer.”
Gardening
Horror
R L Stine
Lawn Gnomes
Revenge Of The Lawn Gnomes
May Day Eve and Other Stories
“BUT, alas, the heart forgets; the heart is distracted; and Maytime passes; summer ends; the storms break over the rot-ripe orchards and the heart grows old; while the hours, the days, the months, and the years pile up and pile up, till the mind becomes too crowded, too confused: dust gathers in it; cobwebs multiply; the walls darken and fall into ruin and decay; the memory perishes...”
Seasons
Filipino Authors
Hungry Hearts: 13 Tales of Food & Love
“With the whip adequately cracked, the three of them formed an assembly line to fill each mold with dough and sweetened pineapple before pinching the edges together and placing the little cakes onto a cookie sheet that slid promptly into the oven. They crowded around to watch the squares turn golden until Waipo deemed them ready. She let them cool a touch before cutting one into thirds for them to taste.
"They're hot," she cautioned.
Andie took the smallest of bites. "Holy cow. This is incredible."
The filling burned Charlie's tongue, but he had to agree. Waipo's pineapple cakes were the stuff of legend, and this particular batch tasted extra special. The crust was perfectly flaky, and the filling had hit that sweet spot of not too sugary and not too tart.”
Cake
Dessert
Pineapples
Pineapple Cake
The Anatomy of Fascism
“The European states resembled each other rather closely in their luxuriant growth of antiliberal criticism as the twentieth century opened. Where they differed was in those political, social, and economic preconditions that seem to distinguish the states where fascism, exceptionally, was able to become established.
One of the most important preconditions was a faltering liberal order. Fascisms grew from back rooms to the public arena most easily where the existing government functioned badly, or not at all. One of the commonplaces of discussions of fascism is that it thrived upon the crisis of liberalism. I hope here to make that vague formulation somewhat more concrete. On the eve of World War I the major states of Europe were either governed by liberal regimes or seemed headed that way. Liberal regimes guaranteed freedoms both for individuals and for contending political parties, and allowed citizens to influence the composition of governments, more or less directly, through elections. Liberal government also accorded a large measure of freedom to citizens and to enterprises. Government intervention was expected to be limited to the few functions individuals could not perform for themselves, such as the maintenance of order and the conduct of war and diplomacy. Economic and social matters were supposed to be left to the free play of individual choices in the market, though liberal regimes did not hesitate to protect property from worker protests and from foreign competition. This kind of liberal state ceased to exist during World War I, for total war could be conducted only by massive government coordination and regulation.
After the war was over, liberals expected governments to return to liberal policies. The strains of war making, however, had created new conflicts, tensions, and malfunctions that required sustained state intervention. At the war’s end, some of the belligerent states had collapsed...What had gone wrong with the liberal recipe for government?
What was at stake was a technique of government: rule by notables, where the wellborn and well-educated could rely on social prestige and deference to keep them elected. Notable rule, however, came under severe pressure from the “nationalization of the masses."
Fascists quickly profited from the inability of centrists and conservatives to keep control of a mass electorate. Whereas the notable dinosaurs disdained mass politics, fascists showed how to use it for nationalism and against the Left. They promised access to the crowd through exciting political spectacle and clever publicity techniques; ways to discipline that crowd through paramilitary organization and charismatic leadership; and the replacement of chancy elections by yes-no plebiscites. Whereas citizens in a parliamentary democracy voted to choose a few fellow citizens to serve as their representatives, fascists expressed their citizenship directly by participating in ceremonies of mass assent. The propagandistic manipulation of public opinion replaced debate about complicated issues among a small group of legislators who (according to liberal ideals) were supposed to be better informed than the mass of the citizenry. Fascism could well seem to offer to the opponents of the Left efficacious new techniques for controlling, managing, and channeling the “nationalization of the masses,” at a moment when the Left threatened to enlist a majority of the population around two non-national poles: class and international pacifism.
One may also perceive the crisis of liberalism after 1918 in a second way, as a “crisis of transition,” a rough passage along the journey into industrialization and modernity. A third way of looking at the crisis of the liberal state envisions the same problem of late industrialization in social terms.”
Fascism
Mass Politics
Crisis Of Democracy And Fascism
The Anatomy of Fascism
“The fascist leaders were outsiders of a new type. New people had forced their way into national leadership before. There had long been hard-bitten soldiers who fought better than aristocratic officers and became indispensable to kings. A later form of political recruitment came from young men of modest background who made good when electoral politics broadened in the late nineteenth century. One thinks of the aforementioned French politician Léon Gambetta, the grocer’s son, or the beer wholesaler’s son Gustav Stresemann, who became the preeminent statesman of Weimar Germany. A third kind of successful outsider in modern times has been clever mechanics in new industries (consider those entrepreneurial bicycle makers Henry Ford, William Morris, and the Wrights).
But many of the fascist leaders were marginal in a new way. They did not resemble the interlopers of earlier eras: the soldiers of fortune, the first upwardly mobile parliamentary politicians, or the clever mechanics. Some were bohemians, lumpen-intellectuals, dilettantes, experts in nothing except the
manipulation of crowds and the fanning of resentments: Hitler, the failed art student; Mussolini, a schoolteacher by trade but mostly a restless revolutionary, expelled for subversion from Switzerland and the Trentino; Joseph Goebbels, the jobless college graduate with literary ambitions; Hermann Goering, the drifting World War I fighter ace; Heinrich Himmler, the agronomy student who failed at selling fertilizer and raising chickens.
Yet the early fascist cadres were far too diverse in social origins and education to fit the common label of marginal outsiders. Alongside street-brawlers with criminal records like Amerigo Dumini or Martin Bormann one could find a professor of philosophy like Giovanni Gentile or even, briefly, a musician like Arturo Toscanini. What united them was, after all, values rather than a social profile: scorn for tired bourgeois politics, opposition to the Left, fervent nationalism, a tolerance for violence when needed.”
Fascism
Fascist Leaders
Fascist Supporters
The Smallest Minority: Independent Thinking in the Age of Mob Politics
“Like Don Corleone, I don’t judge a man for how he makes his living. What I judge a man for is something else: Not the desire to have an audience, to make money, all that sort of thing, but the abject, craven, humiliating need to be loved by strangers. I mean the emptiness that a certain kind of man or woman tries to fill with adulation, characteristic of the man who cannot stand in front of a crowd without being possessed to deliver corny prepackaged applause lines, who will kiss the collective ass of the mob—and any mob will do—because that mob ass simply must be kissed.”
Masses
Mob Politics
The Sacrifice
“He scanned the crowd for Serena. She stood next to Jimena in silver hip huggers and a frosty top. Rhinestones and crystals sparkled in her hair like stars. Jimena wore a sequin-covered purple velvet dress. Their bodies glowed. He wanted to see a sadness on Serena's face that matched his own. Some sign that she missed him the way he ached for her.”
Stanton
Feminine Allure
Fashion Style
Serena Killingsworth
Jimena Castillo
Serena And Stanton
The Sacrifice
“A fanfare of plastic flags with cutout patterns of skeletons flapped noisily in the air and overhead a piñata swayed, waiting for the hard blows of the breaking ceremony. He searched through the crowd lined up for the puppet show, then glanced down Olvera Street. The street had been closed to traffic for a long time now and looked like a Mexican marketplace, with stands selling boldly colored ceramics and paper flowers. He didn't see Serena, but her brother, Collin, had said she had gone to the Día de los Muertos celebration with Jimena.
He turned to see candy skulls with green sequin eyes and frosting lips staring back at him from a stall. When the vendor looked away, he grabbed three and tossed one into his mouth. The sugar dissolved with tangy sweetness.
He spun around, sensing other eyes. An old woman shook her head at him as she placed a bowl of spicy-smelling sauce on her
ofrenda
. Orange flowers, white candles, and faded snapshots of her dead relatives covered the altar. Stanton liked the way some people waited for the spirits of their loved ones to come back and visit, while others were terrified at the thought.
The old woman placed a sign on the table:
SINCE DEATH IS INEVITABLE, IT SHOULD NOT BE FEARED, BUT HONORED
.
"Not for everyone," he said softly.
She looked at him. "What's not for everyone?"
"Death." He smiled.”
Death
Celebration
Stanton
Mexican Food
Día De Muertos
The Day Of The Dead
Visions, Trips, and Crowded Rooms: Who and What You See Before You Die
“we have more than opiates for pain, and we have more than anti-anxiety medication to combat fear and distress. We have the “who” and “what” we see before we die, which is perhaps the greatest comfort to the dying.”
Death
Comfort
Visitation
Deathbed Dying
Robots and Empire
“Since emotions are few and reasons many, the behavior or a crowd can be
more easily predicted than the behavior of one person can. And that, in turn, means that if laws are to be developed that enable the current of history to be predicted, then one must deal with large populations, the larger the better. That might itself be the First Law of Psychohistory, the key to the study of Humanics. Yet.'
R. Giskard Reventlov”
Robots
Asimov
Empire
Daneel
Psychohistory
Giskard
The Hungryalists
“Even amid the erratic crowd and the loud voices that drowned everything in coffee, Ginsberg commanded attention. Samir had recalled to Malay:
He approached our table, where Sunil, Shakti, Utpal and I sat, with no hesitation whatsoever. There was no awkwardness in talking to people he hadn’t ever met. None of us had seen such sahibs before, with torn clothes, cheap rubber chappals and a jhola. We were quite curious. At that time, we were not aware of how well known a poet he was back in the US. But I remember his eyes—they were kind and curious. He sat there with us, braving the most suspicious of an entire cadre of wary and sceptical Bengalis, shorn of all their niceties—they were the fiercest lot of Bengali poets—but, somehow, he had managed to disarm us all. He made us listen to him and tried to genuinely learn from us whatever it was that he’d wanted to learn, or thought we had to offer. Much later, we came to know that there had been suspicions about him being a CIA agent, an accusation he was able to disprove. In the end, we just warmed up to him, even liked him. He became one of us—a fagging, crazy, city poet with no direction or end in sight.”
Poetry
Counterculture
Shakti
Samir
Malay
Hungryalism
Sunil
To Wed a Wicked Earl
“Charlotte stood, her gaze instantly connecting with Rothbury's. A zing of awareness tingled down her spine.
Dripping with sensuality, the earl stood with his back to the wall, his stance, as always, exuding a lazy confidence. The damp spring air in the crowded room caused his dark-blond locks to curl slightly where wisps had escaped the velvet queue secured behind his neck. He wore no costume, no mask, which of course wasn't required, therefore catching the eye of every warm-blooded female within a two-hundred-foot radius.
It wasn't an exaggeration. The sighs of feminine appreciation surrounded Charlotte. Though she found it slightly ridiculous, she could not find it in herself to blame them. He was simply that fetching.
His expertly cut dark gray coat hugged his broad shoulders, and his stark white cravat, frothy with elegant folds, emphasized his chiseled chin, gold with faint bristles. And his mouth- oh, that glorious mouth- both haughty and wicked, curving with his ever-present sagacious grin. Lord, what it must feel like to have those lips touch one's own.
Charlotte gave an appreciative sigh, drinking up the sight of him. For a masquerade, his plain evening clothes on any other man would have lent him to fade into the background. But not Rothbury. Dear heavens, no. It only added to his sinful, blush-inducing appeal.”
Sensuality
Masculine Beauty
Adam Faramond
ফালগুনী রায় সমগ্র
“আমি এক সৌন্দর্য রাক্ষস
প্রজাপতির চিত্রল ডানা দেখে বিরহ থেকে বিবাহের দিকে
চলে যায় মানবসম্প্রদায় — আমি এক সৌন্দর্য রাক্ষস
ভেঙে দিয়েছি প্রজাপতির গন্ধসন্ধানী শুঁড়
আমার নিজের কোনো বিশ্বাস নেই কাউর ওপর
অলস বদ্মাস আমি মাঝে মাঝে বেশ্যার নাঙ হয়ে
জীবন যাপনের কথা ভাবি যখন মদের নেশা কেটে আসে
আর বন্ধুদের উল্লাস ইআর্কির ভেতর বসে টের পাই ব্যর্থ প্রেম
চেয়ে দেখি পূর্ণিমা চাঁদের ভেতর জ্বলন্ত চিতা
এখন আমি মর্গের ড্রয়ারে শুয়ে আছি এক মৃতদেহ
আমার জ্যান্ত শরীর নিয়ে চলে গেছে তার
শাঁখাভাঙা বিধবার ঋতুরক্ত ন্যাকড়ার কাছে
মর্গের ড্রয়ারে শুয়ে আছি — চিতাকাঠ শুয়ে আছে বৃক্ষের ভেতর
প্রেম নেই প্রসূতিসদনে নেই আসন্নপ্রসবা স্ত্রী
মর্গের ড্রয়ারে শুয়ে আছি
এ-ভাবেই রয়ে গেছি কেটে যায় দিন রাত বজ্রপাত অনাবৃষ্টি
কত বালিকার মসৃণ বুকে গজিয়ে উঠল মাংসঢিবি
কত কুমারীর গর্ভসঞ্চার গর্ভপাত — সত্যজিতের দেশ থেকে
লাভ ইন টোকিও চলে গ্যালো পূর্ব আফরিকায় — মার্কাস স্কোয়ারে
বঙ্গসংস্কৃতি ভারতসার্কাস রবীন্দ্রসদনে কবিসন্মিলন আর
বৈজয়ন্তীমালার নাচ হল — আমার ত হল না কিছু
কোনো উত্তরণ অবনতি কোনো
গণিকার বাথরুম থেকে প্রেমিকার বিছানার দিকে
আমার অনায়াস গতায়াত শেষ হয় নাই — আকাশগর্ভ
থেকে তাই ঝরে পড়ে নক্ষত্রের ছাই পৃথিবীর বুকের ওপর
তবু মর্গের ড্রয়ারে শুয়ে আছি এবং মৃতদেহ আমার জ্যান্ত শরীর নিয়ে
চলে গ্যাছে তার শাঁখাভাঙা বিধবার ঋতুরক্ত ন্যাকড়ার কাছে
প্রজাপতির চিত্রল ডানা দেখে বিরহ থেকে বিবাহের দিকে চলে যায় মানুষেরা
আমি এক সৌন্দর্য রাক্ষস ভেঙে দিয়েছি প্রজাপতির গন্ধসন্ধানী শুঁড়
রেটিং করুন
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Life
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Death Troupe
“That’s why I call you performers. Not actors—performers. Because when it’s time to prepare, you work out every nuance of a role. When it’s time to step in front of the crowd, you reach out and pull them in with both hands. When it’s time to say your lines, you deliver them with skill and meaning.
That’s performance. And there’s nothing phony about that. There’s nothing pretend about that. There’s no acting that will take the place of that.”
Inspiration
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Acting
Directing
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Opening Night
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