AN ENIGMA GAVE A PARADOX A VERY SPECIAL HUG (melayneseahawk) wrote,
AN ENIGMA GAVE A PARADOX A VERY SPECIAL HUG
melayneseahawk

  • Mood:

Writing is just putting one word after another, but it's got to be the right word...

Insomnia, combined with odd reactions to this new medicine, is a bitch. The one good thing in the last few days is that I've been slowly but slowly adding to the stargate_summer draft, and I've worked out most of the problems I was having with the first book (of three). I still have no idea of the details of the second book, or anything about the third (beyond Here they come to save the day), but I'm trying not to panic.

I've been remiss about posting poetry this year, but since it's Shakespeare's birthday and all, I thought I'd post one of my favorite speeches, the prologue from Henry V:

O for a Muse of fire, that would ascend
The brightest heaven of invention,
A kingdom for a stage, princes to act
And monarchs to behold the swelling scene!
Then should the warlike Harry, like himself,
Assume the port of Mars; and at his heels,
Leash'd in like hounds, should famine, sword and fire
Crouch for employment. But pardon, and gentles all,
The flat unraised spirits that have dared
On this unworthy scaffold to bring forth
So great an object: can this cockpit hold
The vasty fields of France? or may we cram
Within this wooden O the very casques
That did affright the air at Agincourt?
O, pardon! since a crooked figure may
Attest in little place a million;
And let us, ciphers to this great accompt,
On your imaginary forces work.
Suppose within the girdle of these walls
Are now confined two mighty monarchies,
Whose high upreared and abutting fronts
The perilous narrow ocean parts asunder:
Piece out our imperfections with your thoughts;
Into a thousand parts divide on man,
And make imaginary puissance;
Think when we talk of horses, that you see them
Printing their proud hoofs i' the receiving earth;
For 'tis your thoughts that now must deck our kings,
Carry them here and there; jumping o'er times,
Turning the accomplishment of many years
Into an hour-glass: for the which supply,
Admit me Chorus to this history;
Who prologue-like your humble patience pray,
Gently to hear, kindly to judge, our play.
Tags: poetry, theatre, writing, writing - summer of stargate
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