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I wanted so much to love you
To hear your voice lullabying me to sleep
To tattoo your words across my ribs
To breathe easier knowing that you existed in the world
And be content
i went out to lie on the grass
tired of stone cities with their marble and smooth polish
tired of being
of thinking and not sleeping
and not able to see all the stars
the author is dead—thank God—
for she was not so good.
she was—they say—a product of her times,
a cold brief hand that went tick-tick-tick
as the hard metal gears bade her.
inexorable.
but that is no Excuse
for humanity (not for us).
The lord did away with the jury,
on the sea’s edge with saltwater trust.
The townsfolk welcomed his rulings,
for he claimed to be right and just.
He ruled that town with a fury,
with the rod and an iron-shod fist.
And never a soul did grieve him,
or deceive him.
For every man believed him
’till a rider came out of the mist.
So: Is it possible to portray fun action sequences and such without cheapening the value of human life?
Talking about the omnipresent phenomenon in fiction of having a huge spectacle of death and destruction at the hands of (or implicitly condoned by) the supposed heroes, framed in such a way the audience cheers for it, but the heroes have the audacity to moralize about the wrongness of killing only when it applies specifically to them and the people they personally know and care about.
PDF
[Excerpt from a work in progress]
A story, and how it was told:
When Khosi Stole the Moon,
An Aksayyadi fable, as passed down through the generations