| in which Tiresias ponders. |
[25 Nov 2009|03:39pm] |
( private. )
[Oliver]
I'm given to understand that there is a holiday of some importance upon us. Do you and your dear ones have any plans for it?
[/Oliver]
Complete the sentence, and be creative: "The best part about this long weekend is _______."
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| package delivered to Oliver Lee. |
[14 Nov 2009|04:50pm] |
A copy of Help Me, I'm Depressed: How to Effectively Help Your Family Members, Friends, and Colleagues Dealing With Depression.
And an attached note:
Seed of Polyphides,
I've not had the opportunity to hear an audio version of the text, but my dear companion, Yelena, has assured me that it is well-written and will be of some use to you in helping care for your brother's Patroclus.
As Icarus, stay to the middle way. Overbear too much and you risk making them restless or turning them against you; they may resent it if you push too hard, even though your intentions will be pure. Moreover, you will all too likely neglect yourself and while the gesture is quite moving, they need you here, and whole, and they need you well. On the other hand, you cannot simply leave them to their own devices. Do too little, and they may conclude that you don't care, and that would be even more toxic to your endeavors than making them resent you.
Exercise care, and caution. Take care of yourself as well. When you feel as if the world is crashing down, stop what you're doing. Breathe deeply and focus only on your breath. Read the book. Take heed, be patient, and all will work out as it is meant to.
Yours,
Tiresias.
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| in which Tiresias is stuck in his ways. |
[13 Nov 2009|08:02pm] |
Interesting.
So, what am I meant to do with this, Yelena? I speak and it -- I do not need it to transcribe for me. I am blind, I do not have broken hands. The layout of these things is overly simplistic, to begin with, why on Earth did you invest the time and money in purchasing and installing this gods-forsaken, nonsensical audio-transcribing device? Yelena, it is taking down everything I say, disconnect it, please.
There. Much better. You are reading over my shoulder, Yelena, and for point of fact, I do not appreciate it. I'm beginning to wonder if you were not born of the House of Laius.
Fascinating as some of these devices are, there are limits to how much modernism one can tolerate. Besides that, blindness is easily overcome with certain other abilities. Mine, for example.
Well, hello.
[private to Odysseus, son of Laertes, sacker of cities, who made his home in Ithaca]
I believe that the two of us need to have words.
You are not in any kind of trouble, and I am not seeking anything unfriendly.
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| profile! |
[10 Nov 2009|12:24am] |
I Tiresias, though blind, throbbing between two lives,
Old man with wrinkled female breasts, can see
At the violet hour, the evening hour that strives
Homeward, and brings the sailor home from sea,
The typist home at teatime, clears her breakfast, lights
Her stove, and lays out food in tins.
Out of the window perilously spread
Her drying combinations touched by the sun's last rays,
On the divan are piled (at night her bed)
Stockings, slippers, camisoles, and stays.
I Tiresias, old man with wrinkled dugs
Perceived the scene, and foretold the rest—
I too awaited the expected guest.
( Read more... )
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