kerkevik_2014: (Queer Trek)
Live Rewatch begins at 8 PM EST (that's 1 AM to me in the UK). Come join us http://www.chatzy.com/ds9rewatch for silliness and discussion!

Another classic this week; very unlikely I'll be able to make it myself, but go along and support if you can.

http://ds9-rewatch.livejournal.com/319560.html
https://ds9rewatch.tumblr.com/post/159632676091/live-rewatch-5x22-children-of-time

kerk
kerkevik_2014: (Default)
 
   It's hard to find the words to describe the sense of grief that is creeping over me; from reading some of the comments in my earliest posts by people who've gone in real life (R.I.P. [livejournal.com profile] woman_of_ ) to comments obviously deleted their lj's in the past couple of days; comments lost now so that I only have my half of the conversation left. I feel real loss most when the comments are about fics or in response to a birthday wish, or some personal post. 

   I can't believe that I can feel that much pain about something that often seems so ephemeral, but I feel like I'm torturing myself; wondering whether it's worth saving anything. I mean all that wondrous material lost when the willtara yahoo group disappeared; all those wonderful early fan sites gone. 

  It feels so pointless, yet I cannot stop because Right Now? It feels like all that's keeping me going. 

  I cannot even find the desire to write. I want to. I still need to. I am writing. But I always stop at some point, and it seems like I know I'm not going to finish it. 

  So why I posted this... 


   GRIEF
   BY ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING 
  I tell you, hopeless grief is passionless; 
  That only men incredulous of despair, 
  Half-taught in anguish, through the midnight air 
  Beat upward to God’s throne in loud access 
  Of shrieking and reproach. Full desertness, 
  In souls as countries, lieth silent-bare 
  Under the blanching, vertical eye-glare 
  Of the absolute heavens. Deep-hearted man, express 
  Grief for thy dead in silence like to death— 
  Most like a monumental statue set 
  In everlasting watch and moveless woe 
  Till itself crumble to the dust beneath. 
  Touch it; the marble eyelids are not wet: 
  If it could weep, it could arise and go. 
  

  

  Goddess preserve, 

  

  Kerk Hiraeth 


kerkevik_2014: (Default)
 
  ds9-rewatch.livejournal.com/318215.html 

  Live rewatch begins at 8 PM EST (that's 1 AM to me in the UK). Come join us for silliness and discussion! 

 kerk
kerkevik_2014: (Default)
 
  Not new, but this struck me as soon as I saw it in a new way. The first Captain of my first Fandom is gone. There with him go all illusions of a rebirth of Blake's 7; never real, I thought, but apparently there all the same. 

  What will it be like when William Shatner goes to the great holodeck in the sky? 

  And there is a parallel, because I never really liked Blake; just as I never really liked Kirk. This it seems makes little difference. 



  O CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN! (From Memories of President Lincoln) 

O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won,
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;
   But O heart! heart! heart!
     O the bleeding drops of red,
       Where on the deck my Captain lies,
         Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths—for you the shores 
a-crowding,
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
   Here Captain! dear father!
     This arm beneath your head!
       It is some dream that on the deck,
         You've fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still,
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will,
The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done,
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;
   Exult O shores, and ring O bells!
     But I with mournful tread,
       Walk the deck my Captain lies,
         Fallen cold and dead. 


   And here is the complete poem from Leaves of Grass http://www.whitmanarchive.org/published/LG/1891/poems/192 




   Goddess watch over us all, 

   

   Kerk TehKek

kerkevik_2014: (Default)
 It occured to me today that the genre proudly known as slash fiction must be approaching it's SAGAhood, as in it will be fifty years old in the next couple of years.

Last year I saw someone talking about slash fiction being about two decades old. I restrained myself from replying; imagining the sage individuals who wrote those first K/S fics planning some suitable rewenges of their own when word filtered to them.

Do we have any dates for the first zines? I imagine the first story was never published, but wouldn't oit be wonderful to fond that piece of history?

Mostly I write the version called femslash, rather than m/m slash which the original is sometimes referred to these days; genfic, or het-fic (I'm old and get confused).

Let's come out of the closet and show the youngsters they didn't invent smut!


Goddess watch over us all, 

kerk tehkek

kerkevik_2014: (Default)
Connected to Dawn's scenes in The Body; especially at the school.

Also any, and all, Who companions from the original show.

Any help considered :-)

kerk
kerkevik_2014: (Default)
Now I know not what The Mentalist is; except that it is a TV show, but a fellow fan is looking for help.

http://ruuger.dreamwidth.org/996297.html

Go help [personal profile] ruuger with her cause.

Mind you I also have to ask, and the problem with being a sad weirdo is..?

Anyway, go assist if you can.

kerk
kerkevik_2014: (Default)
Hi,

here is the second in what, I hope, will be a year-long series; starting last night with this poem - http://kerkevik-2014.livejournal.com/14145.html - to bridge the gap between the yearly US National Poetry Months.

This I found in a 2013 collection; edited by Hamish Whyte, called Scottish Cats.

Little Drama by Gerry Cambridge (born 1959)

A bonny night. I step outside ande gaze,
Head back in autumn dark, up into space,
Where stars between the clouds burn with quiet praise,
And think for whatever reason of your face.

Fine thoughts beneath those glittering Pleiades.
Regrets. Goodbyes. The largeness of the night
Summons easy nostalgia for futilities,
Free from the searching glare of window light.

But what's this, suddenly, about my feet,
Rubbing at my ankles? It's the old, black fat tom
Unusually affectionate, startling from
Revery, ragged-eared, with his small thunder.
Is it mere love, or food he wants, I wonder?
His presence somehow makes the night complete.


This one goes out to all shippers, but mostly to that original 'ship Kirk/Spock and the longest lasting Buffyverse 'ship; known as bangel, or Buffy/Angel. Never really liked Kirk or Angel; never got why Angel was so attractive as a partner for Buffy (nor Spike did I really get; despite liking Spike a whole lot more), but the longevity of these partnerships in fandom are undoubtedly part of why the shows were such successes.


Goddess watch over us all,
'tis ok to be Takei,
Ray.

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