There are times we can feel betrayed by the rational actions of a loved one. We all act in a manner of self-preservation, after all. It is hard to despise decisions which are made in best intentions to the self. We can, however, be hurt. There may even be a good reason for such a thing. We can be confused, and we may not have the answers soon, if ever.
There is care one must put into one’s life. Steps we must take, obstacles we must cross. There is care we should put into the lives of others. That care, sometimes, requires us to hurt. True love means sacrifice, after all.
One should not ponder far too hard of the intricacies of another’s soul, however. Put trust into their betrayal. In many cases there is only ache to be found.
People are not a puzzle to be solved, but a forest to be left to its own devices.
Art of London
The Deal Made On A Comet
By Sir Wensleydale of Hardwick
Submitted close to 27th of July
The complex was alive with chit-chatter. The clocks began to ring. Odin… Dva… Tri… Chetyre… Pyať… Shesť… Sem’.
The doors opened. The President walked out of them. He overlooked the river that continued past the Kremlin. The ripples succeeded each other.
Dvenadtsať. An old woman gingerly entered the hall. She spoke, with a voice clearer than should be, and an accent that no-one else possessed.
“Whom did you love?”
“My daughter. Olga.”
“I loved my fianceé. He’d got bit by a snake, and this wonderful man- his name was Syd Alshumue. He offered to save my bethroted’s life. Actually, it offered anything, just for the city. I accepted his bargain. Much, much later, (though it felt like a couple of years to me), this merchant was murdered in such a despicable manner.”
“Similar situation with my daughter. She was my firstborn. When the revolutionaries began to riot, they threatened to shoot her if I did not back down. A man by the name of Gospodin Stranitsy offered to protect her, at the price of the city. …he gave his word, but unsuccessfully. She was killed eight years after the bargain.”
“And how did you feel?”
“Frightened. Confused. Doomed. But mostly, I felt a primaeval rage. When my fifth-born, Alexei, was acting up again, I killed him. Not out of a personal rage for him, but out of an anger and a hunger to avenge her.”
“That’s the thing about these merchants. In their intrigues, in their deepest matters… look to love. Always.”
Odin Kormovy, the clock struck. The woman left, leaving the czar alone. The river rippled. Perhaps, when Halley’s Comet came again, the pain would be over. Perhaps he would live to see the day it did. The woman, he saw, was tired. Tired of the pain, of the Neath. But lastly, tired of life, and it’s miseries.
Then he remembered. There had been inhabitants of the Neath a’fore he. Paris had become Moscow. The adobe labourers. London as well. Karakorum. Hopelchen. Amarna. Another city. But most of all, these Maîtres du bazar. They had been there. They had seen the suffering, the grief, and the torture. And what had they done?
“…look to love.”
And with that, his business continued.
News of Art, Art of News
Summer’s Heatwave Comes – Londoners Not Safe From Collapsing Even In The Neath!
It is a great shock to us to see the seemingly impossible come true – the yearly summer heatwave of England had reached even the Neath! In a span of just a few days, the temperatures have gone from mild, to only bearable, to rather uncomfortable. There were even several corset-clad gentlepersons who could not withstand this sudden shift, and have collapsed on the very streets of London (or, in some cases, coffee shops, art shops, and so forth)!
The origin of this heat is, so far, unknown. Leading theories propose Mr Fires’s meddling with the furnaces, or perhaps the Devils truly bringing Hell forth. Either way, we advise you hide in a gentle breeze or sip a refreshing glass of cold milk as we await for the heatwave to pass.
Stay cool, London!
Ask Mother Goose
Dear Mother Goose,
Fun, fun, fun, fun, fun! How to have such, all the time?
Why, that is a solidly good question. Perhaps, engagement.