Also This Is Definitely More A Matter Of Manuscript Wear & Scanning Than Intent But I'm Obsessed With

also this is definitely more a matter of manuscript wear & scanning than intent but I'm obsessed with this illustration of lavinia's hair catching fire. the way you can barely see her face. the way the text from the other page is showing through. it's literally so haunting

i'm literally the priest's favorite sacrificial lamb because i am so docile and sweet and i hold very still when they put the rope around my neck and i trot along so happily while they lead me to the altar and they do not even have to tie me down because i lie so very still and only bleat once or twice in my lovely lamb voice and when the knife comes down it cuts through me like butter and i offer no resistance and i bleed so prettily all over my new white wool and my guts all unspool like the most beautiful shining yarn and my eyes are animal and dumb and hold no accusation and every time i die i come right back as another little lamb because the priest loves me so so much and he always chooses me for the sacrifice every time and he always places one hand on my small and twitching nose to calm me while he lifts the knife and he doesn't do it for the other lambs only me because i'm his favorite

Arild Rosenkrantz (1870 - 1964) 

“The Alter of the Soul”, 1870

In his autobiography “Mein Leben” (1937), the Kazakhian akyn Dzhambul described the requirements for the traditional nomadic bard: He had to know all the tribes and families, all the tribal elders, all place-names and events. He had to be thoroughly familiar with all the questions of the time. Ready wit and resource, the ability to give quick answers—these were accomplishments without which the akyn found no popular esteem. Further, he must have sang-froid. Even when he was jeered at and when mockery was heaped upon him he must always remain calm. He might not, moreover, intoxicate himself with others’ melodies, he must have a voice of his own, and must ‘measure the earth with his own ell.’ His every word must hit the mark like a dagger thrust. Nor might he feign emotion that he did not feel; he must take the words from his heart as water is taken from the source.

Edward Hirsch. A Poet's Glossary.

Franz Ludwig Catel - Monks in the yard of a monastery by the sea (1856)

wait obsessed with the "wrong" choices