OU Mythology and Folklore Fall 2018 - Daegan Layman

I’m not going to start with sorry. You know as well as I do that under pressure, even the most robust systems are bound to cave in. Like a paper house lit aflame, I became prone to slowly turn and crumble to ash    As the smoke overwhelmed even the most basic of senses. I am not afraid to talk about it now  I no longer writhe in the burning that coerced me to relieve your autonomy. I cannot fathom the end of you. And even now, when you beat with irregularities, Falter at the base lines and tremble with anxiety, The only concern I have is that of you. Do not falter for me, my beauteous sustainer. I only wish for you solace within my inner-most chambers. Flourish in the flow of connected, harmonious valves. 

She is wildfire, untamed A quiet spark, a whisper that reverberates through every bone in my body Lacing my thoughts and burning through every vein under skin touched She is the Arctic, countering the heat of the love ringing through these syllables With harmonious beauty, a moment of snow crystals gently caressing the air, Holding tight until they meet the ground in a gravitational kiss And melt away in the palm of the Earth's steady, beating heart Fire burning out of control in the Ice She is the moon and the night, A starry night whose sparkling smile shines in the dark that holds the world in tentative hands The galaxies yearn for the touch of her lips to their lonely cheeks She is the Sun and the light, Teasing the horizon with playful kisses of blinding passion Rippling through the atmosphere, a ferocity with teeth of its own A loud roar, a thunder, that passes through my arteries and leaves me trembling ...

There are withered tree limbs that have whittled winding abysses beneath my eyes As if my own sprawling, calloused fingers act as executioner’s horses, Tied and tugging painfully throughout twitching nights In vivacious condemnation of occipital prisons, Begging for the lakes to spill out as grey sea that paints walls in pulsating diamonds Tranquility crystallized in moments that plead to be seen.  

Author's Note: I wrote this story last semester after reading the acclaimed philosopher Simone de Beauvoir's Second Sex . The characters are based on Simone and her partner, Existentialist philosopher Jean-Paul Sartre. There is a message in mind here in line with some of the ideas that permeate Second Sex , but more than anything I just wanted to write. This is not for Mythology and Folklore, so if you're taking the time to read it anyway, I appreciate it and welcome any feedback! “Making itself intelligible is suicide for philosophy” - Heidegger Shivering, Simone limped out of bed in the nascent morning to shut the window, marring her fingertips with cigarette ash that had collected on the sill. She hesitated for a moment, staring longingly at the crumpled sheets adorning the mattress before picking up a loosely bound notebook and slipping on shoes. “Sweetheart, what are you doing up this early?”             Jean had sat u...