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Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in Roz Kaveney's LiveJournal:

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    Tuesday, May 26th, 2015
    11:12 pm
    World Fantasy Award
    31st May is the closing date for nominations for the World Fantasy Award, If you are attending Saratoga Springs or were at Washington or Brighton, you are entitled to nominate.

    The more people nominate, the less chance there is of shenanigans. Just saying.

    Also, if you feel like giving one of those nominations to RESURRECTIONS Book Three of Rhapsody of Blood, well, I won't win, but if people notice the book they are more likely to read it.
    2:40 pm
    Sad news
    FOR TANITH

    Eyes blue as lapis, bright as chrysophase.
    Its flame-red feathers flicker as if flame
    bird keens high-flying, straining to proclaim.
    Mourning of course, but also passion praise.

    Black satin pillows for the Lord of Night
    that do not show the bloodstain of his tears.
    Who brooks no rule. This news a whiplash sears.
    if pain submission brought her back he might.

    And now his tale is done. And hers as well.
    So many books, dark, wry and with a twist
    Start to reread, go organize a list
    The titles blur. Her words like petals fell

    or snow. Made new and strange what lies below
    transforming every story that we know
    Friday, May 15th, 2015
    11:18 pm
    This is the big poem I didn't feel like posting until after the election
    WASTE
    for CB





    Dead buggered boy breath even if not true
    a rumour's potent threat, gossip goes round
    ties wrists. There is no air beneath the ground
    where buried bodies lie. To me and you
    word comes as fear. What might they do to us?
    Restraint unknown. Broken ungiven word
    story of death that may not have occurred.
    Tale forged forgotten without noise or fuss,
    each sin a chain of air that slowly binds
    like wicked brothers tied by deed and blood.
    They did the bad thing that they might do good
    scent of sweet rot infuses changes minds.
    Whispered betrayal poisons with a hiss
    constricts our acts in numb paralysis

    Libation blood soaks ground. Rare precious dirt
    its clot crumbs speak to wrap the world in noise.
    Red drip spoil mark stain rich neck's diamond poise.
    Mock her – your speaking shares you in the hurt
    done to the woman with the severed hand.
    Talk to your friend with crystals that you stole
    out of her earth. And back then she was whole.
    Man came with knife. It was just as he planned.
    Deplore their wars. And think your pale skin white
    Not innocence, but ash or leprosy
    Do it to Julia and not to me.
    Death tick we hear in watches of the night
    that stump drip. And we lie to get some sleep.
    We did not do it. Blood earth mud we weep.


    From the sky, falling, screaming. Dying. Fire
    that day. And ever since, blood-soaked excuse
    almost illegible. No win, all lose
    stakes of revenge chips piling ever higher.
    Eyes watching, everywhere is on a screen
    real turned to game. And he checks in each day
    presses a button when he's told to play
    no talk or dream of fire that he's seen
    He aimed. Fire fell. And so that one man dies
    name on a list, it flies small vicious bird
    bears fire. Might not be there, we only heard.
    A wedding or a village or a child fries.
    Fire is our fear and guilt, our fate, our shame.
    We live from fire. Fire kills in our shared name.

    We walked on cod shoals, but we ate them all.
    The rains don't come and then the rice crop fails.
    One voice another stilled, the song of whales.
    Embankments crumble, profit towers fall
    Gold church where money's Holiest of Writ
    And dying with no toys the only sin
    Tantalus thirst, it rises to our chin.
    Undrinkable from oil, gas, soot and shit.
    Lungs full we drown although our throat is dry
    Black water's dead; it has nor leaves no air
    Even the styx is dry. We need no fare
    Bright burning bluer than your eye last sky
    At dessicating lies we choose to wink
    Crucible chars our throats melts gold to drink

    What look like dunes are piled white dust of bones
    what glints is buttons, fillings from our teeth,
    the bullets used to kill us, and beneath
    the rotting plastic of our mobile phones.
    Elsewhere of course, just white. It looks like snow
    for they had nothing. And now lost their lives.
    One coughs, eight billion die, noone survives
    for long. And through our roads wild flowers grow.
    Silence at last. Before, a rushing crowd
    running and dying. Trample and fall down
    and trampled. Come to rivers, run in, drown,
    last song, last poem. Is our screams. Are loud.
    Deafen through steel walls the last rich man,
    scraping last caviar from his last can.
    Monday, May 11th, 2015
    12:28 am
    Sort of VE Day, sort of post election...
    MEMORIAL

    Stone brass that lasts, not blood or ash or bone
    The rain corrodes but not for many years.
    It's not the thing for which we shed our tears.
    The shot, the burned. It stands there on its own
    holding a place, reminder of the dead
    and what they fought for. But it's not their grave.
    They are elsewhere. Died old; died young; died brave
    storming a hill, a trench; or died in bed
    did not outlive their wounds. Grew old. Reward
    little enough. Rebuked for wanting more -
    Only from fear will rich men thank the poor-
    They die alone, in pain, in filth, ignored.
    Neglect, not paint on stone, will desecrate
    them, what they built. Fight now, soon is too late.
    Friday, May 8th, 2015
    3:24 pm
    Tuesday, May 5th, 2015
    11:00 pm
    Just one tonight
    CATULLUS 100

    Loving as brothers, as is only meet.

    one loves a boy twin, other loves the girl.

    Verona's small-town smart set in a whirl!

    Caelius and Quintus – they are both quite sweet.

    But if I had to choose, I won't be coy.

    Love scorched me, turned the marrow in each bone

    to wildfire. He was there. Caelius alone.

    I hope he's lucky. Hope he gets his boy.

    12:40 am
    No, one more and that's the 90s out of the way
    CATULLUS 98

    You snitch and stink. Your pompous lying tongue

    rots in your mouth. Find better use for it

    There's many arseholes you could cleanse of shit

    or lick a peasant's sandal free from dung.

    Is hate the one idea left in your head?

    Just yawn – the stench will leave us all for dead.

    12:02 am
    The last for tonight
    CATULLUS 96

    Perhaps salt tears taste sweet among the dead,

    grief sounds soft music in their silent land -

    So long since we were friends – I'll hold your hand.

    Share mourning, yearning. Loves the years have shed

    like leaves. She died so young, from Fate's harsh blow

    Weep, and you bring her joy. Mourn her – she'll know.

    Monday, May 4th, 2015
    11:26 pm
    Is this Cinna the poet that gets killed in Shakespeare?
    CATULLUS 95

    Nine years, dear Cinna, and it's worth the wait.

    Your tenants brought rich harvests in nine times.

    Nine winters froze. Yet 'Smyrna' isn't late...

    Hortensius wrote fifty thousand rhymes

    in those nine years. In far off years and climes

    they'll read you. While his work will dissipate

    forgotten; all those pages used to wrap

    cat litter, fish and chips. It's all such crap.

    10:51 pm
    On a roll with these
    CATULLUS 94

    Big Dick fucks. Fucks a lot. It's not a shock.

    His name has made him into one vast cock.

    Each spice you cook gives flavour to your wok.

    10:35 pm
    Oh, and one for election week
    CATULLUS 93

    You're no one up to whom I care to suck.

    Caesar – good man or bad? Don't give a fuck.

    10:29 pm
    I've let this go for a week or so
    CATULLUS 92

    Lesbia can't shut up. I am so vile,

    she says. I guess that means she loves me still.

    And so I go on living. All this while

    I love her and aloud I wish her ill.

    That's how it works, will work until our death.

    We love, but curse each other with each breath.

    Friday, April 24th, 2015
    9:34 pm
    And this one is sort of the punchline for these incest poems
    CATULLUS 91

    I really was an idiot to trust

    someone I know to be obsessed with sin

    around my love. I thought, she's not his kin

    and so she's not a target for his lust.

    I'm mad for love of her, that's my excuse.

    So mad I somehow thought that she'd be safe

    forgot he's one whom all restrictions chafe

    thought he was bound by friendship who's so loose

    Normal considerations don't apply.

    I burn for her with such intense desire

    my common sense consumed in raging fire

    He reassured me, did not even lie.

    'I love her like a sister'. Should have known

    that meant she's on his list of girls to bone.

    5:35 pm
    Even more incest
    CATULLUS 90

    They're always at it, Gellius and his mum.

    So let some magus from their fucking come,

    redeem their sin. It's awful if it's true

    but that is what they say the Persians do

    to make the priests who hymn the sacred flame.

    And get away with incest with no shame.

    Their child will sacrifice to Jove each day

    gut fat that like their guilt just melts away.

    Thursday, April 23rd, 2015
    11:08 pm
    This seems to be an incest cycle
    CATULLUS 89

    He's so much slighter than you'd ever guess.

    Why not? His mum's the apple of his eye

    Such healthy lives – she never bakes a pie

    Too fattening. His sister's more or less

    a health freak too. The uncle's really fit.

    Works out a lot, though never at the gym,

    and mostly it's the weight that presses him.

    So nice to see a family closely knit.

    Third cousins, nieces, the adopted brat

    grandma acquired while on a trip to France

    Half-naked nephews wrestling half-dressed aunts

    This fitness kick is rather more than that.

    Incest's the vice that really keeps them thin.

    They've lost the taste for anything but sin.

    10:32 pm
    Oh Gaius, Gaius
    CATULLUS 88

    He thrusts astride them, dinner through to dawn

    mother and sisters, and he makes them lick

    his large excessively incestuous dick,

    their clothes ripped off and all the bedsheets torn.

    Of course it's not just after them he pants.

    He pulled his uncle from a bridal bed

    He slapped him silly and then gave him head,

    fucked second cousins and three maiden aunts.

    There's no forgiveness he could ever get.

    Not Oceanus the ruler of seas all

    nor Tethys with her world-edge water fall

    could wash him clean or even make him wet.

    He's practising a swivel of the hips

    to get a blow job from his own sweet lips.

    Wednesday, April 22nd, 2015
    11:27 pm
    I've been trying to get this one for days
    CATULLUS 111

    Aufillena, the best thing for a wife

    is - love her husband truly all her life.

    Or maybe simply put herself about

    for some have morals, some make do without.

    To fuck your uncle – low as you can go!

    Your son's the only cousin that you know.

    11:07 pm
    Tonight's instalment
    CATULLUS 104

    How can I curse my love, the one I prize

    above all else, dearer than my own eyes?

    One harsh vile word ? one syllable thereof?

    I can't; I am so deeply lost in love.

    But you'll say what you want to put her down

    snarl like a monster, giggle like a clown.

    Tuesday, April 21st, 2015
    11:17 pm
    And another
    CATULLUS 103

    You've got ten thousand pounds I paid in fees.

    Now pay it back, Or mind your manners, please.

    Be loud and rude, but at your own expense,

    I hired you – and your manners cause offense

    which, in your line of work, makes little sense.

    I don't care if this makes me look a wimp.

    I pay for better manners from a pimp

    10:44 pm
    Just so you don't think I've forgotten all this...
    CATULLUS 106

    That pretty boy now dates an auctioneer.
    His price went up. To me, he's always dear.
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