Alphabet Meme: Answers from A - D
Jun. 15th, 2008 11:55 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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askeladden
Asafoetida is called hing in Bengali. It comes in brown salts, or crystals. I remember reading about children carrying asafoetida bags to prevent illness in the early 20th century like camphor or garlic without ever associating it with that horrible, pungent smell that my mother would use, sparingly because I hated the smell of it cooking so terribly much. My parents loved it. I can't understand how anyone could - it hangs in the air for hours post use, like the sulphuric afterprint of demonic presence - stinging and sharp. If I were a germ, I'd have stayed away too.
fromaustenheroin
bailiwick. Even though I know what it means, it sounds like it should be the name of an innkeeper straight out of Dickens, jolly and stout. "Yes, my good Bailiwick, be a good fellow and send up the Port!" Or perhaps the proprietor of a candle shop. A chandler, if you will. But I stray from the purpose. I think more than anything, growing up, I wanted to find my own proper sphere - somewhere to belong, where I'd have jurisdiction and belonging. I didn't care how big or small - just some territory marked out as mine. Preferably coming with a certificate of authority. Haven't found it yet though. Maybe it got lost in the mail.
fromaustenheroin
caesura.
while i own no air || i am a breath
and i am an end || though not a death
i have a sea || but am never wet
it should be hard || but is soft instead.
fromfaris_nallaneen
damnation. Why is it so attractive? They always seem to be having more fun in Hell. Not perhaps in the pit of fire, but the whited sepulchres - beautiful on the outside and inside full of DEATH. What could be hotter? And Satan and Lucifer and Azrael, with their glamourous and pleasantly chic black wings (white wings are so before the Fall), drinking tea and brimstone while gossiping scurrilously about Angelic Affairs. I have, as perhaps you can see, a very odd relationship with Christian mythology.
askeladdenAsafoetida is called hing in Bengali. It comes in brown salts, or crystals. I remember reading about children carrying asafoetida bags to prevent illness in the early 20th century like camphor or garlic without ever associating it with that horrible, pungent smell that my mother would use, sparingly because I hated the smell of it cooking so terribly much. My parents loved it. I can't understand how anyone could - it hangs in the air for hours post use, like the sulphuric afterprint of demonic presence - stinging and sharp. If I were a germ, I'd have stayed away too.
from
austenheroinbailiwick. Even though I know what it means, it sounds like it should be the name of an innkeeper straight out of Dickens, jolly and stout. "Yes, my good Bailiwick, be a good fellow and send up the Port!" Or perhaps the proprietor of a candle shop. A chandler, if you will. But I stray from the purpose. I think more than anything, growing up, I wanted to find my own proper sphere - somewhere to belong, where I'd have jurisdiction and belonging. I didn't care how big or small - just some territory marked out as mine. Preferably coming with a certificate of authority. Haven't found it yet though. Maybe it got lost in the mail.
from
austenheroincaesura.
while i own no air || i am a breath
and i am an end || though not a death
i have a sea || but am never wet
it should be hard || but is soft instead.
from
faris_nallaneendamnation. Why is it so attractive? They always seem to be having more fun in Hell. Not perhaps in the pit of fire, but the whited sepulchres - beautiful on the outside and inside full of DEATH. What could be hotter? And Satan and Lucifer and Azrael, with their glamourous and pleasantly chic black wings (white wings are so before the Fall), drinking tea and brimstone while gossiping scurrilously about Angelic Affairs. I have, as perhaps you can see, a very odd relationship with Christian mythology.