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Modern Romanticism

The aspect of romance, divided between the heartening and the thoughtful.

Excerpt from a Novel – The Devorah of Reims – “Theater of Nihilism”

May 4, 2019
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When the orchestra screams its breathtaking tunes, Devorah at last makes her appearance, appearing somewhat like a harlot, with certain eyes beyond the veil; certain eyes that show the longing that originates from ignorance; certain eyes that will have a stare originating from ignorance, for we have said that ignorance is like a blank slate, or rather, is a blank slate. Devorah could be painted any color.

Her virginity is no testament to that fact, though to what she has donned for this occasion, is about as agonizing to Bertrand, as it is inspiring to Antoine.

Bertrand’s face shows the pain of many long years spent with such a woman, to then be cast aside as if it revealed nothingness.

Antoine’s face is Bertrand’s opposite. He experiences newness, alike to his own chastity that has fountained up from a groin to his heart and stays there to bury itself. A newness that says to the self, “I am no god, though for the loins that scatter petals, or perhaps fig leaves, I am destined to capture an eternity in these arms.” That is, newness expresses anything, fit for corruption or fit for continued purity.

Original sin, as it is called, is the idea by which a human will continually create, and from that creation, bares the weight of consequence.

Mother Mary; oh, Mother Mary! You are the woman, of all women, who holds these consequences shared with you, like the briars on your son’s head. Thorns that show radiance in blood and reveal its meaning for each sin that he died for, so that Mankind would remain selfish. Has it been for nothing?

When Devorah parts her set of pearly lips, she reveals words to the world that could have only been written with a one of insight. An insight into a world of cruelty, so obvious to the viewing person, and yet not so very obvious to a one who lives in bliss.

She says, “Why has it comes to pass that my world has fallen into a void? That void, being, my heart; because, as it seems to me, this world is no more the void than my own heart. It has leaves. It has petals. It has green and olive and red. And yet, it is nothing to me. It is nothing for my mind, and everything to my heart.”

A shred of Nihilism, broken down in the words of a woman with loneliness beside her as her nearest friend. Nihilism is the philosophy, the petty philosophy, that reminds us of the way of the pauper; showing a world that there is nothing in godhood, and everything in those deemed as lesser.

Sickness and loveliness, in today’s time, clash together, like a web of conundrum, and make the prettiness of a world, a lessened scope of things. Anguish, in this regard, becomes everyone’s motive, and to feed the world’s hunger, is now a testimony of character.

For as we’ve said, there is nothing worth more the fight than freedom.

Life is a curse. Death is a blessing.

Devorah’s appearance is as exquisite as anyone can make of a seventeen-year-old girl, whose face has not yet reached the maturity of a stilled womanhood. A captured beauty, that would be womanhood, not in every movement to each motion of a finger.

She shows off the trails of oaken-colored tresses that fall and linger on her shoulders; shoulders, that are also bared to the day’s wind, reveal a sheen from the sweat that leaks from her pores. Temptation is breathed down every doorway of her heart, and we look to her lips. These lips are shown, in the syllables spoken, when she says, “What have I loved, besides the dealings of death shown unto me, and never the fossils of life? I have no memories in whatever life I behold for myself. I am only sickness, fashioned in the very garbs of a pauper throughout her denial of life,” and these lips are all too friendly with these emotions of pain, exhibited in her streaming face.

Tears begin to fall, and they fall as the longest rivers. They fall evermore further than the Nile would flow north to meet the lips of the earth. It does not fall south, the Nile river, though these tears from Devorah fall south towards her feet. And such feet that are bared to the prying eyes from the audience. Her lips tremble, in the ruby-red coloring they are shown as, while her eyes reveal the shimmers of an ocean’s surface, when the sun declines its rays into the waters to penetrate the ripples.

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