Porphyria's Lover

Robert Browning

The rain set early in to-night,
The sullen wind was soon awake,
It tore the elm-tops down for spite,
And did its worst to vex the lake:
I listened with heart fit to break.
When glided in Porphyria; straight
She shut the cold out and the storm,
And kneeled and made the cheerless grate
Blaze up, and all the cottage warm;
Which done, she rose, and from her form
Withdrew the dripping cloak and shawl,
And laid her soiled gloves by, untied
Her hat and let the damp hair fall,
And, last, she sat down by my side
And called me. When no voice replied,
She put my arm about her waist,
And made her smooth white shoulder bare
And all her yellow hair displaced,
And, stooping, made my cheek lie there,
And spread, o’er all, her yellow hair,
Murmuring how she loved me – she
Too weak, for all her heart’s endeavour,
To set its struggling passion free
From pride, and vainer ties dissever,
And give herself to me forever.
But passion sometimes would prevail,
Nor could to-night’s gay feast restrain
A sudden thought of one so pale
For love of her, and all in vain:
So, she was come through wind and rain
Be sure I looked up at her eyes
Happy and proud; at last I knew
Porphyria worshiped me; surprise
Made my heart swell, and still it grew
While I debated what to do.
That moment she was mine, mine, fair,
Perfectly pure and good: I found
A thing to do, and all her hair
In one long yellow string I wound
Three times her little throat around,
And strangled her. No pain felt she;
I am quite sure she felt no pain.
As a shut bud that holds a bee,
I warily oped her lids: again
Laughed the blue eyes without a stain.
And I untightened next the tress
About her neck; her cheek once more
Blushed bright beneath my burning kiss:
I propped her head up as before,
Only, this time my shoulder bore
Her head, which droops upon it still:
The smiling rosy little head,
So glad it has its utmost will,
That all it scorned at once is fled,
And I, its love, am gained instead!
Porphyria’s love: she guessed not how
Her darling one wish would be heard.
And thus we sit together now,
And all night long we have not stirred,
And yet God has not said a word!

(no subject)

I just thought of a problem with lots of Holmes adaptations that also explains why the Granada ones are awesome.

People want the main characters of a show to be the people things happen to. They want the show to be all about the characters and the people they know and their enemies and so on.

Sherlock Holmes is not this kind of a story. Holmes is almost never personally involved in his cases. Someone else shows up and asks him for help.

Holmes and Watson have their own lives and emotions and experiences, but they aren’t focused entirely around crime. We mostly see the crime, because the assumption is that that’s what’s interesting, [this is an important book because it deals with war. this is an insignificant book because it deals with the feelings of women in a drawing room.] but the rest is there.

The crimes do not affect them personally. They may be in danger for their lives, but it is always on behalf of someone else. Even in The Empty House, where it could easily have been all about this man who wants to kill Holmes, it isn’t. Holmes is after the murderer of Ronald Adair. He uses the other man’s vendetta to bait him, but he doesn’t seem to have much of one himself.

This is the problem with focusing so hard on Moriarty (and one of the many problems with focusing on Irene Adler) and Holmes: it makes the story about Holmes fighting Moriarty rather than Holmes fighting crime. Holmes needs to be on the side of justice, and taking down Moriarty is because of that position, rather than because of anything personal.

But if you don’t start out with “Holmes solves crimes for other people because he loves justice” as a premise, you can end up with Holmes running randomly around London after Moriarty, because he hates Moriarty personally. Or because Moriarty’s *challenging* him and he *loves* challenges. Not to name any names, Moffat.

Things don’t happen to Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock Holmes happens to them. And then he goes home and plays the violin and thinks about something else, or the next case, or bees.

#three stories about moriarty and one about adler and this is what everyone chooses to focus on #episodic narratives are not necessarily bad #monster of the week #you can do all kinds of interesting things with h or w being kidnapped #but you shouldn't have to do that to make things interesting

Climbing!

So two years ago I could do a V2.

(Then I got an active job and had no free time and then shit happened and now I have lots of anxiety but also lots of free time.)

...and my brother texted me the other day saying "let's go climbing!" So we did.

Up, yay!




More pictures here.

(I cannot still do a V2. But I could feel things coming right back in bouldering problems.)