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Name:
Ylenia Gunnhildur Sigurardttir Manganelli
Birthdate:
17 March 1989
Location:
så jävla arg

I seldom flying children from towers to improve their health

By all rights, you ought to be in skirts and me in mail

let them hate so long as they fear

Axe-time, sword-time, shields are sundered,
Wind-time, wolf-time, ere the world falls;
Nor ever shall men each other spare

Sá hon valkyriur vítt of komnar, görvar at ríða til Goðþióðar.
Skuld helt skildi, en Skögul önnur, Gunnr, Hildr, Göndul
ok Geirskögul; nú eru talðar nönnur Herians, görvar at ríða grund valkyriur.



Now that the maiden and the man,
Isolt and Tristan,
both had shared of the drink,
she who disquiets every peace,
Passion, predator on every heart,
stole at once into theirs.
Hardly were they aware of it,
she raised her banner of victory
and drew them both into her sway.
Those who once were two and duple
now were one and unity.
Never more would they two
discord one with the other.
Isolt's antipathy was gone.
Passion, the conciliator,
had purified both their minds
of every disaffection
and so united them with love
that each before the other
was like a mirror clarified.
They two had but one heart—
her sorrow was his pain,
his pain was her sorrow.
Both accorded perfectly
in pleasure and in suffering,
yet each held in reserve
his and her own doubt and shame.
She felt shame, so did he.
She doubted him, as he did her.
However blind their hearts' desire
to their common purpose was,
still these first stirrings meant
an embarrassment to both
that concealed their longings from each other.


When Tristan felt the pangs of passion,
his first thought was for
his loyalty and honor,
and at once tried to retreat—
"No, no," he said to himself,
"not that, Tristan, get hold of yourself—
pay no attention to such thoughts."
And yet that's where his heart would go.
He fought against his own will,
desiring against his desire, 11750
striving forward and away.
The man, so entrapped,
struggled in his bondage
often and repeatedly
and kept it up with persistence.
As a man of loyalty,
two great concerns afflicted him.
He had but to see Isolt,
and at once sweet Passion
made use of her to sear
his whole heart and mind.
Yet when he thought of honor,
that distracted him once again.
But then Passion counterattacked,
his hereditary sovereign,
and to her he had to yield.
His loyalty and his honor
pressed him with their concerns,
but Passion pressed him even harder,
inflicting worse than woe—
she caused him more anguish
than loyalty and honor together.
His heart laughed at sight of Isolt,
and yet he looked away from her.
But when she was not in his sight,
that was his greatest distress.
Often he took firm resolve,
as does one who is imprisoned,
to find some way to escape,
conceiving one plan or another—
"Do something, whether this or that
to transform this longing.
Point your desires elsewhere!"
But the noose never slackened.
He searched within his heart and mind,
hoping to find some sign of change,
but there was nothing else in them
other than Isolt and Passion.


It was the same for Isolt.
She strove against a life
that had become unbearable.
When she recognized the trap
that spectral Passion had laid for her
and understood that her senses
were ensnared in it,
she sought a firmer foothold
by means of which to get free.
But the snare only tightened,
drawing her ever down and back.
The beauty fought against it all, 11800
resisting at every step,
following most unwillingly.
She strove this way and that,
twisting one way and another
with both her feet and her hands,
but succeeded only in tangling
both her hands and her feet
in the sweet entrapment
of the man and Passion.
Her senses thus so tightly bound
were unable to make any move,
cross any bridge, climb any stair,
not half a foot or half a step,
without bringing Passion with her.
Isolt might think what she would,
conceive whatever idea,
there was nothing to it except
Passion and Tristan,
which she carefully kept secret.
Then her heart and her eyes
began to work differently.
Modesty drove her glance away
while Passion attracted it.
This conflicting company,
maid and man, Passion and reserve,
distressed and confused her—
the maid desired the man
but kept her eyes off him.
Modesty longed for touch
but couldn't let that be known.
Where would it end? Modesty and maiden,
as all the world will tell you,
are very delicate things,
blooming only fleetingly
and enduring but a moment.


Isolt at last gave up the fight
and did what she had to do.
As the loser, she surrendered
her body and her mind
to the man and to Passion.
She stole glances in his direction
and secretly looked him over.
Now her clear eyes and senses
agreed well among themselves.
Both her heart and her eyes
sought their prey, the man,
stealthily and affectionately.
The man returned her scrutiny
with gentle invitation.
He, too, began his retreat, 11850
since Passion yielded him no option.
Man and maiden now provided
a feast for each other's eyes
at every hour of the day,
within the bounds of modesty.
To each of them, now in love,
each seemed finer than before.
This is love's law, desire's way,
still today, and has long been
and will be while desire reigns
among lovers everywhere,
that they grow more pleasing to each other
as love grows stronger between them,
with its blossoms and its fruits
in all their sweetness,
than at its first tender shoots.
Desire in its fruitfulness
ripens from its slender start.
This is the seed it bears
so that it never dies away.
It pleases now more than then.
Thus love grows lovelier than then.
If love remained the same as then,
It soon would die, both now as then.



Di quando gli Dei combatterono per il loro Popolo


Suonarono i corni del Valhalla,
come ampie muse di un Dio dimenticato,
e tu cantasti assieme agli inni della guerra,
assieme al martellare del Fabbro,
le parole dell'addio, di rune e di fiabe,
e con te presero vita i destrieri del cielo,
bianchi ed alati, con corna e possenti armature,
ed ancora il mondo tuonò, evocando il tuo nome,
e nella battaglia ti gettasti, rovesciando sui nemici con una spada d'avorio.

Tagliarono le lame le membra dei tuoi compagni,
e donne in coro nel sangue caddero,
e tu vedesti ogni cosa prima del tempo,
e ti armasti di Coraggio e di Ira,
ma fu proprio per questo che perdesti la ragione,
e di te fecero uno scudo contro le mura del Paese
e la magia dei secoli non esistè più in quel momento,
Balder moriva infatti, e con lui i cavalieri della Cittadella,
ti ferirono quindi, ma senza ucciderti.



Intervenì Tyr, signore delle guerre,
e placò il mare e le orde, con l'ultima delle sue grida,
trafitto da una freccia marchiata.
Pianse con la sua fine il Guardiano Heimdallr,
suonando la tromba della tremula via,
e con i suoi gesti non riuscì a sentire mai più il vento sull'erba,
poichè il Regno era assordato ed Asi e Vani mangiavano banchettando
sull'oro di leghe e oceani,
scese Odino con i fulmini della potenza e da esso le guerriere corsero in tua salvezza.

Un bacio ti concesse Freyr, risanandoti lo spirito ed il corpo
e grazie a lui la pelle ti venne placcata di argento,
e negli occhi avevi la speranza.
Corsi dunque contro la miriade dei nemici
uccidendo ed allontanando l'invasione,
eppure Loki ascoltava e nella sua ambiguità gemeva,
mandandoti i lupi del gelo e delle nevi,
all'oscuro dell'autorità di Frigg
Regina di tutti gli onnipotenti.



E sulle rive riuscisti a fuggire, incapace di proseguire,
al fianco del penultimo rimasto a guardare,
Padre delle navi, dei marinai.
Evoco per te i serpenti degli abissi, e su di loro ti fece salire
perchè le nubi non più erano parte del paese dei sovrani.
Nuotasti ed affondasti tra le schiume,
abbattendo le imbarcazioni della fede avversaria,
e nei tuoi lineamenti il metallo si corrodeva,
denudandoti della resistenza e della fiducia.

Un elmo infine ti comparve sul capo, di diamante e cobalto,
beneficio della bellezza e del sentimento di Freya.
Ti diede una carezza, elevandoti sopra gli altri.
Diventasti una Minore, la restante,
e come i tuoi fratelli senza una storia se non la vita.
Consumasti l'Eternità per un secondo,
tanto da non esserti apparso che un millennio,
e scesa dal piedistallo notasti le croci di una nuova credenza,
e le rughe ti comparvero, senza alcun frutto con cui poterle risanare.



L'elsa impugnasti con forza,
e su di essa richiamasti il respiro di chi non vi era,
e il sole finalmente tramontò anche per te,
figlia di nessuno, milite degli ignoti.
Il Ragnarok mai ammirasti, perchè avvenuto nella tua gloria,
i due Creatori perdesti nella testa,
e nel fuoco venisti scaraventata,
vecchia e moribonda in preda alle eresie,
sorridendo della morte prossima, confidando in Hel.

Una fitta, un male impossibile,
bruciasti come i tuoi stessi capelli, velocemente
e sotto la musica di un'epoca mai esistita
scivolasti nell'infinito buio con gli occhi chiusi
il sapore delle mele nella bocca
il ricordo dell'unione di mille entità.
E le labbra di lei ti bagnarono la pelle e gli arti menomati.
una rondine, un falco, e dai monti un cavallo con una ragazza.
il riflesso della tua memoria.

By Luca

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