I was very impressed by the: I was very impressed by the sly and measured build-up complete with an atmosphere of menacingly idyllic beauty and calm. Right there you shrewdly hint that something is weighing heavily upon the pretender, upon the "halcyon tranquility" that surrounds him. The clues are so subtle yet significant that they become alarming, pulse-pounding, mystifying in the best way.
What narrative prowess. Amazing!
Then I was hooked completely when some startling backstory about the setting as well as some unsettling personality traits of the turbulent denier of his nature were revealed. Your unique talent truly shines in your intense focus on symbolic and emotive details that explore the minds and hearts of characters who are never cardboard cutouts, but often multidimensional. Details such as those volatile grains of sand on the socks . . . almost, not quite, in the water.
An eruption of psychological trauma with a cautionary note.
Wow! Just amazing.
I agree. I like the Russian: I agree. I like the Russian Orthodox concept of the holy fool---it can be extreme (and, when abused, results in freaks like Rasputin). but it also gives a purpose to our foibles and failures. At this late stage of my life, that is a comfort to me.
We are all (myself included): We are all (myself included) subject to human folly. That makes fools of all of us. But fools often dance deliriously like whirling dervishes uncertain but hopeful of finding some pittance of enlightenment--or some such tomfoolery.
Mine was the opposite: Mine was the opposite problem: my mother suspected I would try to linger in my parents' home well after I was able to become self-supporting.
I should like to think I am: I should like to think I am not a fool (although I know some might dispute this), but this is Poetry, you are writing. Its authenticity is obvious, and no deceit enters into the designation.
To the best of my knowledge,: To the best of my knowledge, Eliot did not use drugs. He did drink, sometimes heavily, although my impression was that he got that under control by 1927 when he entered the Church of England. His first wife, Vivienne, became addicted to opium due to mis-diagnosis of her medical conditions.
Because so many decades have passed since my formal study of Eliot, and because there is far more known about his life now than in the seventies, I searched the net and found no specific mention, or even a speculation, that he had used opium.
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