(no subject)

Er... hello. My secretary would like to make it clear that she normally disapproves of letting us take over, but since it's Barricade Day as she calls it, she's relented a bit. This is Jean Prouvaire, and it's been 174 years to the day since my execution.

It feels strange, even after all this time, to say 'execution;' I never expected a glorious death, you realize. I suppose it's the old conceit that no matter how dangerous the activities you're throwing yourself into, you never expect to die in them. You expect to live to a ripe and boring old age and go out quietly, rather more like a candle burning down than like a candle that's been snuffed out. I wanted to die shouting "Vive la république!", certainly, but I never expected the honour. I didn't expect it of myself, to be honest. To have visions of standing erect and strong before approaching death, while knowing yourself to be too timid to realize them--the thought tormented me while I was alive. And yet somehow, staring down the barrel of a rifle and knowing with absolute certainty that this was the end, I mustered the courage to stand firm. If there is one thing in my life that I am proud of, more so than all the verses I have ever penned, it is that I found the strength to face my death like a true republican and like a man.

I have also been told that Bahorel was killed in the fight where I was taken prisoner. I didn't see it; one loses track of things so easily in the madness of battle. But I like to think that I knew the man enough to say that if there is anything he regrets, it was probably not being able to take out more enemies before he died. He died as he lived, with raucous and violent good humor; in this strange afterlife we all inhabit, he is the only one who has never mourned his own passing.

I find it odd that so many who remember our story hold such nihilistic perceptions about our deaths, but I leave Enjolras to address that tomorrow. He, eternally a priest of the future and the most hopeful man I have ever had the honour to meet, will doubtless do better than I; I will confine myself to saying that I doubt a single one of us believes he died for naught.

(no subject)

Er... hello. My secretary would like to make it clear that she normally disapproves of letting us take over, but since it's Barricade Day as she calls it, she's relented a bit. This is Jean Prouvaire, and it's been 174 years to the day since my execution.

It feels strange, even after all this time, to say 'execution;' I never expected a glorious death, you realize. I suppose it's the old conceit that no matter how dangerous the activities you're throwing yourself into, you never expect to die in them. You expect to live to a ripe and boring old age and go out quietly, rather more like a candle burning down than like a candle that's been snuffed out. I wanted to die shouting "Vive la république!", certainly, but I never expected the honour. I didn't expect it of myself, to be honest. To have visions of standing erect and strong before approaching death, while knowing yourself to be too timid to realize them--the thought tormented me while I was alive. And yet somehow, staring down the barrel of a rifle and knowing with absolute certainty that this was the end, I mustered the courage to stand firm. If there is one thing in my life that I am proud of, more so than all the verses I have ever penned, it is that I found the strength to face my death like a true republican and like a man.

I have also been told that Bahorel was killed in the fight where I was taken prisoner. I didn't see it; one loses track of things so easily in the madness of battle. But I like to think that I knew the man enough to say that if there is anything he regrets, it was probably not being able to take out more enemies before he died. He died as he lived, with raucous and violent good humor; in this strange afterlife we all inhabit, he is the only one who has never mourned his own passing.

I find it odd that so many who remember our story hold such nihilistic perceptions about our deaths, but I leave Enjolras to address that tomorrow. He, eternally a priest of the future and the most hopeful man I have ever had the honour to meet, will doubtless do better than I; I will confine myself to saying that I doubt a single one of us believes he died for naught.

(no subject)

Have had a good Barricade Day so far. Watched the latter half of the '50s LM movie with Jean Gabin, which is nitpickingly detailed (if rather dated) love. Translated the timeline of DOOM into English and posted it to the site, along with the last two chapters of the infamous prostitution digression, which is actually more about misery in general. Also dredged up a fairly decent costume, reread a few bits of the Brick, etc. Am not going to sleep.

[Poll #742698]

(Note that the extracts from Barricades will get typed up eventually, it's just a question of doing it now or later.)

Also note that any waffly, cheesy entries written by Amis are rather tilted towards the point of view of the Ami in question and should not be taken as expressions of the typist's personal views. Except when they are.

(no subject)

Have had a good Barricade Day so far. Watched the latter half of the '50s LM movie with Jean Gabin, which is nitpickingly detailed (if rather dated) love. Translated the timeline of DOOM into English and posted it to the site, along with the last two chapters of the infamous prostitution digression, which is actually more about misery in general. Also dredged up a fairly decent costume, reread a few bits of the Brick, etc. Am not going to sleep.

[Poll #742698]

(Note that the extracts from Barricades will get typed up eventually, it's just a question of doing it now or later.)

Also note that any waffly, cheesy entries written by Amis are rather tilted towards the point of view of the Ami in question and should not be taken as expressions of the typist's personal views. Except when they are.

(no subject)

.....okay, as per the suggestion of a disturbing number of people on my flist, have had a few glasses of wine and am now gloriously... er... tipsy? Drunk isn't the right word. Well, maybe--apparently my gross motor skills are the first to go, as I have to concentrate inordinately hard to keep from stumbling and my head goes all funny when I make big movements, but fine motor skills are A-OK. As evidenced by lack of typos.

Hey, here's an idea, I'll get gloriously drunk and stay up all night writing fic! It's authorial inhibitions that make my prose all stilted anyway. Another glass and I'll probably have the guts to imitate Hugo's prose with no shame whatsoever.

Props to Lulu, who has to put up with my talkativeness now, and to Grantaire, a fellow rambly!drunk. Rereading his rants while not exactly sober myself was quite amusing.

....okay, I'll just shut up now.

(re: icon: am not being moody, but tis the only R!icon I have.)

(no subject)

.....okay, as per the suggestion of a disturbing number of people on my flist, have had a few glasses of wine and am now gloriously... er... tipsy? Drunk isn't the right word. Well, maybe--apparently my gross motor skills are the first to go, as I have to concentrate inordinately hard to keep from stumbling and my head goes all funny when I make big movements, but fine motor skills are A-OK. As evidenced by lack of typos.

Hey, here's an idea, I'll get gloriously drunk and stay up all night writing fic! It's authorial inhibitions that make my prose all stilted anyway. Another glass and I'll probably have the guts to imitate Hugo's prose with no shame whatsoever.

Props to Lulu, who has to put up with my talkativeness now, and to Grantaire, a fellow rambly!drunk. Rereading his rants while not exactly sober myself was quite amusing.

....okay, I'll just shut up now.

(re: icon: am not being moody, but tis the only R!icon I have.)