#emily majarian

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Epic I — Emily MajarianDown below and up above,In harmony and rhythm,The Gods sang a song of loveAnd

Epic I — Emily Majarian

Down below and up above,
In harmony and rhythm,
The Gods sang a song of love
And the world sang it with them.
-Anaïs Mitchell



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Emily Majarian‘Polly Von’For Month of Love 2018 “White” I shall tell of a hunter whose life was undo

Emily Majarian

‘Polly Von’

ForMonth of Love 2018 “White”

I shall tell of a hunter whose life was undone

By the cruel hand of evil at the setting of the sun

His arrow was loosed and it flew through the dark,

And his true love was slain as the shaft found its mark.

She’d her apron wrapped about her and he took her for a swan,

But it’s oh and alas, it was she, Polly Von.

-Peter, Paul & Mary, Polly Von


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Emily Majarian‘Pinned’For Month of Love 2018 “Yellow”Seeing her always made me feel like I was catch

Emily Majarian

‘Pinned’

ForMonth of Love 2018 “Yellow”

Seeing her always made me feel like I was catching a rarity, going up to it very careful, heart-in-mouth as they say. A Pale Clouded Yellow, for instance. I always thought of her like that, I mean words like elusive and sporadic, and very refined – not like the other ones, even the pretty ones. More for the real connoisseur.

- John Fowles, The Collector


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Emily Majarian‘Ophelia’For Month of Love 2018 “Blue” There is a willow grows aslant a brook,That sho

Emily Majarian

‘Ophelia’

ForMonth of Love 2018 “Blue”

There is a willow grows aslant a brook,
That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream.
There with fantastic garlands did she come
Of crowflowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples,
That liberal shepherds give a grosser name,
But our cold maids do dead men’s fingers call them.
There on the pendant boughs her coronet weeds
Clamb'ring to hang, an envious sliver broke,
When down her weedy trophies and herself
Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide
And, mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up;
Which time she chaunted snatches of old tunes,
As one incapable of her own distress,
Or like a creature native and indued
Unto that element; but long it could not be
Till that her garments, heavy with their drink,
Pull’d the poor wretch from her melodious lay
To muddy death.

- Hamlet, Act IV Scene VII

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I’ve been meaning to do one of these for ages, but I’ve never really managed to draw myself in a way

I’ve been meaning to do one of these for ages, but I’ve never really managed to draw myself in a way that I liked. Thought I’d try again for the new year. This time I stopped focusing on making it look like me and instead had fun drawing my cat and my stuff. Actually managed to make a thing! woo

I decided to embrace the correct spelling of my name this year, too. Feels like a strong start all round


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