Losing My WingsMain MenuYagharek Longs to FlyYagharek, from China Mieville's, _Perdido Street Station_, gives up the dream of flightDiptera: Insects with two wingsFlies and humansFallen Angels: Loss as TransformationDavid Bowie explores themes of space existence in his songs from the 1970s through 1980sFrom Sensory Bristles to the Spots on a Butterfly's WingEvolution through co-optionGothic BiologyLimb Development in the Human EmbryoA description of early human limb developmentPopular Culture and Extraordinary BodiesPhillip Thurtle75117b2c56254effc6e95b77740d511c504ffe21
Yagharek Yearns to Fly
12015-06-24T11:14:05-07:00Phillip Thurtle75117b2c56254effc6e95b77740d511c504ffe2154865Too Too Abstract Individual Yagharek Not To Be Respected stands on rooftop, art by Les Edwardsplain2015-07-01T09:35:15-07:00Phillip Thurtle75117b2c56254effc6e95b77740d511c504ffe21
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12015-07-01T09:17:06-07:00Phillip Thurtle75117b2c56254effc6e95b77740d511c504ffe21Yagharek Yearns to FlyPhillip Thurtle3Fan art from Fan art from the “Gallery Section” of “The New Crobuzon Hero” WWW Site: http://www.curufea.com/games/crobuzon/6205.jpgplain2015-07-01T09:32:54-07:00Phillip Thurtle75117b2c56254effc6e95b77740d511c504ffe21
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12015-07-01T09:06:17-07:00Yagharek Longs to Fly17Yagharek, from China Mieville's, _Perdido Street Station_, gives up the dream of flightplain1626982018-10-07T17:36:48-07:00It begins with his imagination. The Garuda closes his eyes and “imagines it with absolute exactitude. A flight. To kick out with the legs and feel my wings grab the air and throw it easily earthward, scooping great chunks away from me, like paddles. The hard slog into a thermal where the feathers plump and prime, spread out, drifting, easing, gliding up around in a spiral over this enormity below me.” (707).This flight is not just a flight of fancy, for the Garuda, or bird man, Yagharek, in China Mieville‘s Perdido Street Station, once did fly, as all Garudas do. He lost the capacity of flight though when his wings were sawed off as punishment for his rape of another Garuda. Perhaps it is the physical recall, or the memories of the flesh, that makes flight still seem so immediate to Yagharek. He thinks: “I feel the wind force my fingers apart. I am buffeted invitingly. I feel the twitching as my ragged flanges of wingbone stretch.” Yet, these are the twitches of phantom limbs for where Yagharek once had wings, now “two long trenches of flesh” “twisted and red with tissue that looked like it was boiled” mark the spots on his back where the wings once rested.The wings are gone, yet Yagharek hovers briefly in a moment of confused affinities as the memory of flight creates a sympathetic attachment to creatures that still live in the air.
