purging

One of the reasons why we write these livejournals, I think, is to purge ourselves of thoughts or feelings or stories by setting them down here. Sometimes the essential banality or ridiculous nature of the thing becomes evident in so doing. Or sometimes it takes precise form, rather than being inchoate mass, and we can then choose to set it aside. (As in Pratchett's Science of Discworld, where one must be able to visualise deity and the supernatural in order to then disbelieve in it.) Sometimes because it feels a matter of intellectual honesty or integrity to say it, so that you know that it was said, that you whispered it into the hole and then covered it with the reeds, that you told someone and that it is no longer your own guilty secret alone.

And sometimes you just have to tell the story in order to rid yourself of it. Here, take my demon, have it. No, really. I've giftwrapped it for you, I've tied it up with a pretty little bow, doesn't it look charming? Isn't it sweet? I've trained it to sing a little song which I'm sure will enchant you and lull you to sleep. If I get it out of my head, it might go anywhere, but at least it won't sit on my shoulder any longer.

Perhaps it will come back to me on a different path, riding someone else's words, with a new and winning smile, and I will give it haven again, and smile to recognise my own traces in its blood and bone. And so the dance goes on.

---

A PLEA TO BOYS AND GIRLS

You learned Lear's Nonsense Rhymes by heart, not rote;
You learned Pope's Iliad by rote, not heart;
These terms should be distinguished if you quote
My verses, children -- keep them poles apart --
And call the man a liar who says I wrote
All that I wrote in love, for love of art.

-- Robert Graves

Merry Christmas

And now, Mr Actor, we wish you to convey that an undead scarab beetle is crawling up your leg under your trousers.

The Mummy is on television. A few new books of French manga arrived this morning, including the translation of the first Hikaru No Go, which is just as good as I hoped that it would be. My mother has made mince pies. My sister is waving quiz books around. There are a _lot_ of presents under the tree.

I served my time this morning at work, and now I have the next week and a half off.

Bother doing writing tonight. To all those who know who I am, hi there, Merry Christmas, have a wonderful time, you are all cool. I hope that you enjoy yourself as much as I intend to enjoy myself. :)

Women and strength -- hm. While I don't see women aware of physical strength in the way that some men are, what I have seen from time to time is women who are aware of their _height_, particularly tall ones, and who deliberately act to minimise it. Not necessarily stooping, just a general diminution of posture and demeanour. Hm.

For those who aren't yet aware of it, a new episode of the Very Secret diaries is up, off cassieclaire's livejournal. Nice woman. Very nice woman.

Wandering off with happy smile. God bless us every one. ;)