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May. 8th, 2002 06:55 pmIn the quiet aftermath of much needed and necessary talk, I feel... peculiarly un-bad (Peculiar in that, after purgative talks with others, I usually step in the purged material and track it around with me for days). This time, for whatever reason, I seemed to have avoided the biggest steaming piles of it, despite veering deep into FREAK territory. (Obviously, the talk was at least partially concerned with sex and sexuality, in particular the way my colonized mind tries to balance ideology, personal stance, and desire against the arrayed forces of cultural essentialism, biological determinism, and the seemingly inescapable binary categorization that anathematizes me.) Perhaps naming the fears actually lessened their powers; while I hear that's often the case for others, it usually ends up only giving them a form through which to act for me. Why can't I evoke powerful spirits to serve my every whim, instead?
I was frighteningly (for me) productive today; early afternoon saw the passage of emissions testing for my car, the obtainment of a new legal tag, and the registration of both of my index fingerprints to accompany yet another bad governmental photo that will haunt me for another four years. Perhaps there is something to be said for having time off during the week; it makes getting things accomplished much easier. Unfortunately, I desire to be efficient much less than I desire to be (more) social.
the kindly one made the comment that I (and here I paraphrase, probably badly) "seem to be on the bumpy road to irrefutable happinness". That simple statement really made me stop and think; I'm still thinking about it. For all sorts of useless historical reasons, "irrefutable happiness" never seemed to be a domain to which I would gain entry. Now, though... I'm almost afraid to hope this is the case, and yet it certainly seems to look that way. This is something I want; the more "good" I feel, the more I want. Perhaps there really is a reason I watch all those junkie movies and identify with a variety of lotus eaters.
PoC posted a much better review of the Nick Cave show than I could do, but the most remarkable bit for me was the rendition of Into My Arms . This has long been my favorite song, and often made me cry, but this time, the tears were those of joy, because it wasn't something I longed for, but something I have. the giantslayer has said on occasion that Mr. Cave is not to her liking because so much of his work seems pretentious (her word, not mine), but was moved by the lyrics when I shared them with her. I suspect that context had just a little to do with it.
I was frighteningly (for me) productive today; early afternoon saw the passage of emissions testing for my car, the obtainment of a new legal tag, and the registration of both of my index fingerprints to accompany yet another bad governmental photo that will haunt me for another four years. Perhaps there is something to be said for having time off during the week; it makes getting things accomplished much easier. Unfortunately, I desire to be efficient much less than I desire to be (more) social.
the kindly one made the comment that I (and here I paraphrase, probably badly) "seem to be on the bumpy road to irrefutable happinness". That simple statement really made me stop and think; I'm still thinking about it. For all sorts of useless historical reasons, "irrefutable happiness" never seemed to be a domain to which I would gain entry. Now, though... I'm almost afraid to hope this is the case, and yet it certainly seems to look that way. This is something I want; the more "good" I feel, the more I want. Perhaps there really is a reason I watch all those junkie movies and identify with a variety of lotus eaters.
PoC posted a much better review of the Nick Cave show than I could do, but the most remarkable bit for me was the rendition of Into My Arms . This has long been my favorite song, and often made me cry, but this time, the tears were those of joy, because it wasn't something I longed for, but something I have. the giantslayer has said on occasion that Mr. Cave is not to her liking because so much of his work seems pretentious (her word, not mine), but was moved by the lyrics when I shared them with her. I suspect that context had just a little to do with it.
