Sylvia Plath's seemingly arrogant comment about god writing through her has always struck a chord with me. Because I know what she means. Anyone who creates must have felt like this at some point. Perhaps it's Bragi who bypasses my brain and goes straight to my fingers, brushing them with silver and words. But then it does not feel like exclusively 'male' input. Not that I'm claiming my stories or poetry to be anything close to greatness or celestial. But I know how it feels to be caught in the current of vision, until your universe is flooded with ideas and clarity of thought. It's like taking Ecstacy, or surfing the clouds on the back of some mighty bird of prey.
Bunny-boiling buddies
So many of my friends talk to me about their relationship troubles. And that's entirely fine, though it's not like I can give any sort of constructive advice on this particular chestnut, let's face it! I do like to know every sordid little detail that runs screaming or sobbing through the minds of my friends though. Does that make me some sort of voyeur? Aaaanyway, it's surprising to me how many people just have no idea where they stand at the moment. And then they're at serious risk of being seen as crazies. You know, the only times I've ever acted strangely or \cuckoo/ towards a guy I was seeing were because I didn't know where I stood.
So that seems to be the rule: if someone has no idea where they stand in your eyes and your heart, they will go a bit weird on you. Simple as. It's like being told that you have exactly five seconds to choose between three identical apples - the eating of each will have its own different consequences and effects. You find it hard to hold steady and think straight.
I don't know why I needed to type so much to make that small observation. But that's what I did. Deal with it.
I'm going to Maidstone with Ma'anit tomorrow evening. This looks to be funsies. I hate it when people say funsies. Well, why write it then? Sod off
Toodles poodles!
and so I'll bury every clue
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