Oooohhhhh

For those of you who can't, or don't want to, bother with the Waste Land, here's another reason TS Eliot is my favourite poet. Read it, dammit.

A Dedication to My Wife by T.S. Eliot

To whom I owe the leaping delight
That quickens my senses in our wakingtime
And the rhythm that governs the repose of our sleepingtime,
The breathing in unison

Of lovers whose bodies smell of each other
Who think the same thoughts without need of speech
And babble the same speech without need of meaning.

No peevish winter wind shall chill
No sullen tropic sun shall wither
The roses in the rose-garden which is ours and ours only

But this dedication is for others to read:
These are private words addressed to you in public.

w00t!

I think I might not be sick anymore. I want to do something to celebrate. Half-thoughts of a random trip to Vancouver Island. Maybe I should just luxuriate. Mmmrrrr. Breathing! Almost no muscle soreness! Headache gone! No cough! Pain in throat vanished! Yayyayyayyay!

I also got to poke enormous needles into Tillie last night. The texture of sharp-through-flesh is still lingering on my fingers. It was the first play piercing I've ever done.

I'll be a piercing bottom soon for a photoshoot with feathered needles.

I want to talk to Bevan, dammit. I think he's the only person with whom I can properly discuss my reaction to some of this stuff. There is a particular shape that some people's (all people's?) mouths get when they're in sharp pain, but happy-- desired pain. Does anyone know that shape?

Ahwell.

Stuff going on. Thinking it through. There will be a post sometime. I'm happy and in good places any way you look at it though.