greenstorm (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
greenstorm) wrote2005-11-21 08:18 am
greenstorm) wrote2005-11-21 08:18 am
Musical Interlude.
I am lifted, I am lifted, when I'm up I can't get down...
http://s8.yousendit.com/d.aspx?id=2KK3K1QPTQHGB1PVHEQY2DXOZN
It's one of my favourite songs. It always makes me smile- doesn't it you? Some people do caffeine, I do music.
I realise something. Since the beginning of this livejournal, I've softened considerably. Sarcasm and irony are not my primary forms of communication. I don't always have such a clever mouth. I tend to say, more or less, what I mean-- this instead of saying the opposite in a meaningful tone and expecting that to, in fact, make it more meaningful.
I still have a whole ton of combative speech mannerisms that show up, particularly, in my relationship conversations with Juggler. I can keep them under control, though, even then, most of the time. They're fading. They aren't needed. I've beaten swords into ploughshares, and now I'm using words to plough up... er, that metaphor, perhaps, is heading in the wrong direction.
I think, too, I have more to describe now, and less reason to be clever describing it.
But here's the thing: I still love people with clever mouths. I was still raised on the Belgariad. I just have no reason, really, to keep the skills myself. I've insulated myself into a little, lovely social bubble where no one is bad to me, and thus I have no need for protection, for those metaphorical swords up there.
If you look outside, the fog is still there. It clings, sticks, wets the skin. It's a thing, like a bath, that you walk through and interact with; it's not like air, which you conceptualise and leave at that. I get to take the Greyhound bus today through it. Usually there's a weather break about Langley, where the Vancouver side is one thing and the upvalley side the other.
I love transit, transitting, travelling, journeying, the act of moving from one place to another. I love walking, bussing, airplaning, boating. I love being carried onwards. I always write my best on airplanes; how much more symbolic can you get?
Today I would like to be kayaking through the fog, paddles kicking up almost noiseless shimmers of sound from the water, my face wet.
Here's another from Great Big Sea. Enjoy it. http://s8.yousendit.com/d.aspx?id=220D47K0ZAJMG0S3U9D96D0AOT
http://s8.yousendit.com/d.aspx?id=2KK3K1QPTQHGB1PVHEQY2DXOZN
It's one of my favourite songs. It always makes me smile- doesn't it you? Some people do caffeine, I do music.
I realise something. Since the beginning of this livejournal, I've softened considerably. Sarcasm and irony are not my primary forms of communication. I don't always have such a clever mouth. I tend to say, more or less, what I mean-- this instead of saying the opposite in a meaningful tone and expecting that to, in fact, make it more meaningful.
I still have a whole ton of combative speech mannerisms that show up, particularly, in my relationship conversations with Juggler. I can keep them under control, though, even then, most of the time. They're fading. They aren't needed. I've beaten swords into ploughshares, and now I'm using words to plough up... er, that metaphor, perhaps, is heading in the wrong direction.
I think, too, I have more to describe now, and less reason to be clever describing it.
But here's the thing: I still love people with clever mouths. I was still raised on the Belgariad. I just have no reason, really, to keep the skills myself. I've insulated myself into a little, lovely social bubble where no one is bad to me, and thus I have no need for protection, for those metaphorical swords up there.
If you look outside, the fog is still there. It clings, sticks, wets the skin. It's a thing, like a bath, that you walk through and interact with; it's not like air, which you conceptualise and leave at that. I get to take the Greyhound bus today through it. Usually there's a weather break about Langley, where the Vancouver side is one thing and the upvalley side the other.
I love transit, transitting, travelling, journeying, the act of moving from one place to another. I love walking, bussing, airplaning, boating. I love being carried onwards. I always write my best on airplanes; how much more symbolic can you get?
Today I would like to be kayaking through the fog, paddles kicking up almost noiseless shimmers of sound from the water, my face wet.
Here's another from Great Big Sea. Enjoy it. http://s8.yousendit.com/d.aspx?id=220D47K0ZAJMG0S3U9D96D0AOT