sevily snevans
This is the sort of night for remembering. Summoning old characters out of the darkest part of the gloom during these hours before dawn when the shadows deepen so as to make the lightening of the sky so much more startling when it finally occurs. My room is awash in drifting waves of the accumulated detritus of my life, half-packed into boxes. This space that was the stage for so much of my imagining is being emptied of my presence for good. It's always a little too warm in here, even in winter. Should I explain that to its new inhabitants? Caution them that the room is actually a pentagon, not a square or rectangle, and to respect it for such a defining characteristic? They will tear down my ballerina bunnies and paint over my childish lavender regardless of my supplications and bribes.
But this is storytelling on a human scale, and lately I have been more concerned with the epic. At times on our expedition through the wilds of Tennessee, four of my best friends and I, I really did narrate as one would the travails of Arthur and his men. Slightly hysterically, of course, because there was rarely a trip less Herculean in its scope and extent. It was very human. Wonderful, but essentially played on a smaller stage.
I wish I weren't such a muggle. I wish these formless interim hours would yield better introspection than this. I'd like for once not to be sifting for flecks in a running stream, but rather splitting the ground like a rind to discover the lode beneath laid open like divining entrails.
Oh, whatever. Hello again, Livejournal. It's been a while.
But this is storytelling on a human scale, and lately I have been more concerned with the epic. At times on our expedition through the wilds of Tennessee, four of my best friends and I, I really did narrate as one would the travails of Arthur and his men. Slightly hysterically, of course, because there was rarely a trip less Herculean in its scope and extent. It was very human. Wonderful, but essentially played on a smaller stage.
I wish I weren't such a muggle. I wish these formless interim hours would yield better introspection than this. I'd like for once not to be sifting for flecks in a running stream, but rather splitting the ground like a rind to discover the lode beneath laid open like divining entrails.
Oh, whatever. Hello again, Livejournal. It's been a while.