For Valentine's Day, I Love the Thoughts of Others
A lot of people slam Valentine's Day (and not in a poetry sort of way). I am not a fan of that sort of--greying of the seasons and holidays.
yuki_onna puts it best. She says:
But here's the thing. This world is a beautiful place, but it is also often dark, and cold, and unfeeling, and life slips by, not because it is short, but because it is so difficult to hold onto. Holidays, rituals, these things demarcate the time. They remind us of the sharpness of pleasure and the nearness of death. They tell us when the sun leaves, and when it comes back. They tell us to dance and they tell us to sleep. They tell us who we are, who we have been since we lived on the savannah and hoped to taste cheetah before we died. I know we're all punk rock rebels, but the paleolithic joy of fucking in the fields and dancing around a fire doesn't go away just because certain of us would like to think we're beyond that. This world needs more holidays, not less.
There's a lot more awesomeness in her post On Valentine's Day.
I'm also really loving how scathach is celebrating Erzulia, an interesting Valentine's Day, er, replacement.
Phil got me roses a few days ago. I made blueberry strawberry yogurt pancakes that were vaguely shaped like mutant hearts, or Vs. We roused groggily after the party last night, ate pancakes, cleaned a bit, and then went back to bed and napped until 4 PM. There was cuddling, and he let me hook my toes around his Achilles tendons, which I find peculiarly comforting. Now we and discoflamingo are lounging about, chatting. Is nice. I may bake brownies soon.
yuki_onna puts it best. She says:
But here's the thing. This world is a beautiful place, but it is also often dark, and cold, and unfeeling, and life slips by, not because it is short, but because it is so difficult to hold onto. Holidays, rituals, these things demarcate the time. They remind us of the sharpness of pleasure and the nearness of death. They tell us when the sun leaves, and when it comes back. They tell us to dance and they tell us to sleep. They tell us who we are, who we have been since we lived on the savannah and hoped to taste cheetah before we died. I know we're all punk rock rebels, but the paleolithic joy of fucking in the fields and dancing around a fire doesn't go away just because certain of us would like to think we're beyond that. This world needs more holidays, not less.
There's a lot more awesomeness in her post On Valentine's Day.
I'm also really loving how scathach is celebrating Erzulia, an interesting Valentine's Day, er, replacement.
Phil got me roses a few days ago. I made blueberry strawberry yogurt pancakes that were vaguely shaped like mutant hearts, or Vs. We roused groggily after the party last night, ate pancakes, cleaned a bit, and then went back to bed and napped until 4 PM. There was cuddling, and he let me hook my toes around his Achilles tendons, which I find peculiarly comforting. Now we and discoflamingo are lounging about, chatting. Is nice. I may bake brownies soon.