the truth will come to you at last
Okay, I spent yesterday afternoon making copies (I will forever and always hear Rob Schneider when I say that), and now I will spend this morning collating those copies and stuffing the resultant packages into envelopes.
On the upside, we're having summer Fridays again this year so I can leave at 2:30 as long as it's all done. \o/ I can't even express how fantastic it is to get out early on Fridays in the summer. It really does feel like the weekend is longer. I mean, longer than you'd expect 2.5 hours to feel. (Of course, the downside is once it's September, working full day Fridays is really depressing.) It almost makes up for once more not getting a raise this year. Sigh. Stupid economy.
In other news, given what people on my flist have been saying, I guess I'm going to have to get over myself and see X-Men: First Class, huh? I never saw X3 and I pretend it doesn't exist at all, and I wasn't particularly fond of X2, so I'm reluctant to give up my (fully justified) crankiness regarding the whole franchise (fandom), but I fear the pull of Xavier and Magneto's tragic romance is going to drag me back in. Who knows? If I see it and like it, there could be fic, even though the thought of writing any kind of XMM-related fic again still makes me queasy. (man, I don't even have a tag to talk about XMM. It was mostly before LJ and definitely before tags were an option. Huh.)
Have a poem:
The Lives of the Heart
Are ligneous, muscular, chemical.
Wear birch-colored feathers,
green tunnels of horse-tail reed.
Wear calcified spirals, Fibonaccian spheres.
Are edible; are glassy; are clay; blue schist.
Can be burned as tallow, as coal,
can be skinned for garnets, for shoes.
Cast shadows or light;
shuffle; snort; cry out in passion.
Are salt, are bitter,
tear sweet grass with their teeth.
Step silently into blue needle-fall at dawn.
Thrash in the net until hit.
Rise up as cities, as serpentined magma, as maples,
hiss lava-red into the sea.
Leave the strange kiss of their bodies
in Burgess Shale. Can be found, can be lost,
can be carried, broken, sung.
Lie dormant until they are opened by ice,
by drought. Go blind in the service of lace.
Are starving, are sated, indifferent, curious, mad.
Are stamped out in plastic, in tin.
Are stubborn, are careful, are slipshod,
are strung on the blue backs of flies
on the black backs of cows.
Wander the vacant whale-roads, the white thickets
heavy with slaughter.
Wander the fragrant carpets of alpine flowers.
Not one is not held in the arms of the rest, to blossom.
Not one is not given to ecstasy's lions.
Not one does not grieve.
Each of them opens and closes, closes and opens
the heavy gate-violent, serene, consenting, suffering it all.
~Jane Hirshfield
***
ETA: I've locked comments due to an influx of spam commenting on this post.
***
This entry at DW: http://musesfool.dreamwidth.org/330257.html.
people have commented there.
On the upside, we're having summer Fridays again this year so I can leave at 2:30 as long as it's all done. \o/ I can't even express how fantastic it is to get out early on Fridays in the summer. It really does feel like the weekend is longer. I mean, longer than you'd expect 2.5 hours to feel. (Of course, the downside is once it's September, working full day Fridays is really depressing.) It almost makes up for once more not getting a raise this year. Sigh. Stupid economy.
In other news, given what people on my flist have been saying, I guess I'm going to have to get over myself and see X-Men: First Class, huh? I never saw X3 and I pretend it doesn't exist at all, and I wasn't particularly fond of X2, so I'm reluctant to give up my (fully justified) crankiness regarding the whole franchise (fandom), but I fear the pull of Xavier and Magneto's tragic romance is going to drag me back in. Who knows? If I see it and like it, there could be fic, even though the thought of writing any kind of XMM-related fic again still makes me queasy. (man, I don't even have a tag to talk about XMM. It was mostly before LJ and definitely before tags were an option. Huh.)
Have a poem:
The Lives of the Heart
Are ligneous, muscular, chemical.
Wear birch-colored feathers,
green tunnels of horse-tail reed.
Wear calcified spirals, Fibonaccian spheres.
Are edible; are glassy; are clay; blue schist.
Can be burned as tallow, as coal,
can be skinned for garnets, for shoes.
Cast shadows or light;
shuffle; snort; cry out in passion.
Are salt, are bitter,
tear sweet grass with their teeth.
Step silently into blue needle-fall at dawn.
Thrash in the net until hit.
Rise up as cities, as serpentined magma, as maples,
hiss lava-red into the sea.
Leave the strange kiss of their bodies
in Burgess Shale. Can be found, can be lost,
can be carried, broken, sung.
Lie dormant until they are opened by ice,
by drought. Go blind in the service of lace.
Are starving, are sated, indifferent, curious, mad.
Are stamped out in plastic, in tin.
Are stubborn, are careful, are slipshod,
are strung on the blue backs of flies
on the black backs of cows.
Wander the vacant whale-roads, the white thickets
heavy with slaughter.
Wander the fragrant carpets of alpine flowers.
Not one is not held in the arms of the rest, to blossom.
Not one is not given to ecstasy's lions.
Not one does not grieve.
Each of them opens and closes, closes and opens
the heavy gate-violent, serene, consenting, suffering it all.
~Jane Hirshfield
***
ETA: I've locked comments due to an influx of spam commenting on this post.
***
This entry at DW: http://musesfool.dreamwidth.org/330257.html.
people have commented there.