10 years here
Mar. 6th, 2013 02:02 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ffloBy here I mean posting at this site. It was at 2:02 p.m. on March 6, 2003 that I first ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ffloed.
I invoked the Muse. On some level I guess that worked.
For the longest time I didn't say much. Grumbling about politics. Quiz memes. It was initially mostly a funny way of talking to Twila and Brandon, who were across the room from me.
The first time I recall really finding myself noticing enjoying the writing of the writing here was when I wrote about the onion chopping of the dead. I'd say that remains my favorite post to have made while making it. There've been a good number of times I've lost myself in the making of sentences, in the typing of words, and I like very much to lose myself that way.
Another favorite post is the time I told about my parents' love letters, and the dog name.
Then there's my up and translating Rilke myself, when I didn't like the translations I saw. Or, in poetry of my own from the ground up, the sonnet cycle I constructed over several days, culminating in one I'll reproduce here, with a tweaked ending:
Don't wonder whether it could come to call
and tie the room together, like a rug,
for it would untie everything withal
as it has untied everything withal.
Don’t wonder, there’s no point, why you might want
a tying to to hold you in its thrall
—that sailor doesn't put much stock in knots,
while, all the while, the sailor's knotting taunts.
When student surgeons have a nasty itch
they're told to use a trick the old ones know—
to make the itch end, what you do is this:
Wait. Wait, and, finally, it will go.
But, oh, to know its happy lush fierce fire,
Alive as one is only with desire.
Yeah, I don't care how very not the first I am to put "fire" with "desire." I made you slow down for that fire, and that's enough. :)
It was one from the middle of that cycle that people seemed to like most, though:
They say that water in your dreams means life,
Whatever you may take that line to mean.
The water also could just mean a pipe
Is leaking over where you dream your dreams.
They say we lust for what we haven't got—
Too easy to agree and disagree;
They say, as I do, lots of claptrap rot
That means whatever you decide it means.
This balmy, thick-aired night I've had enough.
I want the heaviness to break, as it won't do.
My worn-down soul wants just your simple touch,
And, thoughtlessly, and simply, to touch you.
And simple isn't anywhere in view,
And simple seems impossible with you.
My relationship with this space/place/thing has been all over the place, but somehow I'm still coming here. There's a kind of perverse pleasure in continuing past the heyday, past the veritable demise. I enjoy this perversity in others, too. Like we'll stop when we want to, thank you very much.
Happy my lj-anniversary to you, whoever you are. Thanks for reading.
ffloed.I invoked the Muse. On some level I guess that worked.
For the longest time I didn't say much. Grumbling about politics. Quiz memes. It was initially mostly a funny way of talking to Twila and Brandon, who were across the room from me.
The first time I recall really finding myself noticing enjoying the writing of the writing here was when I wrote about the onion chopping of the dead. I'd say that remains my favorite post to have made while making it. There've been a good number of times I've lost myself in the making of sentences, in the typing of words, and I like very much to lose myself that way.
Another favorite post is the time I told about my parents' love letters, and the dog name.
Then there's my up and translating Rilke myself, when I didn't like the translations I saw. Or, in poetry of my own from the ground up, the sonnet cycle I constructed over several days, culminating in one I'll reproduce here, with a tweaked ending:
Don't wonder whether it could come to call
and tie the room together, like a rug,
for it would untie everything withal
as it has untied everything withal.
Don’t wonder, there’s no point, why you might want
a tying to to hold you in its thrall
—that sailor doesn't put much stock in knots,
while, all the while, the sailor's knotting taunts.
When student surgeons have a nasty itch
they're told to use a trick the old ones know—
to make the itch end, what you do is this:
Wait. Wait, and, finally, it will go.
But, oh, to know its happy lush fierce fire,
Alive as one is only with desire.
Yeah, I don't care how very not the first I am to put "fire" with "desire." I made you slow down for that fire, and that's enough. :)
It was one from the middle of that cycle that people seemed to like most, though:
They say that water in your dreams means life,
Whatever you may take that line to mean.
The water also could just mean a pipe
Is leaking over where you dream your dreams.
They say we lust for what we haven't got—
Too easy to agree and disagree;
They say, as I do, lots of claptrap rot
That means whatever you decide it means.
This balmy, thick-aired night I've had enough.
I want the heaviness to break, as it won't do.
My worn-down soul wants just your simple touch,
And, thoughtlessly, and simply, to touch you.
And simple isn't anywhere in view,
And simple seems impossible with you.
My relationship with this space/place/thing has been all over the place, but somehow I'm still coming here. There's a kind of perverse pleasure in continuing past the heyday, past the veritable demise. I enjoy this perversity in others, too. Like we'll stop when we want to, thank you very much.
Happy my lj-anniversary to you, whoever you are. Thanks for reading.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: Mar. 6th, 2013 07:20 pm (UTC)LJ is the only site I know of that creates a feeling of real community between its users, and for me it's created a daily writing habit as well, that I'm not sure I'd keep up if it weren't for that sense of community.
no subject
Date: Mar. 6th, 2013 07:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: Mar. 6th, 2013 07:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: Mar. 6th, 2013 07:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: Mar. 6th, 2013 08:38 pm (UTC)I like the images of knots. And have nothing deeper to say, really. But I like it.
knot really
Date: Mar. 6th, 2013 08:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: Mar. 6th, 2013 09:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: Mar. 6th, 2013 09:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: Mar. 6th, 2013 10:19 pm (UTC)Seems I joined the same year as you--November 7, 2003.
no subject
Date: Mar. 6th, 2013 10:22 pm (UTC)We were old then. :)
no subject
Date: Mar. 7th, 2013 04:09 am (UTC)no subject
Date: Mar. 7th, 2013 03:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: Mar. 7th, 2013 06:51 am (UTC)no subject
Date: Mar. 7th, 2013 03:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: Sep. 20th, 2013 04:28 pm (UTC)So here's what I think is the final take:
Don't wonder whether it could come to call
and tie the room together, like a rug,
for it would untie everything withal
as it has untied everything withal.
Don’t wonder, there’s no point, why you might want
a tying to to hold you in its thrall
—that sailor doesn't put much stock in knots,
while, all the while, the sailor's knotting taunts.
When student surgeons have a nasty itch
they're told to use a trick the old ones know—
to make the itch end, what you do is this:
Wait. Wait, and, finally, it will go.
But, oh, to learn to sit with itching close
while itching for whatever you crave most.