seem to've lost my voice

[fflo]

my voice here, that is. or haven't recovered my wind. or just it's all too much.

so here's bach.

Comments

[wednes.livejournal.com]

Yikes, I'm sorry to hear you have no voice.
I hate when that happens.

[shmizla.livejournal.com]

what of it is too much?

[fflo.livejournal.com]

ty, S.

[fflo.livejournal.com]

oh, all of it. :p

just treading lightly, by necessity, in the philosophical end of the pool lately. wait, that's badly mixed metaphor, isn't it. the light treading is walking treading, right? in the pool treading is something else.

treading water is apt, though. and an accomplishment not to be scoffed at, yes?

things are treadful. (look, i made up a word.)

i do like our having ana in town, i should like to say. so i just did. i like how ordinary it feels, despite being extraordinary.

[fflo.livejournal.com]

me too

[shmizla.livejournal.com]

treadful they are. we are reaching the terminal velocity, as homovegetarian used to say. all i know by now is how to give myself to it, not being of the festive persuasion. glad to hear you're still treading, however lightly. treading water is a hard job, but someone's got to do it. not to mention that it's literally cutting edge, and few dare go that far.

you can find many shmizloid secrets from the sister of shmizla. the rich description, the deep history, the other side. almost shmizla, but not quite. the same gene pool, a different mirage. maybe you should have a list of the most pressing questions that needs answering while you have a chance (before i'm back to being alone here, making it all up again:). i wonder if i'll come out being someone else by the end of it all :).

[shmizla.livejournal.com]

btw, love the bach. he's good at the stuff that this one was good at too:

After great pain a formal feeling comes—
The nerves sit ceremonious like tombs—
The stiff Heart questions—was it He that bore?
And yesterday—or centuries before?

The feet mechanical
Go round a wooden way
Of ground or air or Ought, regardless grown,
A quartz contentment like a stone.

This is the hour of lead
Remembered if outlived,
As freezing persons recollect the snow—
First chill, then stupor, then the letting go.

[fflo.livejournal.com]

:}

Ever think about how we just know the woman in the room with all the dashes knew some stuff, even though and (is it?) maybe because she was in the room? I think we think we know it cuz of the stuff she had there with the dashes, but then consider this: it doesn't surprise us at all to find out about the room, and her being there in it.

It's a hard job, but maybe, as you say, someone's gotta do it.