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Saturday, May 21, 2016


two years and three days should be enough. fuck my memory for not being shitty enough... i'm so over not being over what should have been 

Sunday, May 15, 2016

not i, but Sidhe

Moving onto a dance floor full of Sidhe is like dropping acid.

Partly it's because they're just so damned pretty. The Sidhe maidens there were all in Maeve's league in terms of sheer physical attractiveness, and some of them were just about as barely dressed as she was, only in what must have been the latest trends in the Chicago club scene for the fashionably provocative. And, yeah, the boys were pretty, too, and tarting it up just as much as the girls, but they weren't nearly as much of a distraction to me.

Partly it's because of their grace. The Sidhe aren't human, even though they look like close relatives. When you see an Olympic gymnast or ice skater or a professional dancer performing a routine, you can't help but be impressed with the sheer, casual grace with which they move, as if their bodies are lighter than air. The clumsiest of the Sidhe operate at about that same level, and the exceptional leave the mortals eating dust behind them. It's hard to describe because it's hard for the brain to process-there's no frame of reference for what I saw, the motion, the balance, the power, the effortless subtlety. It was like suddenly discovering an entirely new sense with an enormous amount of input: I kept seeing things that made my brain scream at me to stop and watch so that it could catalog and process them properly.

And partly it's because of their magic. The Sidhe use magic the way the rest of us breathe, instinctively and without thinking about it. I'd fought them before, and their power was largely invoked through simple gestures, as if the spells had been hardwired into their motor reflexes. For them, movement was magic, and at no time so much as when they danced.

Their power didn't come after me, specifically-it was more like I had plunged into it, as if it were a pool of water occupying the same space as the dance floor. It subsumed my mind almost at once, and it was all I could do to grit my teeth and hang on. Ribbons of colored light flared in the air around the dancing Sidhe. Their feet struck the floor and their hands struck upon bodies, their own or otherwise, adding rippling layers of syncopated rhythm to the music. Gasps and cries joined with the beat and the melody, primal and fierce, echoing and challenging one another from all quarters, as if they'd practiced it.

They hadn't. It was just what they were.
Jim Butcher - Cold Days

~     ~     ~

i failed.

nbd, normally... i'm accustomed to that. but doing so in public evokes jameful feelings, keeps me up late bloghwining, and makes me reconsider ever re-attempting to succeed.

it wasn't so much about the dancing, although that was sharply unpleasant... in fact now that i think about it, it was in stark contrast to the experience just one night prior, when my siblings and i (with barely any practice) wowed the room and clearly outshone every other performance. (i failed that night as well, but that failure was a handful of mistakes, whereas tonight's failure consisted of simply not succeeding.)

when i spend time with a friend, most times i hold myself responsible for their well-being and their enjoyment of that time. i think that's one reason hanging out in a group can sometimes be relaxing for me, despite my introversion. i can rely on others to make things fun for each other. one-on-one, i take it all on my own shoulders. ...and, when the other person is female, my inner chauvinist steps in and runs an even tighter ship than usual.

i don't need something to be officially labeled "date" in order to treat it like one. oh, right-- that's what they call chauvinism when it's a good thing: chivalry. huh... they have similar phonetics... maybe there's an etymological relationship there. i love those! *ahem* enivei jepp, that was the real failure. and don't disagree with me; i have my standards and i'll flagellate myself with them if i want to. besides, it's for your own good.

i don't needwant to be good at all the things. i just needwanna be enjoyable company, capable of making someone's evening. especially since ceasing my spiritual services, i've felt the need to be nourishing to those close to me. it isn't a goal that pulls at me from the future, but it still pushes me (just as strongly if not more strongly) from within the present. i think the need's been strengthened as well by my realizing how much i need nourishment from others.

plus it's supes affirming to be told that i've made someone's whatever. my photography is now significantly motivated by that, since so many have expressed their appreciation for how easy and fun i make the shooting.

i haven't lost whatever it is that's shaped the foundation of all my relationships with the sexier sex since elementary. it's just developed into a more mature form. wouldn't it be great if i could push it one more level? like, get to the point where i can be confident of my ability to be a good date, regardless of whether i ever actually date anyone again? wouldn't it be sweet if my deer ones wouldn't even realize until afterward that i had shown them a good time, created an experience that would be long and fondly remembered? i want to be good enough at that, that they aren't even conscious of it until they reflect on it, because it was just that natural and seamless.

i guess i want to be a great date even in my platonic relationships, and that's kinda interesting to me because it isn't hwat i came here to blog about.

most of my life i've stuck to what i knew, except when practicing in private. it's worked well for me in most cases. i should've expected these painful feelings of inadequacy when i thigned up for thith gig... i should've known that the price of swagger is shared between me and those in front of whom i swagger. lesson learnt? probs not; it usually takes me a dozen or two such lessons before i catch on. in matters of knowledge, i learn quickly; but when it comes to wisdom i'm the halfwit, the runt of the litter, the dunce. i probably venture out of my corner too often. *tosses dunce cap like a college grad*

iff past patterns are predictive, i have a great many more opportunities ahead, to practice with members of leagues far above mine. somehow that depresses me rather than encouraging me. i think to myself, "great... can't wait to fail again, and again, in the company of beautiful women. *much to the chagrin* of those beautiful women who may invite me to enjoy their lives with them."

maybe i should join a chess club.