update from sparkleup

writing/post-self/idumea/001.html

@@ -13,8 +13,7 @@
                 <h1>Zk | 001</h1>
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-                <h2 id="end-of-endings-2403rye-2409">End Of Endings — 2403<br>×<br>Rye — 2409</h2>
-<p>Once upon a time there was–</p>
+                <p>Once upon a time there was–</p>
 <p>&ldquo;A king?&rdquo; my little readers will immediately say.</p>
 <p>No, children, you are mistaken. Once upon a time, there was a woman. She was not a fine woman, not a prize to adorn your arm or to set beside you at the head of a grand table, but a simple woman — the kind we pass on the street and imagine some plain home life for. She has a house, one might think. There are floors and walls and windows, there are tables and chairs and sofas and beds. There is a shower and a claw-footed bathtub. There is a creaky step — the eighth — that she always swears she will fix.</p>
 <p>We must imagine such a woman happy. We must imagine that she has friends and that she goes and drinks okay wine or maybe strange cocktails with them at the most absurd bars. We must imagine that she comes home, wobbling slightly with each step, with some other simple woman on her arm. We must imagine sharing their kisses, being happy together.</p>
@@ -65,7 +64,7 @@
 <p>The Woman invites Her Friend over more than any of the other members of the tenth stanza invite others over, except perhaps back when Should We Forget was alive, and The Oneirotect, my beloved up-tree, would come by to give her little gifts and toys, little trinkets and special snacks that she would divvy up and share with the rest of the stanza in little unlabeled envelopes.</p>
 <p>But Should We Forget was no longer alive, not since the world had turned in on itself and had eaten so many of those who lived within, and now that meant that The Woman, out of all of those who lived together, there on the field, brought over company most often.</p>
 <hr />
-<p>When Michelle who was Sasha had quit, out on a field so similar to the one that she lived on, The Woman breathed a sigh of relief, because she knew — though I do not think she know how — that Michelle who was Sasha had found her own relief in those last moments. She had looked up to the sky, up to our poet, up to The Dreamer who dreamed the world in which they lived, and in those moments she knew relief. She knew relief and she knew joy and she knew so, so much peace.</p>
+<p>When Michelle who was Sasha had quit, out on a field so similar to the one that she lived on, The Woman breathed a sigh of relief, because she knew — though I do not think she know how — that Michelle who was Sasha had found her own relief in those last moments. She had looked up to the sky, up to our own personal <em>HaShem,</em> up to The Dreamer who dreams the world in which we live, and in those moments she knew relief. She knew relief and she knew joy and she knew so, so much peace.</p>
 <p>Peace! That was one of the things that The Woman craved. She wanted nothing more than to know a little bit of peace.</p>
 <p>No rituals.</p>
 <p>No overflowing.</p>
@@ -73,9 +72,10 @@
 <p>I think it was cute sometimes, and I think she would say the same. I think she would say, &ldquo;Oh! Oh! Look at that!&rdquo; and then she would set to work brushing her tail. After all, what else is one to do if they found themselves to be in possession of such caudal beauty as is a skunk?</p>
 <p>This is why The Woman had so much trouble with clothing, you see. She would try to look deep within herself at her moods to see what it is that she felt and how it was that the day might go and she might come up with a pretty skirt that felt good on her legs and a lovely shirt she liked the look of, but then, some time later, the shirt would be puffy with fur and the skirt would not sit right with her tail.</p>
 <p>No rituals. No overflowing. Just peace. It is hard to experience peace, hard to experience joy when one is too much oneself, is it not?</p>
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-                <p>Page generated on 2024-07-02</p>
+                <p>Page generated on 2024-07-13</p>
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