update from sparkleup
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writing/post-self/idumea
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<p>While I fetched us both such a glass, I said, “What is it that brings you here? I hope that Praiseworthy had nice things to say about me.”</p>
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<p>“Quite nice, yes, though I find her a very curious skunk. She is elusive, perhaps? Not in that she is hard to find, but it is hard to pin down her mood or her thoughts.”</p>
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<p>“Oh, very much so. I remember being her, yes, but that was nigh on three centuries ago, and I do not quite understand who she has become, myself.” I handed over the glass of water and gestured toward the couch, where we sat on either end, half-facing each other.</p>
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<p>“She was still pleasant to be around, at least,” The Woman said. “She said that I should seek you out, along with Time Is A Finger Pointing At Itself, Where It Watches The Slow Hours Progress, and Beholden To The Heat Of The Lamps. You are the last on my list.”</p>
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<p>“She was still pleasant to be around, at least,” The Woman said. “She said that I should seek you out, along with Where It Watches The Slow Hours Progress and Beholden To The Heat Of The Lamps. You are the last on my list.”</p>
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<p>“That is curious. What was the reasoning for those names?”</p>
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<p>“A writer, a poet, and a musician. I have been having some thoughts on joy that I would like to explore with each of you.”</p>
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<p>She told me her story, much as I have written it to you, readers. She spoke of the ways of seeking out joy, of diving into the pleasures of food — and I can tell you, friends, she is absolutely correct about tam mak hoong; it is <em>incredibly</em> delicious — and the pleasures of touch and sensuality and sexuality. She told me of how much joy she had found in such things, and the rekindled relationship with Her Lover, and she also told me of how these joys were lovely, but not the joys that she was seeking, and that she had three more items on her list of five. She had entertainment, creativity, and spiritual fulfilment yet to go.</p>
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@ -54,30 +54,30 @@
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<p>“She has, at that,” I said.</p>
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<p>“We sat in the solarium and spoke about what reading <em>is.</em> She spoke of taking a story or a poem and wrapping oneself up in it. She gave me an example. She recited a poem:</p>
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<p>{{% verse %}}
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Too many suits move in too many lines.
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“Too many suits move in too many lines.
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They circle banquet tables, hawk-eyed,
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hunting crudites, canapés, bruschetta.
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Fingers ferry food — fish, perhaps — finding
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slack-jawed mouths already open,
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squawking at wayward children
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or bemoaning The Market,
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whatever that may be.
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At some point, who cares how long ago,
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whatever that may be.</p>
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<p>“At some point, who cares how long ago,
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death surfaced, claimed one, submerged again.
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Who knows how well they knew him,
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their backs turned, studiously
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deciding that he is no longer of them?
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One could never guess.
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We can say his suit was very fine, perhaps,
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deciding that he is no longer of them?</p>
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<p>“One could never guess.</p>
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<p>“We can say his suit was very fine, perhaps,
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that the room is tastefully furnished,
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the casket silver, the bar, open,
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quite good, and none of them are drunk yet,
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or at least none look it.
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“Good man, good man,” they mutter,
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or at least none look it.</p>
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<p>“”Good man, good man,” they mutter,
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doing all they can to convince each other
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through well-rehearsed performances,
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that this must be the case.
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The silently bereaved already sit graveside.”
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that this must be the case.</p>
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<p>“The silently bereaved already sit graveside.”
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{{% /verse %}}</p>
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<p>I turned those words over and over in my head for a minute, since The Woman had seemed quite comfortable sitting in silence with me. She used that time to drink her water while I played back the words again and again, looking down at my paws, and then returned my gaze to hers. “There is a difference between the performance of grief and grieving, is there not?”</p>
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<p>“It is as you say. There is performed grief and performative grief. We of the tenth stanza were quite sad when Lagrange came back with us but not Should We Forget. We received condolences from many, some flowers and many kind words. Ever Dream came over and spoke with me about grief as we sat out on the field, where she said, “It is quite sad, is it not? To lose someone you have known for so long is quite sad.” I agreed, and then drew a line around the topic.” She performed such a motion now, describing an arc before her with one of her well kept claws, before dismissing it with a wave. “This was grief performed.”</p>
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@ -177,7 +177,7 @@ The silently bereaved already sit graveside.”
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<!-- Warmth discusses art with EoE -->
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</article>
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<footer>
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<p>Page generated on 2024-06-11</p>
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<p>Page generated on 2024-06-14</p>
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</footer>
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</main>
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