dreamwitch: (Default)
That's the sound of a door slamming closed so suddenly
(I can't quite hear it)
The dark corners I say goodbye to, with all your hidden faces
(I can't quite see)
And all the words spoken and unspoken, lies and truth
(I don't really know)

This, which isn't a poem: it's an empty space
(where your body was)

This, which wasn't love: it's a story with a beginning
(no middle, just an end)

This, which isn't anger: it's a clean break, fast burn
(you weren't mine, after all)

Though I wish you'd come back but briefly
While the summer heat lingers

Everything I wanted and everything you did:
things disappear so easily, they don't quite arrive
(before they're gone) who knows where
You said you liked to travel, so I'd known you'd go
But I thought you'd warn me, and I could ask you

That last question I'm burning for
(to hear your silence)
Give you that last kiss before parting
(our fingertips would linger)
Say your name into your skin, that one time
(that only time)

You kissed so well: up and down tempo
I thought it didn't matter, the melody
was ours, so lyrics were extra.

What a strange, brief sweetness
Enveloped by your bitterness before it suffocates,
and falls, the fool's game once again, and I'm surprised
but I'd wish you well, and you'd ever be the gentleman,
So you wouldn't mention love

And I'd spare you the indignity of asking
Uncomfortable questions or waiting
For things that will never return.
dreamwitch: (Default)
Weird thought, since apparently hd_holidays means at least being *reminded* of post-war H/D fic or whatever, and I doooo want to finish my DE!Draco novella-- whenever I'm no longer obsessed with nu!K/S fic, anyway. So, even just at a glance... things other people may care about in fic that I don't, currently: mostly revolving around the logistics Harry and/or Draco's readjustment post-war... in a sort of rational step-by-step 'this is how it should happen' way.

Does this make sense? Before, I feel things weren't rational enough, and all there was, was over-the-top melodrama/fluff/porn everywhere; everything was about 'feelings', one way or another. But (this is weird to realize), neither am I happy with stuff obviously written *rationally*, where things happen because they make sense, as if the characters are 100% rational individuals who do/feel things because they... make sense and assist with the most direct path to X 'desired outcome'.

....anyway... uh, I'm enjoying my winter break, haha, oh! and Happy New Year/decade!! :D \o/ )

No And.

Dec. 29th, 2011 01:42 am
dreamwitch: (Default)
Somewhere inside, things get warmer
for December, that is, the snow's melting fast--
and I proffer you a tired poem, a poem uphill
walking slowly, drunkenly, trying to talk all night
until we say, "enough" and close our eyes.


So. You self-mythologize, they say, and I see
the majesty, the possibility, all the stories you tell and
the ones you clearly hide; too proud to beckon, too fierce
to slip away: I see the hollow places where I could fit
and the hard places I would fall; that's when you'd call me,
at that exact moment: as I leave, you come in.


These poems have become 
			a conversation with the negative:
that space you call your own, the vacuum of the possible--

yes, and 

	no, and

everything I'd say in between, like: 'what do you want', and
'do you?' and yet never 'who are you?' 
				     because you know, don't you.
dreamwitch: (Default)
You speak to me of my Mars and Jupiter and
its moons, and the tides and eddies
of the universe, chaos incarnate and the birds (and
the bees) and the realities and counter-realities and
the bones and songs and the highs and lows between
high-brow and one long moan

And perhaps I will love you, or think I love you, or think
"Maybe it would be right to love you"--
if our planets align, it would be divine.


Someday, when I will have forgotten
everything about you, everything
that I imagined or believed, grinding into cosmic dust,
reborn: a poem about someone (else)

Someday, this poem will have become
no signpost, but a ballerina for the forgotten soldier:
twist me right and I will dance, and dance, and dance
waiting for your words to stop me, yet

there is no ballerina; you haven't read the fairytale
so, in the end, there is nothing: I cannot love you,
for you are not a poet and I am not a word
or perhaps, not one that you've remembered;
who knows what goes on in a foreign mind?

In love, all minds are foreign, and one is of import, but
there is a paraplegic poet who doesn't believe
in nothing, or that which has been "nothing" (least of all
love), and if I want to call this "love", secretly, quietly,

I whisper, why not? I should not (I will not), but I can.


Unrelenting and unseeing, a grudging date
the world turns until I yield, and sigh, and
without waiting to be turned, finally, I dance.
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This is going to sound really weird... but I'm planning to continue my Dionysus/Ariadne/Theseus story and make it a novella for my writing project next quarter. I plan to do research on the myths/characters and Greek society/history/context of the time. So far, so good.

Now, the weird part: I'm already weirdly possessive of Dionysus. I mean. Obviously, he's a god and as such an object of worship (say, for present-day pagans and obviously for ancient Greeks). Some truly intense worship, at that (see: Maenads). But. Ummm... partly because my Ariadne resents that and feels jealous... I dunno, but the more I think of him as a 'him' and a character, the more I feel... odd about 'Dionysus the god'. Weirdly uncomfortable... because they're not so much concerned with 'Dionysus the person'. Crazy, but. He's getting a little too feisty/alive in my head. >____>;; I mean, it doesn't help that Dionysus wants to be worshipped. It's still a weird mental dissonance to think of a character as a character... and also as a god. This isn't really a problem, say, writing/thinking about Lucifer, 'cause I can separate 'my' Lucifer and 'your' Lucifer and 'his' Lucifer-- it's such a large concept/character. With Dionysus, I've only just started seriously thinking about him, so it's still 'just' Dionysus, and so my instinct is to reconcile all these images people have in order to get to know him as a character (know all my canon!), and unfortunately this creates... well, mental dissonance. Sort of like if I tried to write Lucifer/Adam slash (which I once did) while taking Satanism into account or something. It would've been seriously weird & I'm glad I didn't, that's for sure.

Also, in other insane news: I was a little taken aback yesterday at work, and had to force myself to concentrate, because....

The guy who came up to ask a qustion (a very soft-spoken guy, quite the gentleman-- dressed quite conservatively with a vest, I believe) looked just... ridiculously like Edward Cullen. *________*

I mean. Not only did he look like Robert Pattinson, but he actually looked more like Edward Cullen than Pattinson-- hair more reddish bronze than brown, for instance. It was just sort of... the weirdest thing EVER. His bone structure alone... I didn't know people (outside movie-stars) had bone structure that looked carved by a knife. o___0

I mean, I'm still a Jacob sort of girl, but. I mean, I can see where Bella was coming from, a bit. A BIT. o_0
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Y'know, y'know what enjoying fandom entails, for me? And also why I lose the groove after awhile. It's like this. You need to:
- Cheerfully embrace both sick/twisted/wrongness and canon squee;
- Have an insatiable desire for more of your favorite pairing/character, no matter what;
- Enjoy trivia, silly canon details and pointless info about inconsequential things re: world/characters;
- Enjoy surprises and stupidness for the sake of the stupid (it's cute! funny! and low-calorie);
- Be ready to be grateful, amazed and excited when you find a really good long fic, rather than disgusted/annoyed by yet another short, OOC boring fic.
- Genuinely feel there are lots of possibilities for meta/ficcage in the universe even if you don't wanna read about them all (having some positive thoughts to send towards shippers of a couple you don't actively ship allows you to feel part of an invisible community of 'fandom' at large).
- Extra bonus points for shipping an OTP character with more than one person (stress goes way down, I think, enjoyment way up, usually).

I *can* be all those things; I just can't be all the time. Basically it's all about embracing your purely emotional response and avoiding overthinking/overfeeling anything. Thinking is fun, of course, until you poke your eye out, so to speak. I feel like it's 'fun until', same way as feeling is fun till the battery runs out and you're just hung over & exhausted. I was particularly thinking of this in the context of a fic where the whole point is to have Spock say 'fuck off' because someone harassed Jim or whatever. I'm not sure if he's supposed to say it *to* Jim, but does it matter? No, what matters is the glee in having Spock lose his shit a bit. That's somehow so purely fannish, that glee in the sheer stupidness, as I said.

I think it's sort of ironic 'cause in comparison to some people (...Spock?? ha), I'm pretty sure I don't even overthink things that much. It's more brain-spew than anything. I almost always just bullshit and anytime I write/say *anything* I'm pretty much just trying it out to see how it sounds, haha. There are some rare exceptions where I really care/believe what I'm saying, but yeah, those are rare. Spock (the character of Spock) is a rare exception. Harry is, too. Normally I think it's the bullshit in my soul that allows me to come back to fandom, again and again, in a semi-enjoyable fashion, anyway. :>

In other words, my idea of love for fandom = crack, and crack!fic = fandom. Awww, live long & cracky, fandom. Protective!catty!Spock. Drunk!Jim. Prison planet, et al. ♥.
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I'm watching 'Great Teacher Onizuka' (first 10 minutes... wish me luck, I might actually finish one ep), and it's cute... I mean especially the likelihood I'll end up student teaching within a few years. So I was imagining standing there in front of class, and-- HOW EMBARRASSING-- I'd be the sort of teacher who randomly bursts out with silly/stupid and pointless tangents and-- oh god-- interrupts her students. Just kill me now. Note: didn't finish watching it, of course. ^^;;;

Anyway, on the larger front I'm very busy and all the times I'm not, I'm reading snatches of fiction and manga in pathetic dribbles, before my guilt drags me to read/write stuff for class, usually not a second before it's too late. I've adjusted, though; I hardly ever see my roommates or talk to my friends or call anyone, and I'm not doing so good at the whole club/social life/gym-going thing either, but I'm doing my homework... JUST. I'm really enjoying the seminar format portions of our class, except for the parts (especially today) where I randomly babble and interrupt, sounding like the hugest annoying idiot ever. :/

...ughhhhx10000000. )
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I am a horrible lazy no-good person. Ugh, finals week, uuuuugh. It really wouldn't be so bad, except I should've done transcription of a bunch of voice-recorded interviews weeks ago and put it off, and guess what, it takes FOREVER and I think I'm even slower 'cause I'm always listening to things 4-5 times to get it super-perfect/correct and I can't help it. What concerns me here is that it's like, representative (in theory) of anything that wouldn't come 'naturally' straight out of my head, like your average English paper does: this can only be done by sweating it out, and guess what, it's the thing that might've cost me this quarter, easy as pie. I'm not too thrilled with my performance re: the transcription issue. I mean, what performance? Though I already handed in the paper, I only wrote it based on maybe 8% of the whole of transcription I was supposed to do. :/ So now I've got two more nights to finish the other 92% and I've a headache and want to sleep. :/ Sigh.

Even more hilarious is the idea of 'self evaluations' that are supposed to be super-positive about yourself. I mean, um. How am I supposed to do *that*. :/

As usual, though, when it's exactly the wrong time, I've experienced a rebirth in my fannish self, thanks to [livejournal.com profile] discordiana (...who ships K/B), hehe. Nu!Kirk/nu!Spock epics (recs if you have any?), pls, with a side-order of annoyance and discord. ♥. But really I can't *blame* anything on that. It just was... convenient. Also, I've realized breaks are absolutely the *wrong* thing for me. I mean, small 3-4 day/long weekend breaks? Yeah. Week-long breaks just before the final push of the whole quarter? Just long enough to get me out of the groove of actually working. Not cool.

I've also realized [livejournal.com profile] bookshop was right when I was complaining madly about HP and how much I hated fandom & wanted to leave (hahaha IT WAS 2005 AHAHAHAHAAHHA). Even more hilariously, I know I've been saying that since '04, maybe even '03. Anyway, Aja said that basically fandom's the one who won't leave me even if I stop talking to everyone, basically, 'cause it's a pov/method, and it's truuuue. It's funny 'cause I basically hate 'fandom' 45-75% the time, but I definitely absolutely love it 25% of the time.

We were talking in class earlier about how academic lit study never really addresses emotional response, and how people, y'know, actually relate to literature. No duh. We were also talking about how different and deeply enriched one's understanding of any text becomes upon discussion in a community of readers vs one's own solitary perception upon reading, and no matter how a class tries to emulate such a community through discussion, the bottom line is that we can never be fandom, where people are there because they want to engage, they're invested, and they genuinely have something to contribute-- it matters to them already, or they wouldn't be there. In class, so many people are just taking up space, or don't care/connect to the some of the work at all. For a person who loves discussing literature (like myself) and is most comfortable, in the end, on the emotional-response level first and analytical meta second (like myself), while an English class may be fun and challenging, fandom is my absolute ideal environment, except when it's not, y'know, haha, since there's the rabid anti-meta faction, and then in the meta faction there's the rabid anti-canon faction, and rarely do the twain ever meet, etc.

At many points in the class, I was thinking about how this or that related to fandom and/or was relevant, and it sucked to not be able to share that with fandom. A lot of times people complained about something (in the current state of social interaction with texts/media) that fandom 'fixes' or answers, when they thought there was only entropy & decline. Basically, I think fandom is in fact one of the most fascinating and encouraging and positive aspects of the glut of brainless monstrosity that is modern pop culture. I used to think it only made sense to 'outgrow' fandom at one point, but you know what, it would be really sad if I did. It really would be.
dreamwitch: (Default)
Um. Er... yeah, so this whole thread at fandom_wank (which almost never bothers me, and still hasn't, really) is about... um... how/why people don't like Luna. O_o Um. I guess, y'know, I get it. On the one hand, I guess it's weird these people are in fandom? But, I mean, a) people are dorky/weird/fannish/crazy-special/etc in totally diametrically different ways, I guess, as we all knew; b) well, I know Luna (and, er, myself) are likely to be kind of annoying to people who're totally rationalist/100% sane/concrete-minded. So. It's just. That I haven't *seen* that particular pov before? Even though it makes sense. In a way it's refreshing from all the overwhelming 'omg we LURV Luna' around in fandom, when I *KNOW* girls like her wouldn't actually be omg-bffs with 95% of the people going on about how awesome she is; I mean, it's been my observation that in real life, yeah, people just sort of let the quiet/introverted weird girl who says disturbing/odd/rambly things alone, mostly, unless by some chance they get to know her and/or spend time with her by no real choice of their own (like the Trio did). No one wishes her harm (not even on fandom_wank), and no one seems to be too willing to say 'yeah, I'd steal her shoes too', but generally, in reality, I think it's honest to say most people don't make that much of an effort, enough to see the 'bright side' of [a girl like] Luna.

Still. It's like, "... oh." And I mean, I'm not obviously crazy or anything, nor do I spout 'nonsense' theories, etc, which is the apparent deal-breaker for these posters. But. I do act a lot like her in most other ways, and she *is* a stereotype (ie, she's an exaggeration, especially in books 6-7). It's just kind of like with my last post-- I guess people I don't talk to much sort of decide I'm 'weird' or decide to avoid me since I'm avoiding them, or some combination of the two.

Anyway, food for thought. Also, I'm so gonna finish my DE!Draco novella for Christmas break just to show people that you can have a kickass/realistic Draco without, um, making him insist on continuing the whole Malfoy clan with babiez, etc. The whole epilogue-compliant... thing annoys me, but mostly in the context of H/D and what H/D writers do in reaction ('cause in my head, it doesn't bother me if it *only* exists in canon!verse to make canon!Harry-- who is, well, not gay and who doesn't like Luna like that-- happy). Well, the fanon!epilogue (and post-epilogue) annoys me, even just as a concept. I think even I'm incapable of writing epi-compliant things I'd *like*. I think the major reason I dislike the fanon use of the epilogue is that it generally misses the whole *point* of the epilogue (in my mind), which is that it exists to make Harry happy, and messing with it therefore messes with its raison d'etre. Like, there's no point if Harry happy with someone else, or if he's not really happy, or he'll stop being happy for any reason. I mean, no point on some sort of meta level of existence. *hands* I know it's irrational, but the epi is irrational and wrong itself *unless* it's there for gratuitous emotional gratification, so I figure you either indulge it the way it's intended or kindly ignore it. Unless you're writing a fic specifically dealing with angst/issues about infidelity/sexuality and give Ginny equal time, etc. Anyway.

So. I need to purge it and write something post-Hogwarts for my own satisfaction.

Currently fighting off a major attack of the ST:XI Kirk/Spock variety. I... they... I blame the hothothot hatesexy vids. >___>;;
dreamwitch: (Default)
a series of polaroids
I can't decipher

Zoom out: now I see you
Zoom in: all I see is me, me, me

The are pictures of body-parts
and parts for our bodies: slot A, tab B
yet all I see are mirrors of mirrors:

here is where you color in;
here is where you let me in.


a series of letters
without an alphabet

Where goodbye means hello
And I say both to myself daily

Everything has meaning (did you call?)
And everything is meaningless (you'll never call)
And everything is my fault (I should call)


probably infatuation, friendship
or (most likely) nothing at all.

I only want you to indulge me:
let's talk about ourselves;
so I'll start.

I say, this is (my alphabet):
A - the beginning
B - a turning point,
C - the end.

You say, I'm open-ended.
dreamwitch: (Default)
- Pearl.

In the predawn light, we two would walk
where the water sloshed our ankles,
and the wind tickled our cheeks:
			Can you see me now?
			Hey lover, can you see me now?
poem. )
dreamwitch: (Default)
I want to give you words to drown in.

I want to say 'I love you', and you would see the world, and the moon and the moonlit glade and the chirruping birds and insects besides.

In all the metaphors, I'll show you mirrors. In all the masks you wear, I'll show you truths; some that you always knew, and some that you'd prefer not to have remembered. In these moments alone, will be your Catalyst. In all the lies, I'll tell you stories. In all the kindnesses, I'll allow the cruelty in, just enough for you to grow and change beyond my expectations. You'll become too strong to need me, and once you don't, I'll finally love you as much as you'd wanted; that's the bargain we make.

The story begins in the dark, or perhaps in the morning. Yes, the morning, that is the best time. Waking up, our dreams askew on top of our brows, barely situated and not yet ready for shambling over to the shower, making the coffee, stumbling out the door, all in the same awkward rhythm that's begun and ended every day previous. But before all that: here we are.
    ... )
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You know what everyone's greatest fear is? It is that all the dreams we have, all the crazy ideas and aspirations, all the impossible romantic longings and utopian visions can come true, that the world can grant our wishes. People spend their lives doing everything in their power to fend off that possibility: they beat themselves up with every kind of insecurity, sabotage their own efforts, undermine love affairs and cry sour grapes before the world even has a chance to defeat them... because no weight could be heavier to bear than the possibility that everything we want is possible. If that is true, then there really are things at stake in this life, things to be truly won or lost. Nothing could be more heartbreaking than to fail when such success is actually possible, so we do everything we can to avoid trying in the first place, to avoid having to try.

- Hakim Bey, 'Utopia'
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As I lay me down to sleep
This I pray
That you will hold me dear
Though I'm far away
I'll whisper your name into the sky
And I will wake up happy

- Sophie B. Hawkins

In the old stories, it was rarely the woman who was the monster, the many-tentacled goddess, with the man being vulnerable and delicate, a tasty morsel. Even that man would always smile confidently at the idea, tilt his head indulgently perhaps; he knew he was stronger than he looked, after all, more difficult to draw in. The woman is always the prize, even when that woman is the trap door.

In the few stories where the consuming goddess ate the mortal-- cock and soul and all-- always, always, the man went blissfully to his doom, screaming in joy.

If such a goddess had a descendant, millenia later, what might she feel when she looked at the dawning clear eyes of a man she knew she could destroy? If the goddess had a descendant who was herself guarded, trapped, lost-- how might she communicate a basic desire for companionship while hinting of the danger that lurked in getting too close without driving away the other? How might her own heart survive the brilliant immolation she knew always waited for her?

There was only three directions she could see herself walking-- alone, her strength stable but low; together, loving purely while preparing for sacrifice with open eyes; together, taking what was given with no trace of shame, with the full knowledge that supply was limited and it was going to run out one day, maybe soon. Of course, it was hers. Pain may be inevitable, but happiness is in the gentle burning, the long way down.

He was hers.

Or was he?


It wasn't that she didn't like him. Of course she did. ... )
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She stood by the window in her tower as the clouds gathered, the wind slow and warm. She wasn't even a dot in the landscape if you'd been looking in, but she saw him.

Through the lens, she could see the boy she knew too well and not at all. He sat alone in the field of yellowed grass with the first stars overhead, the dark shapes of trees in the distance, blending into shadowy towers.

He sat alone as if he'd always been alone, alone in a way no amount of company could quite breach. He didn't stare at the castle far up ahead, nor above him at the stars-- he looked down at the gently swaying grass, rolling a single blade between his fingers.

She thought she knew what he saw; how he felt. Content, almost, with the quiet. So alone the trees seemed to whisper their secrets in the echoing spaces, ones he thought his best friend might have understood. But the weight of the world didn't seem so heavy with the evening wind dancing through the field, and the familiar stars were still there, reminding him of that first childhood moment when the wonder had first claimed him.

She loved him so much it hurt, felt like an empty gaping space in her chest, but she couldn't quite gather herself up enough to go out and meet him, kneel beside him and ruffle his hair. He seemed to complete, sitting there with his arms around his knees, the wind dragging his hood up to rustle behind his head.

The words left her mouth before she could stop them, and then there they were, floating through her window: "I'm with you."
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today will disappear again, my dear
but listen: were it impossible, the sheer nerve

would be enough-- but now--
tick tock, tick tock, it's time

for groceries and laundry, quarters & dimes
i unplugged the phone, my clothes are fine

if i knew you, i could've saved you then
don't look so uncertain, i could've listened

as you asked me why
the things we knew remain

untouchable looking back
through the rearview.
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What freedom was--

A shared song
A field of red daisies
A reason to dance naked

Blood running down my thighs
The drumbeat getting louder:
We have all the time in the world.

This is what I saw--

A spinning wheel of dreams,
there beneath your feet.

only the lonely can play.
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I want to think you hate this, so
I've drunk down your cock;
I don't need to, but--



Skinny hips flail, next to smother me
you don't break if-- & you don't speak when
I bite your dirty mouth but kiss your thigh

Even Marked you're something (beautiful)
you only eat your words
and my ears ring; it's enough.

I lick down your cheek slow
and hot-- drop by salty drop
because your eyes still hate me

Mouth shut, like a living statue
legs bent wide open; you're volcanic,
incandescent (you know what I want)

It flows through you (into me)
the hot current-- tastes like fear or death,
but it's strong like sex.


I feel you stare through my back
and your mouth, bitter like snakeroot
with all your curses gathered silent.

my eyes glued open, I can't see your face
dig deeper, and you'd pierce to hide
you alone underneath my skin.

NOTE - Snakeroot: "psychic divorce" herb. Use when you want to be rid of a person or thing.
    I didn't actually know this when I used the name, however o_0
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"I thought life was a series of questions... like, who are you. What do you want. What do you think I want. Who do you need? What do you love? What is essential? But it's not."

The tortoise frowned, looking balefully at the snail. "So if it's not about questions, is it about answers, then? Like, life is full of answers you don't know the questions to? Unless you're a tortoise. Which I am, by the way," the tortoise added.

"I am who I am too, but only sometimes," his companion said. "Because sometimes, I'm a butterfly."

"Pfft!" cried the tortoise. "What rubbish!"

"You do not understand me at all," said the snail scathingly. "Have you ever been a snail?"

"Well, no, but I don't need to be--"

"That is your central mistake. You need to be a snail in order to understand pretty much anything about the order of things. Too bad, isn't it?"

"The truth is, I don't want to understand you. Your shell has no symmetry."

"You say that, wincing in jealousy because my shell is delicate like a conch, pearlescent like the moon, necessary like the earth. You know all this, but your pride is more important."

"Nothing about you is -necessary-, useless creature!"

"Have you ever asked a question you didn't know the answer to, merely to think about it and wonder at how little you understood anything whatsoever? Did you find it a reassuring feeling, reminding you of how safely small you were?"

"I'm not small!" the tortoise cried. "I'm rotund and sturdy! I have my space!"

"There are moments when I think I'm the biggest, slimiest snail-- or perhaps the only snail that matters. In my imagination, I am the proto-snail from which all snailness derives. And then I snap out of it."

"How fascinating."

"Quite, in the way that pointless ponderings have a way of propagating themselves. Watch them reproduce and wonder!"

"I'd rather have a bite to eat," the tortoise said.

"What do tortoises eat, then?"

"Oh, snails." The tortoise smiled menacingly as best it could.

"Liar!" the snail sputtered. "You have no teeth to break my shell!"

And that much, indeed, was true.
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This is sort of a book-review. But it sort of isn't. If it is, it'll be about 'Sunshine' by Robin McKinley, one of my old-time [say, adolescent] favorite authors, who generally writes fairy-tale retellings or old-school fantasy type stories. So I avoided reading 'Sunshine' (vampires! nooooo) for quite awhile, feeling betrayed. I know this is going to sound a bit weak/unbelievable at this point [post-Twilight fannishness], but I honestly can't stand vampire stories. I also don't like dragon stories, zombie stories, or really any kind of monster story, including werewolves until very recently (at this point, post-Jacob Black, I can't even find a single tendril of former werewolf distaste, but whatcha gonna do).

Anyway, I never disliked vampires or dragons or ghouls *per se*. I never liked them, either, but it's not that I disliked them. The reason I disliked monsters (in stories) is because pretty much no one [in pop media] dealt with them in a way I found either original or bearable; it was almost always one of three things:

- Action story - 1: An excuse to fight/kill/maim the vampire/dragon/beastie/etc (yeay? I sort of automatically feel like defending them, if not for...)
- Moral story - 2a: An excuse to 'cure' monsters 'cause they're actually 'good' (blech!!! die! die! DIE~! ...um... I hate those stories mostest... I'm looking at you, EDWARD... and the worst part is that I resent them 'cause I only wish this were done well, and without white-washing);
- 2b: An excuse to set up stupid good/evil dichotomies, because monsters are 'bad' (yeay for 'subtle' moral lessons learned);
- Sexual story - 3: An excuse to sexualize 'darkness' and make it your bitch (wouldn't be so bad if this wasn't also generally the least well-written type, and also feels like TMI about the writer).

In any case: 'Sunshine' is for those of us who can't stand vampire stories. Who think vampires ought to be disturbing and icky, thankyouverymuch [and I'll pass on the blood], but also fascinating and symbolically meaningful [because just evil-bad-wrong monsters are bloody boring... ahem].

Also: I've read a lot of reviews of various books either praising a 'spunky' heroine who doesn't need her man to 'rescue' her or attacking a girl who either angsts or cries about various issues, but especially her boyfriend issues, and/or doesn't do anything constructive. As if, I dunno, that was literally the only redeeming quality that distinguishes a woman: she's intelligent + 'strong' if she's careful/tough/independent and she's weak + stupid if she's emotional/needy/insecure. I mean... and this is the 'enlightened modern perspective'.

You don't 'dislike' or feel afraid of monsters, in other words: you kick their ass while not getting yourself into too many situations where that's too necessary [careful, remember]. Period.

Seriously? It's like all these women want to be these girls' mother.

Anyway, Sunshine (the heroine of McKinley's book) probably pisses all these women off. Why? They probably (if they thought about it) wouldn't be able to decide whether she's strong or weak, dumb or intelligent, kick-ass or pathetic. YES. This is my kind of book. ♥. But just in case you misunderstand-- Sunshine is strong, and independent, and intelligent. She's just not... a superhero, or a faker, or someone who denies their emotions for strength (rather, it's a sign of when she's feeling weak). She's real, mostly.
    etcetc )
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