Well, here I am, rolling up my sleeves as I get ready to make my first LJ post (after finally finishing my information page). Lord only knows what this entry is going to look like when I'm done, or how it's going to read -- I'm operating at the moment on 5 hours sleep in the last 48, and way too many cups of coffee. Oh, and did I mention, I'm doing this at work. I never felt the need of a computer at home until now, but it's clear I'm going to have to rethink that very soon.
A topic, like religion, that I usually stay silent on. In this forum, though, that self-censorship is going to be turned off. Readers may like or dislike what I have to say, but if I'm not honest here, why bother to post in the first place?
So, the election. I just checked the CNN headlines and saw that Kerry has conceded (when I left for work at 6 a.m., that hadn't happened yet). It was pretty much a foregone conclusion that this was how it would play out, but that doesn't make it any less painful, and at the moment I feel physically ill. I'm a liberal from a very blue state (California), and it's sobering, and a little frightening, to realize that I can't talk to more than half the people in the country. What I see as the mistakes, deceptions, and encroachments on individual liberties that have taken place in the last 4 years apparently look like a security blanket and a glass of warm milk from a red-state perspective. We seem to be moving in the direction of an Orwellian future that just took 20 years longer than expected to get here. What happens now?
rileyc said, "When you see this, post a bit of poetry in your own journal." So now that I can, I will. These three poems were written by the Greek poet C.P. Cavafy, and translated by Rae Dalven.
For those people most likely to read this post, the first two poems are here for obvious reasons (Note to Aline -- see "FAR OFF" -- Tom not only read Sappho, but he read Cavafy as well). The third poem is by way of a thank you toalinewrites for all of the lovely LJ posts about her country house.
I should like to relate this memory . . .
A skin as if made of jasmine . . .
It must have been one o'clock in the morning,
In a corner of the tavern;
No one would have seen us. But already
Our clothes were half opened -- they were not many
Enjoyment of the flesh between
"HOUSE WITH A GARDEN"
I would like to have a country house
May you find something to rejoice over today.