Saturday, June 05, 2004
Like taking a Junkie to an Opium Den.
I beg your leave, madam, for I am weak. So very weak. Do not take this honest profession as a testament to my softness of mind. It is quite the reverse. My mind and wits are sharpened as a surgeon's best implements. Madam, with this pointed mind I warp mine own logic until it seems that my desires are indeed the best course upon which my foot must lie or my hard-earned silver fall. Thus a mind purloined as cunningly against itself may be the most dangerous of things.
These knavish wits, these faerie ideals. They neglect all propriety. What a world it would be- just think madam- if all persons were gifted in such a manner. Bankers and harlots would be prosperous indeed.
Alas, I must confess that even now my heart is reaching. The muscle strains against my mortal flesh for another sweet dose of the rancid poison. For yes, it is to me a vile drug as liquor to the sloshing drunkard. We both hate and love it as it elates and destroys us. Madam take pity on your humble servant, for she has another master. A slave I am. Bound by addiction, by desire, by a lust for that which will ultimately destroy.
As the moth flies to the flame, scorching its powd'ry flesh in pursuit of light- as I am exhausting my resources, pressing myself against the mortal limit in pursuit of my own golden flame. The flame of beauty, of knowledge, of used clothes and books.
Fie! My heart does even leap at the writing of the words.
In your love Madam, forgive this soul who so turns these gifts of humankind to dark purport. A quick wit easily escapes the slow grasp, a sharp knife will pare the soft hand.
In other words: Crap. I bought too much at the thrift store again. I need to stop convincing myself to do such things. Someone stop me. Please. But really, Aardvarks is über spiffy.
I wrote this during class a few weeks ago, but in light of recent events I thought it was an appropriate post. In our garage I have 6 midsized boxes that are overpacked with books. Far too heavy. There's supposed to be some kind of method or knack to it. I was never much good at packing. But today I went to the Glendora Library with my mother. They have a shelf for free books. Discards and donations. I try to avoid going. Why, you ask?
Well to-day I came home with 9 new books. It's a sickness I tell you. And it's wonderful.
Also, I'd totally like to do something like this one day. -- G 'Bye, Sonya -- . ( 5.6.04 ) .
I beg your leave, madam, for I am weak. So very weak. Do not take this honest profession as a testament to my softness of mind. It is quite the reverse. My mind and wits are sharpened as a surgeon's best implements. Madam, with this pointed mind I warp mine own logic until it seems that my desires are indeed the best course upon which my foot must lie or my hard-earned silver fall. Thus a mind purloined as cunningly against itself may be the most dangerous of things.
These knavish wits, these faerie ideals. They neglect all propriety. What a world it would be- just think madam- if all persons were gifted in such a manner. Bankers and harlots would be prosperous indeed.
Alas, I must confess that even now my heart is reaching. The muscle strains against my mortal flesh for another sweet dose of the rancid poison. For yes, it is to me a vile drug as liquor to the sloshing drunkard. We both hate and love it as it elates and destroys us. Madam take pity on your humble servant, for she has another master. A slave I am. Bound by addiction, by desire, by a lust for that which will ultimately destroy.
As the moth flies to the flame, scorching its powd'ry flesh in pursuit of light- as I am exhausting my resources, pressing myself against the mortal limit in pursuit of my own golden flame. The flame of beauty, of knowledge, of used clothes and books.
Fie! My heart does even leap at the writing of the words.
In your love Madam, forgive this soul who so turns these gifts of humankind to dark purport. A quick wit easily escapes the slow grasp, a sharp knife will pare the soft hand.
In other words: Crap. I bought too much at the thrift store again. I need to stop convincing myself to do such things. Someone stop me. Please. But really, Aardvarks is über spiffy.
I wrote this during class a few weeks ago, but in light of recent events I thought it was an appropriate post. In our garage I have 6 midsized boxes that are overpacked with books. Far too heavy. There's supposed to be some kind of method or knack to it. I was never much good at packing. But today I went to the Glendora Library with my mother. They have a shelf for free books. Discards and donations. I try to avoid going. Why, you ask?
Well to-day I came home with 9 new books. It's a sickness I tell you. And it's wonderful.
Also, I'd totally like to do something like this one day. -- G 'Bye, Sonya -- . ( 5.6.04 ) .