Today is a long post day. You *know* it's the upcoming forced separation from the comp by half eurasia that's doing it. still, i would like to *now* point out that suze is still a genius and wonderful and stuff, and her thing about us psychotic blog-stalkers/readers not being complete psycho nolife loser types is *reassuring*. Somehow, that girl is able to write and it's convincing and comforting and will protect me from the evil scary outside world. I think it's because she's been proven a superior being by sharing my love of heero, dorothy and noin and by the yaoi rant and by, erm, being on kekkai. Yes, I *am* obsessed with kekkai. You got a problem with that, you can bite my stony ass.

Thing is, it's very much a writing circle, like she says, all this blog/livejournal-reading and commenting, and close to a clique. I mean, it's better than a clique, since it's very inclusive: i've only just plucked up the courage to start commenting on the journals of people whose stuff i like and don't know, and they're pretty much invariably lovely and reply and make me feel all wanted and shit. These ones i read and cross-link to and follow links from and then post up their links on my journal are *all* on the tenshi&joy/rose/technomancy axis because right now livejournal has 673 members interested in yaoi and 448 members interested in slash and I can't read them all - well, yaoi and slash are fairly broad churches, and just cuz they live the same anime subfandom as me doesn't mean they'll be people i like - and I got into livejournal through following the journals link on bishink so i'm sticking to what i know and who they know.

Frankly, putting up a blog/journal/diary is an act of (hate this phrase but none other will do) attention-seeking. In some cases - hell, see my wail of a few posts down - it's this squickful desire to let others catch scraps of TMI, like those people who turn up in chatrooms and tell you all about their abusive childhood and past familial death and if you're a cynic like me you're alternately pissed off at their brazen usage of personal matters with strangers and suspicious that they're making it all up. In other cases it isn't: still, you don't put up a diary on the net and expect it not to be read by *anyone*. Okay, the first time you get random contact it's kinda wierd but it's *pleasing*, it's this sense that you're connecting with someone you wouldn't normally have. And, like i'm doing, you get to pick up on others' arguments and continue them in yer own ways, and comment (i love the fact that LJ has a comments system: the only thing i dislike is that you have to call ppl you read "friends", not "favourite journals", which caused me severe psychologikal trawma.) on things.

Also, for my voyeuristic tendencies, the snippets of *life* you get, the moments where you feel almost embarrassed at poking your nose into a life which isn't yours, are beautiful. Not the TMI crap that people drag out to draw attention and pitypitypity, not the huge earth-shaking tragedies that make you want to hug someone you've never met and never will and give them tissues and chocolate and do something silly like bake cakes together and tell them maybe it *won't* all be okay but still the world will be around and you're always there if you're needed. Just the little moments of stuff, flashes of things which exist so commonly that they aren't ever written up in journals because they're taken for granted. To completely debase my argument, it's like Big Brother series 2 live at the moment: i'll be fascinated by one guy just *shaving* for however long that takes, and the care he shows in it, but the whole grand 'storyline' of people being shoved out at regular intervals just bores me.
/lowbrow popular popkultur referenz

And i fucken'love the fact that people read this: not many, but some. Enough. And since the people i read are obviously darlings from the way they write their blogs/journals, i'm perfectly happy for them to read mine. Hell, by commenting/contacting i'm in fact actively encouraging them to. So it's all good.

Gee, writing that really did make me go all fuzzy inside. Better go read some truly crap bsbsongfic clicheful gundam shonenai to return to my normal caustic self.

by the way, i think it's Thom Yorke's *voice* that makes me cry. Though i don't know how that works when it's me singing it and crying. Could be an important scientific study: harpy's Pavlovian reaction to anything remotely radiohead-flavoured.

Argh, and *now* i'm off to internet male impersonate because, hell, it's all roleplay anyway and just cuz i crossgender doesn't mean nuttin'...

hah! i can inflict bad poetry on you and YOU CAN'T DO ANYTHING ABOUT IT! ahahaha!
...and so on.

Hey, cut me some slack here, I am leaving soon... for work, then packing, then poncing off to moscow to quote 3 sisters (father died exactly a year ago, this very day...):
ah yes, to moscow, as soon as possible!

i *said* keats was bad for me, but did i listen?

our lady help of christians

After they killed the church, they tore away
Its steeple, and then its roof; and thus exposed
The nave and choir to the rough mercy of day,
Which is harsher than God's. The suppliants' door was closed
And padlocked so that none could steal back in
To kick at rubble, or settle down and cry
For deconsecrated rock; or shrive their sin
In the sunlit confessional of the listening sky.
But now a holier water ran as a flood
On stone and brick and eccesiastical plaster:
It filled the dip where the old cold font had stood
And dripped from the tip of each burdenless rafter
Onto the hard backs of insects, the only ones who could
Pray there for their souls and ours in the hereafter.

Not too bad, considering it was written in a quarter of an hour while smoking, sitting on someone's wall in kentish town getting wierd looks from people passing by.

There's some poetry competition coming up, and i'll probably take part, but i don't think i'd be able to take any of the older ones on the site's originals page which means i have to write *more* of the damn stuff. Argh: since i've written them, I have no decent quality control. Stupid lack of proportion... grrr.