that love ever should be sinne
Dec. 30th, 2006 09:57 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lotesseI feel like I ought to talk about Saddam, but I have nothing to say. The f. is in the h. I am valiantly facepalming. And I don't know enough to be able to talk about the political ramifications, that's not why I have a problem with the whole thing. I oppose the death penalty; end of story
For something completely different,
A meme.
Hmm. Spending less time on greek shouldn't be too bad, but if I am resolving to give up Winchesters then I can tell already that this is one of those "better in theory than in practice" sort of ideas. Like eating less chocolate. Or getting up in the morning.
The eating books one pings me, though, because that actually is something that I want t do more of. I've always thought of the reading that I did as a little girl as being like eating; I was driven by a need for text in the same way that I was driven by a need for nourishment. The text was my nourishment. I don't read like that anymore, or not as much. Reading that's purely for pleasure, nothing academic or highbrow in my intentions, consuming like fire and light. The sort of reading where you skip meals and maybe even classes, where you forget how to speak. Like that.
I've been thinking a lot of about the place of pleausre, of the id, in my own reading and writing. I think that half the reason I worte such funny stilted things three or four years ago was that I felt afraid of my id, that it seemed like smething sub-literary that I ought to suppress. But I've been questioning why I feel that way. Why shouldn't the soul-deep satisfaction of Anne and Gilbert's first kiss be all right, worthwhile, acceptable? I wonder if it doesn't tie in somehow to the ghettoization of women's writing, feeling subordinated to the phallus-shaped plot. But maybe that's going too far.
At any rate, I've been trying to let my id out a bit more. Fandom has always been a place for that, but in my own writing and reading and living. I don't see what I should be so ashamed of. I like stories that make me feel warm and squishy, especially via angst or hurt/comfort. That doesn't necessarily mean that nothing that makes me feel that way has no other value besides emotional masturbation.
And while I'm on the subject, what's so wrong about masturbation?
I'm very ready to go back to school. There's no snow, and everything's so very grey. At least at school I have work, have text, have thought-food.
For something completely different,
A meme.
In 2007, 
lotesseflower resolves to...
lotesseflower resolves to...Overcome my secret fear of pirates.
Pay for my essays on time.
Spend less time on greek.
Eat more books.
Give up winchesters.
Go writing three times a week.
Pay for my essays on time.
Spend less time on greek.
Eat more books.
Give up winchesters.
Go writing three times a week.
Hmm. Spending less time on greek shouldn't be too bad, but if I am resolving to give up Winchesters then I can tell already that this is one of those "better in theory than in practice" sort of ideas. Like eating less chocolate. Or getting up in the morning.
The eating books one pings me, though, because that actually is something that I want t do more of. I've always thought of the reading that I did as a little girl as being like eating; I was driven by a need for text in the same way that I was driven by a need for nourishment. The text was my nourishment. I don't read like that anymore, or not as much. Reading that's purely for pleasure, nothing academic or highbrow in my intentions, consuming like fire and light. The sort of reading where you skip meals and maybe even classes, where you forget how to speak. Like that.
I've been thinking a lot of about the place of pleausre, of the id, in my own reading and writing. I think that half the reason I worte such funny stilted things three or four years ago was that I felt afraid of my id, that it seemed like smething sub-literary that I ought to suppress. But I've been questioning why I feel that way. Why shouldn't the soul-deep satisfaction of Anne and Gilbert's first kiss be all right, worthwhile, acceptable? I wonder if it doesn't tie in somehow to the ghettoization of women's writing, feeling subordinated to the phallus-shaped plot. But maybe that's going too far.
At any rate, I've been trying to let my id out a bit more. Fandom has always been a place for that, but in my own writing and reading and living. I don't see what I should be so ashamed of. I like stories that make me feel warm and squishy, especially via angst or hurt/comfort. That doesn't necessarily mean that nothing that makes me feel that way has no other value besides emotional masturbation.
And while I'm on the subject, what's so wrong about masturbation?
I'm very ready to go back to school. There's no snow, and everything's so very grey. At least at school I have work, have text, have thought-food.
no subject
Date: 2006-12-31 06:10 pm (UTC)The trial doesn't have to be real. The execution is real enough for both of them. Right now he's being tried for the deaths of over 100 Shiites. How many people has Bush's war killed? Let's hang him, too.
The best reason to try your enemies rather than simply executing them is for public humiliation value. In the dark ages, the trial would sometimes take place the same day as the execution, in the public square, and would involve forced confessions under torture. Since that wouldn't win much public opinion nowadays, we humiliate with a show trial. However, the fact that so little of his trial is in the news is telling. Mr. Hussein is a man with a great deal of personal power. He held his composure, even under duress, and with the knowledge of his own death hanging over his head. In the little bit they showed on television, he actually gained my respect. He may not have been a good leader, but I have to admire his strength.
Apparently, so did the first judge, who was replaced for being "too lenient." And who judges the judges, dare I ask?!
The stronger he stands, the harder it is to get a glimpse of Mr. Hussein. The last I saw of him, he was in a brief news clip, passionately arguing for his life in the appeals process. The clip shown had him rather worked up, (and who could fail to be worked up, forced to participate in a fixed trial that will end in your death?) probably the only seconds in the entire appeals where he lost even part of his composure, and was shown without subtitles or translation. Maybe it wouldn't sound so crazy if we knew what he was saying, huh? He was just supposed to look like a raving madman, foaming at the mouth.
Americans who want Mr. Hussein dead don't give a shit about the Shiites he killed. American soldiers could kill twice as many, and tell us this was a good thing and we "got the bad guys," and we'd celebrate.
I remember when they bragged all over the news that we'd killed one of Mr. Hussein's sons. We practically did a victory dance, singing "We killed your sooon, we killed your sooon." Imagine if our enemies killed one of Bush's daughters, and bragged like that. Even the most solid Bush-haters would be enraged.
I'm not happy about the people who died either. But I find the Iraq war, which has taken so many lives, to be inexcusable. If we really cared about the Iraqi people, there are other, more peaceful solutions we could have pursued. And maybe, if we did that, we might have some international backing as well.
no subject
Date: 2006-12-31 06:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-12-31 07:39 pm (UTC)So. I tend to think not well or badly of people but with hope for persons, and as compassionately of 'people' (mass/group) as I can, by placing myself in the spot I've got the other in. Works sometimes.
This is turning out to be an interesting thread. You have an interesting friendslist! (http://www.bartleby.com/61/86/C0578600.html)
no subject
Date: 2007-01-01 12:35 am (UTC)