(no subject)

I can feel myself changing. I guess it makes sense that now's when it would happen, if it ever did. Not that it always isn't, i.e. not that I always am not--amusing 1st/3rd person merging, that, reflecting just the feeling I mean--but one [merge complete] seldom feels the air move to let one know it's happening. Breezes of neglected possibility-worlds are licking through the stress tears. But that's not mostly what's happening, mostly everything's just suddenly opaque.

You need a strong footing. I clung to knowing what was what, and that worked well. It's less interesting now that the chance of being something seems real.

I'm also starting to see myself as a character, and I can't tell if that's a good inoculation against being one or just what one notices when one no longer cares to not be one.

One plus one plus one. Two should do something for a change.

(no subject)

Oh, and:

Bless Hardy for this:

Every branch big with it,
Bent every twig with it;
Every fork like a white web-foot;
Every street and pavement mute:
Some flakes have lost their way, and grope back upward when
Meeting those meandering down they turn and descend again.
The palings are glued together like a wall,
And there is no waft of wind with the fleecy fall.
A sparrow enters the tree,
Whereon immediately
A snow-lump thrice his own slight size
Descends on him and showers his head and eyes
And overturns him,
And near inurns him,
And lights on a nether twig, when its brush
Starts off a volley of other lodging lumps with a rush.
The steps are a blanched slope,
Up which, with feeble hope,
A black cat comes, wide-eyed and thin;
And we take him in.