When I jump off the edge, I float right back up again
Whatever else I may have wanted to do with it, today went almost entirely toward recovering from our marathon. I did some capitalism before dinner and lay on the couch afterward. ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
spatch took a picture.
I have a zillion problems with my body and all its works, but I like my asymmetrical face. Don't jinx it, face.
I have been re-reading Lloyd Alexander's The Foundling and Other Tales of Prydain (1973) in the later edition that includes the texts of Coll and His White Pig (1965) and The Truthful Harp (1967). I read the latter for the first time as the original picture book illustrated by Evaline Ness; a previous reader had defaced the copy in the Cambridge Public Library by writing in simpler synonyms for a peculiar percentage of the vocabulary, of which the only example I can remember is "legs" for "shanks." I was indignant, especially since I knew all the contested words and felt insulted by the stranger with the red (or black—at this distance I don't remember and it seems unwise in this context to make up the detail) pen who thought I didn't. It is no longer part of the library's collection, according to the online catalogue of the Minuteman Library Network. I'd have bought it in a sale if I'd seen it, unwanted glosses notwithstanding. Those books still mean so much to me. I feel unjustifiably smug about the fact that my godchild seems to be liking the set I gave them.
spatch took a picture.
I have a zillion problems with my body and all its works, but I like my asymmetrical face. Don't jinx it, face.
I have been re-reading Lloyd Alexander's The Foundling and Other Tales of Prydain (1973) in the later edition that includes the texts of Coll and His White Pig (1965) and The Truthful Harp (1967). I read the latter for the first time as the original picture book illustrated by Evaline Ness; a previous reader had defaced the copy in the Cambridge Public Library by writing in simpler synonyms for a peculiar percentage of the vocabulary, of which the only example I can remember is "legs" for "shanks." I was indignant, especially since I knew all the contested words and felt insulted by the stranger with the red (or black—at this distance I don't remember and it seems unwise in this context to make up the detail) pen who thought I didn't. It is no longer part of the library's collection, according to the online catalogue of the Minuteman Library Network. I'd have bought it in a sale if I'd seen it, unwanted glosses notwithstanding. Those books still mean so much to me. I feel unjustifiably smug about the fact that my godchild seems to be liking the set I gave them.
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I couldn't help noticing that the truthful harp gets its first string-snapping workout every time Fflewddur downplays something he's done and I felt . . . attacked? --the harp has "This machine silences Tiny Witt" painted on it.
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The artist nuked his site a couple of years ago, meaning I had to scrounge for this image, but I thought Justin Kunz did not do a bad job with him:
But I'm afraid my mental image was essentially Alexander.
--the harp has "This machine silences Tiny Witt" painted on it.
Aww. Argh.
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