I am sicker than I was the day after Arisia. More coughing, more exhaustion, less brain. I resent it. I understand perfectly well what happened—I attended a convention over the weekend where, if I really wanted to fight this off, I should have stayed in bed—but I still resent it. I would like to be writing, but I'm not, and I have to leave the house for an unrelated doctor's appointment this afternoon. I spent most of yesterday on the couch with Dr. Autolycus in my arms, firmly and medicinally purring. I recognize there are worse things to do with my time.
1. Courtesy of![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
selkie: longsword and archery and Gluck.
2. These poems particularly caught my eye: Marion McReady's "Ballad of the Clyde's Water," Sandra McPherson's "Sitting on a Desk," and Durs Grünbein's "The Doctrine of Photography" (trans. Karen Leeder).
3. The Guardian's redesign is driving me crazy, but I found this article by Jill Filipovic useful: "When we haven't yet agreed that female pleasure and clear enthusiasm are prerequisites for a sexual encounter, we lack the ability to peel back the layers of sexual experience, and we end up with two bad options: accept sexual inequity as just how sex is (or just how men are) or wedge truly bad sexual experiences into the category of sexual assault . . . Feminists have been on the forefront of tackling these knottier issues of sex, consent, pleasure and power. And so it's up to us to lead the way in confronting the private, intimate interactions that may be technically consensual but still profoundly sexist."
4. I still don't like the redesign, but I love the evidence of 4500-year-old metalworking and engineering found on Keros in the Cyclades.
5. Courtesy ofhandful_ofdust: James Cagney restores antiques and Gal Gadot needs to play either Bond or Viola or both right now.
I have nothing eloquent to say about Dolores O'Riordan having died; I heard the news and my reaction was a flat what the hell. She was an even less reasonable age for dying than the usual part of the landscape. "Zombie" (1994) was one of the very few music videos I saw when it aired; I was at the house of my best friend who followed contemporary music and she had MTV on and I had never heard anything like that breathless, breaking voice—or seen anything like the video's flip from mud-spattered black-and-white war games to gold-drenched tableaux, although the latter looks to me now like a director who might have glanced off Derek Jarman. The children's mouths opening, silent gold and screaming. O'Riordan a mourning fury. It still gives me chills.
1. Courtesy of
selkie: longsword and archery and Gluck.2. These poems particularly caught my eye: Marion McReady's "Ballad of the Clyde's Water," Sandra McPherson's "Sitting on a Desk," and Durs Grünbein's "The Doctrine of Photography" (trans. Karen Leeder).
3. The Guardian's redesign is driving me crazy, but I found this article by Jill Filipovic useful: "When we haven't yet agreed that female pleasure and clear enthusiasm are prerequisites for a sexual encounter, we lack the ability to peel back the layers of sexual experience, and we end up with two bad options: accept sexual inequity as just how sex is (or just how men are) or wedge truly bad sexual experiences into the category of sexual assault . . . Feminists have been on the forefront of tackling these knottier issues of sex, consent, pleasure and power. And so it's up to us to lead the way in confronting the private, intimate interactions that may be technically consensual but still profoundly sexist."
4. I still don't like the redesign, but I love the evidence of 4500-year-old metalworking and engineering found on Keros in the Cyclades.
5. Courtesy of
handful_ofdust: James Cagney restores antiques and Gal Gadot needs to play either Bond or Viola or both right now.I have nothing eloquent to say about Dolores O'Riordan having died; I heard the news and my reaction was a flat what the hell. She was an even less reasonable age for dying than the usual part of the landscape. "Zombie" (1994) was one of the very few music videos I saw when it aired; I was at the house of my best friend who followed contemporary music and she had MTV on and I had never heard anything like that breathless, breaking voice—or seen anything like the video's flip from mud-spattered black-and-white war games to gold-drenched tableaux, although the latter looks to me now like a director who might have glanced off Derek Jarman. The children's mouths opening, silent gold and screaming. O'Riordan a mourning fury. It still gives me chills.
