it's my thoughts that bind me here

[reflectedeve]

Oh hey! I keep meaning to write a post and then not doing it, so this might be a little ridiculous.

IDK, real life has been ... not totally nutty, but work's been pretty tiring and busy (there was an accepted student open house, and my boss was out a whole lot). Also, there was even more rain (record amounts and lots of flooding, whee), and before that, there were beekeepers nosing around in my ceiling! Who did not actually find any bees (apparently the hive up and moved sometime in February/early March? there weren't even that many dead ones left), but we did find about 120 pounds of honey. (Eventually, this will make a good comic.) Also, I turned 26.

I've been trying to focus on my original comic work (as usual), with less than desired success, but I haven't been very consistently fannish either. A little while back there was this Gerard Way video, which provoked the usual WHAT IS HIS FACE reaction from me (it had been awhile, too!), and also Mikeyway was adorable. I miss them, but I'm trying not to dwell on MCR too much until we actually have a release date for that album. Whateverthefuck it's going to be, now.

Recently, I've found myself reading lots of DC comics; mostly Bat-books. (I find the current lack of Bruce Wayne weirdly approachable, or something?) While my comic reading habits are often pretty separate from my online fannish pursuits, I checked out Close To Home by iesika (which I really enjoyed), and now I find myself right back in a Tim/Kon sort of place. (Not that I wasn't already feeling it.) Does anyone happen to have some favorite recs to throw at me? They can totally be old; I was really haphazard about reading in the fandom when I was doing that actively, a few years back.

On the other hand, just as I was getting comfortable, there comes this news. Goddammit, Rucka. ;_; I was looking forward to more of your Batwoman SO MUCH. I really hope she gets picked up by someone who can write and who really gets her, but . . . well, it's DC. IDEK. :(((((

In happier news, I watched the new Doctor Who episode last night, and I pretty much enjoyed it! So I think this has already been said a lot, but the lack of poor-me angst all on its own was a huge relief. I am sure that Eleven will have his chances to get serious, but god, I wanted to throttle Ten by the end of his run (which was sad, because I started off loving him). In general, there was a lot that was fun about this episode? There was stuff I didn't like (all the food-spitting got old fast, for starters, and that had better not be another Doctor/Companion/hapless boyfriend love triangle), but in general, there was also a great sense of energy and adrenaline that reminded me of the first "new" Who episode (oh Nine, I still miss you). The plot was really pretty dumb (though still not as bad as ZOMG living plastic, come to think of it), but the characters were promising, as was the upbeat madcap tone without all the anvilicious BITTER, BITTER DARKNESS UNDERNEATH.

Also, how could I not like Amy Pond? The Doctor was her imaginary friend, who she drew cartoons about. (Oh man, it would be amazing if she did more of that! It will not happen, but I can daydream a bit. *_*) She has already shown signs of stopping and refusing to take (some of) his nonsense, even though she's also somewhat enthralled - as I'd imagine I would be, if a character I'd invented (which she more or less did; I mean, she saw him for maybe an hour as a kid and had years to embellish on that) showed up in the flesh. I really, really do not want them as a pairing (someone on my flist--I forget who, out of so many reaction posts, sorry!--mentioned a sibling sort of dynamic), but I'm not optimistic on that score. Also, I saw the wedding dress coming a mile away and was irked by it. Overall, though, this wasn't a bad start - I'm definitely hooked and ready to see what comes next.

I should wrap this ridiculous post up, but! On Friday oliviacirce posted Wordsworth's daffodil poem. While I've never really spent any time on the Romantics, that inevitably winds up reminding me of Philip "deprivation is for me what daffodils were for Wordsworth" Larkin, so I promised I'd post something of his.

Church Going

Once I am sure there's nothing going on
I step inside, letting the door thud shut.
Another church: matting, seats, and stone,
And little books; sprawlings of flowers, cut
For Sunday, brownish now; some brass and stuff
Up at the holy end; the small neat organ;
And a tense, musty, unignorable silence,
Brewed God knows how long. Hatless, I take off
My cycle-clips in awkward reverence,

Move forward, run my hand around the font.
From where I stand, the roof looks almost new-
Cleaned or restored? Someone would know: I don't.
Mounting the lectern, I peruse a few
Hectoring large-scale verses, and pronounce
"Here endeth" much more loudly than I'd meant.
The echoes snigger briefly. Back at the door
I sign the book, donate an Irish sixpence,
Reflect the place was not worth stopping for.

Yet stop I did: in fact I often do,
And always end much at a loss like this,
Wondering what to look for; wondering, too,
When churches fall completely out of use
What we shall turn them into, if we shall keep
A few cathedrals chronically on show,
Their parchment, plate and pyx in locked cases,
And let the rest rent-free to rain and sheep.
Shall we avoid them as unlucky places?

Or, after dark, will dubious women come
To make their children touch a particular stone;
Pick simples for a cancer; or on some
Advised night see walking a dead one?
Power of some sort or other will go on
In games, in riddles, seemingly at random;
But superstition, like belief, must die,
And what remains when disbelief has gone?
Grass, weedy pavement, brambles, buttress, sky.

A shape less recognizable each week,
A purpose more obscure. I wonder who
Will be the last, the very last, to seek
This place for what it was; one of the crew
That tap and jot and know what roof-lofts were?
Some ruin-bibber, randy for antique,
Or Christmas-addict, counting on a whiff
Of gown-and-bands and organ-pipes and myrrh?
Or will he be my representative,

Bored, uninformed, knowing the ghostly silt
Dispersed, yet tending to this cross of ground
Through suburb scrub because it held unspilt
So long and equably what since is found
Only in separation - marriage, and birth,
And death, and thoughts of these - for whom was built
This special shell? For, though I've no idea
What this accoutred frowsty barn is worth,
It pleases me to stand in silence here;

A serious house on serious earth it is,
In whose blent air all our compulsions meet,
Are recognised, and robed as destinies.
And that much never can be obsolete,
Since someone will forever be surprising
A hunger in himself to be more serious,
And gravitating with it to this ground,
Which, he once heard, was proper to grow wise in,
If only that so many dead lie round.

-Philip Larkin, from The Less Deceived (1955)

I actually picked this out on Friday, but never worked up the energy to post. However, I wound up thinking of it quite a bit, since I was actually in church this weekend.

Church is fraught right now - moreso than usual. I mean, there's always something a little awkward about going as the visiting heathen daughter, even though my family is mostly cool and their priest is really pretty great. On the other hand, my folks are dealing with a lot, on both the local and the broader church scale. A whole bunch of parishes in their area are currently being shut down and merged together, which has caused a lot of anger and resentment (and will probably cause them to lose their awesome priest, which will suck). Meanwhile, the larger Church and the Pope are behaving in a truly disgusting manner, both publicly and internally. (The child abuse cover-up shit is all over the news; I've also been hearing things about forcing laypeople who work for their institutions to sign loyalty oaths? And other fuckery. I haven't looked into this yet.) It's fucking complicated, because my mother in particular feels a strong connection to her denomination, though I think not to the hierarchy that runs it.

Easter mass was ... really nice. The homily was the kind I like best: it was easy for me to find things there to really identify with and mull over, quite apart from those specific areas where we disagree (ie God, Jesus, the concept of sin). Father talked about resurrections of the small kind, throughout life; with a little side of stopping to appreciate life every once in awhile (a favorite theme of his). He often likes to emphasize the idea of the world(/Creation) being GOOD (as opposed to ugh, dirty evil matter, let's have Armageddon so we can get the fuck out of here), which makes me happy. While I don't believe in the Christian God (or any kind of sentient creator/ruler-of-the-universe type deity), I have to say: under the right conditions (which are really rare), I really appreciate the idea of a place where you can come to contemplate and sing and celebrate life a bit on a spiritual (and even cerebral) level - a place to be "more serious," for awhile. It's a shame that the people in charge (though not always or only them) keep working so hard to ruin it.

Er ... I was going to talk about why I love Larkin, wasn't I? It's flown out of my head a bit, but I love him because he's often so bitter and cynical ... but then he turns around and has these lovely spiritual (while still unflinchingly atheistic) moments, this appreciation of beauty in spite of his lack of adherence to the traditionally romantic. I recommend "High Windows" and "Annus Mirabilis" in particular.

That was a lot more talking than I meant to do! I should try to post more often, so I don't post quite so much. Oh, and I did manage to miss it, but I hope everyone who observes had a lovely Passover or Easter, while I'm on the topic. ♥