jacktellslies: (emma goldman)
And I've received answers, or at least confirmation of the question: too many birds dead on the pavement smashed into windows, and Joan of Arc everywhere. She was a statue I've passed a dozen times before, never noticing that it was gilded, that the frame of the rider was too small. Then I found the stylized flames of the logo of Arc Waste Management Company, and Alex had a bottle of Joan of Arc something on his desk. It was the name of an album today in the used record store where we stopped, too. So, for the time being, I'll attempt to differentiate between the armies of England and windows I can neither see nor understand. I spoke to Finn for the first time in a while (there seems to have been good reason for this) and he was thrilled with my new anger. He'd always thought it would look pretty on me, and that it would be more useful than a good many other things. That is comforting. The universe gave me a free copy of V For Vendetta, and seems to have gone to great lengths to do so. My rage, in this case at least, will most likely not culminate in the bombing of Parliament, but it seemed fairly clear that there were other things to which I was meant to be paying attention.
jacktellslies: (sebastian)
My questions are about anger. I never was an angry person when I was young. I still don't take these things personally, exactly. It is an issue, though, when the personal is political, as it so often is. Lately all I can do is ignore it. Ignore the larger structures and patterns. Don't read about it. Don't think of it, because there is so very little that I can do about most of it.

So far, this time around, my experiments have been about verbs, not nouns. I am wondering about how one works with certain energies, how one accomplishes certain goals. The gods have become partners more than friends. (It is interesting. I am unused to it, but not uncomfortable with it, for the time being.) But when I think of this anger, I think of Saint Joan, and I think of Saint Sebastian.

I've been too much the martyr, in the past. I've allowed terrible and inconvenient things to happen to me for the perceived good of others. I've been ever so polite. But I grew tired of it. And instead there is this anger.

Why are both of my martyrs soldiers? Rather, how? How does one know when to fight, and when to yield? How does one accomplish anything? How does one know how to do so? I want to protect what is ours and mine. I want to be kind and fair. I want to create change, but I want to feel at peace. I know the stories, but I do not understand how one can hold both.

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jacktellslies

August 2009

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