The Truth

Everyone, right now, go and read Amanda Palmer's latest blog entry - Why Music Matters.

The essay that she's featuring is about the most important thing I've ever read as an artist. And I wish I was a musician (my earnest, generally terrible guitar attempts don't quite count on such a scale, and yet...) But it doesn't matter, music really is that important, to me and to everyone, and... yes. Just go and read it, it'll blow your mind.

I'm happy. Tonight was the first night I've spent at home this week (actually, my bedtimes have been between midnight and 1am) and I jumped into full-on domesticity. I washed clothes, cooked dinner (and some for tomorrow's lunch) and washed dishes. And looked after Tran's washing. And had some very enjoyable wine and cheese, and spent a large chunk of my evening singing in our kitchen, taking enormous comfort in my new spectacular speakers. We have such great acoustics.

Ah. I feel great. I think I want to write. Or, perhaps not, I'm really exceptionally tired, but I would like to read some poetry, and then I think I'll snuggle into bed and read for a couple of hours.

Mmmm.

For Some Reason, I Want to Quote Plath

Well, I obviously haven't been writing much, have I? Not that I've posted, at any rate, but I did manage to write something that ended up being really pretty cool, which I'm going to send off to Asimov's, I think - in some universe I've decided that it is possible to write sci-fi poetry, and they publish it, so...

Speaking of which, I got perhaps the nicest rejection ever from Holland1945 in that they asked me to submit next time around, and also asked if they could put my work up on Kipple - a poetry blog run by Ashley Capes, one of the editors.

Naturally, I said yes.

--

I ended up having a fantastic weekend, and even though I didn't know that I was off-kilter, I now feel like I'm my old self again. Everything seems new and exciting and an adventure. Besides, I met a hell-load of fascinating people over the weekend (as well as catching up with people I genuinely care for, because they are spectacular) and for some reason, everyone spent rather a bit of time telling me that I'm great. And although it sounds terribly egotistical, that was pretty lovely, really.

All I need to do now is to write more than I currently am (which is not much) and everything will be fairly perfectly sorted.

For With the Needle that Sings in Her Heart

It's a burst - like full-ripe and
Wholesome everywhere, a conquering storm,
That's sailed the corners and lapped up one full
Everything, a pivot and drop to
Full bright kindle in
That heart and that mind and all light revolving
Spheric, global, further than true long reach and a
Song to reverberate and settle, for the good.