Moonlight

If you read anything today, read Susurra's contemplation of spider love:

I wonder if I had one dance to complete, and when it was done my life was done too, how much time I would spend getting it exactly right.

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This blue moon lingers, its baleful distortions running in all directions, drowning all the stars. Cold light. A travesty of peace.

Peace.

To Mercy Pity Peace and Love.
All pray in their distress

Counting up the lies I have told, explicitly or implicitly, in the past few days. It comes to an impressive total. I told someone I didn't take his friendship seriously anymore. What bullshit.

Love to give or to withhold
Is not at my command.

They say that anger is like fire, but I think it's like moonlight. Making all warm comfortable intimate things into cold unrecognizable strangers. I was so angry yesterday. Misunderstood so much, misconstrued so much. And at the end -- how does that go?

Feet to the East or West may run
They patter still on the same small stone.

I could no more not take his friendship seriously than I could walk up to the moon and paint it in a nice warm color scheme.

We are taught that, while anger on our own behalf is wrong, anger on others' behalf is just fine. More bullshit. There is only one kind of anger, no matter whose behalf it's on, and it feeds on half-truths and shits poisonous pure lies. How many times must I learn that lesson, before I get it by heart, and remember it before I pour out words? Words come to me altogether too easily, too quickly.

To Mercy Pity Peace and Love.
All pray in their distress