Dept. of America

Tuesday, 4 July 2017 03:38 pm
kaffyr: Mid-afternoon view from the spirit world train. (Train view)
I Am Silent In the Face of Heartbreak

Every year, I try to write something about this country on July 4, because I love it. 

(Oh sure, you do, 
[personal profile] kaffyr  ... how come you're not a citizen?)

But this year, after eight months of surreality - 

(What makes a country great? What makes it great again? How can it become great for the first time?)

I find that I cannot.

(Some must think that makes me a traitor. Some must think I must be spineless. Some must think it makes me a patriot. I think it makes me confused.

I still love it.

(Can't figure out why, except that it's still got a chance to be great, and isn't that almost enough?)

So I turn to music. 

This man's guitar killed fascists. 





This man was prescient in so many ways, but he was wrong about the revolution. Or maybe he'll still be right. It's apparently the counter-revolution that's being televised. 



This American Woman slays - and she frightens racists. 




And this one ... I forgive him for forgetting that there were a lot of folks here when the Mayflower arrived, because ... because, because, because, and partly because of the beauty of their two voices. Every year this one makes me weep more. 


Dept. of Remembrance

Sunday, 25 June 2017 06:28 pm
kaffyr: Mid-afternoon view from the spirit world train. (Train view)
 Alexander, Bestest Old Pussycat

Under here. )

Dept. of Music and Joy

Saturday, 6 May 2017 08:14 pm
kaffyr: (See the Sky)
For Your Listening and Dancing Pleasure

I haven't been around much lately, which I'd like to correct, if for no other reason than how much fun I had in March, posting as often as I could. But work and the world have conspired to numb my mind to the point where I can't think of anything worthwhile to say. I can't even muster witty 140 character aphorisms, much less substantial essays (or even frivolous diary entires.) My online activity has been confined to playing online games or watching YouTube videos. 

Today, as I was browsing YouTube, I ran into some Peter Gabriel videos. Two of them just made my heart leap, and I have to share them with you. 

I've always liked, and often loved, Gabriel's work, although I have none of his albums. His writing, his voice (from clear in his youth to rough and husky now), his life choices and his beliefs, all resonate with me. For all that, however, I know very little about his full body of work. I wasn't aware of the tour from which these two videos were taken, but they drew me in immediately. I love how much he integrates dance and motion into his performances here (and, having checked out a few more videos out of curiosity after having seen these two, it's pretty clear to me that he has long done that).

And the joy that emanates from everyone onstage is absolutely infectious. Sure, it's a performance and sure, it's altogether possible that everyone was just acting. But I don't think so. 

(Also? Tony Levin! And Paula Cole has a voice that doesn't quit.)

ETA: I'm not sure the first one will show up in this post for some reason, but you can watch it YouTube if it doesn't show up here. 











Dept. of Sunday

Sunday, 26 March 2017 09:50 pm
kaffyr: (Porco Rosso friends)
Things I Learned This Weekend

1. I'm really not Buddhist, not in the least. I tried to read a book I picked up at the library, which had been recommended by a friend. It was written by a Buddhist nun, and it was about how to try to approach, or in some way deal with, difficult times. It's something I need to learn how to do, so I wanted to read this book, this very slim little book.

I managed about five pages of it and ended up yelling at the book. There was no way I was going to make it to the end, slim or not. The language made me roll my eyes, I kept arguing with individual sentences. Individual sentences, people; I was arguing with words on a page.

BB, who has a much more Buddhist nature than I have had read a bit of the book; when I told him the book made me extremely angry (and that's the thing I'm trying to deal with), he sighed and said "This isn't the book I'd have suggested for you to read." He was right.

And more generally, I was reminded that I'm not Buddhist in the least, as I said. I know that the dark is part of this world; I know that death is part of this world, but I'll be goddamned if I have to like it, or accept it.  I'm with Dylan Thomas; I'll rage against the dying of the light.

2. I was reminded, once again, of how much I love BB. 


kaffyr: She's at a typewriter; is she legal? (Are Girls Legal?)
This I Believe


 photo fb3cd480-2f3f-4212-87a0-472a9271dbf6_zps3tzojemf.png


Apologies for the large image, but you don't hide Lady Liberty's light under a bushel.

I live-streamed the Women's March on Washington. My First Born attended the march in Chicago. And, although I know it's just the beginning - continued resistance is hard work - I think knowing how much support, how many allies, there are around the world, is a tremendous boost.
kaffyr: The TARDIS in snowfall (Christmas TARDIS)
The Sky is Full of Stars

Most of them we will never know. God alone knows if we'll ever make our way out there. And God alone knows whether we're worthy of getting off this ball of mud, this little jewel. 

So here we sit, turning our world to bloody red, dirt grey, despoiling the place, and ourselves, body and soul.  We take pearls, and become swine - or worse than swine, because pigs are pretty damned smart animals, and we, with all our great big brains, are small and petty, dumb in a way that beasts never are, and unworthy of pearls. 

And yet. 

Somewhere, a father cradles his child and prays he can protect her; a mother hunts for something to make her son's eyes grow big with joy. 

Somewhere doctors fight death; somewhere men and women tear aside bomb-broken walls, in death's way themselves, to rescue their fellow human beings. 

Somewhere, a girl creates glorious art, a boy makes music that makes peoples' hearts glad. 

Somewhere, someone gives up being selfish and cowardly, even as she is frightened to death of being good. 

Somewhere, someone is reaching out to her, giving her the strength, because he knows what it's like to take that step.

Somewhere people are cleaning up their messes, and our messes, too, helping the sky stay blue and the earth still verdant.

Somewhere, someone is standing up to a bully, and maybe even reaching into the bully's heart and starting a sea change.

Somewhere, an old man gives wisdom to a young fool, and a young fool gifts the old man with joie de vivre. 

Somewhere, one scientist pulls aside the sky of stars and looks into the infinite, while her colleague peers into the microscope and finds the cure for Alzheimer's. 

Somewhere, hearts yearn for love, and are rewarded. 

It isn't much, against all the death, and filth, and despair.

But perhaps it's not us doing the judging. 

We have always excelled at beating the odds, we fearfully arrogant humans. And perhaps, says the woman who isn't even sure one exists, except at the darkest time of year  when she needs one, there's a God out there, forgiving us our arrogance, loving us for it, saying, "Alright, you beloved cheeky monkeys, another year. I can't bear to give you up. I love you."

It's a gift I'll take. 

And to all of you magnificent people out there, here's a gift I've proffered before: my riff on "It's A Wonderful Life."


Dept. of Thanks

Thursday, 24 November 2016 01:50 pm
kaffyr: The TARDIS at Giverny (TARDIS at Giverny)
Thank You All

This world is a horrible world. But it's also, as Louie sang, a wonderful world. 

There are children dying in the Mediterranean. There are families starving in Aleppo. There are indigenous Americans and their allies being injured and frozen in North Dakota. There are black men and women, fellow citizens, who are being shot and prisoned here in a country that pretends it wasn't built on the backs of black men and women. There are people who wish to know nothing, and wish us to share their ignorance, at gunpoint, if necessary. There are slightly different versions of this horror across the globe. There is death, and starvation, and dying, and hate, and hate, and hate, and bitter tears, and the silence of apathy.

But there are sunrises. There are unexpected sperm whales greeting delighted underwater oceanographic nerds. There are lives saved. There are lives lived fully and fiercely with full and fierce love. There are rockets and tiny, tiny starships carrying bits of us into the icy dark, not caring one whit that there might not be anyone out there to meet. There are wonders, and children who may still save us. There are beautiful books, there are lovers, there are people who we love and who love us back.  There are angels unawares, dressed just like us. They are, in fact, us. 

And you are there, my friends, in that latter. 

Thank you. 

Any support I can give you, I will. Any love I can send you, I will. 

I love you all. 



kaffyr: (Hurrah!)
 CUBS!! WIN!!

Dept. of Birthdays

Saturday, 22 October 2016 01:15 pm
kaffyr: Still from Arakawa Under the Bridge (Arakawa afternoon)
Two Remarkable Women

Because I will be late for my own funeral, I have missed the birthdays of two remarkable women, and I want to correct that right now.

On Friday, 
[personal profile] a_phoenixdragon  celebrated her Benny Birthday, and I hope she was surrounded by love throughout the day. My dear, you are a force of nature, you have more energy in your little finger than I have in my entire body, you are fierce, and funny, and kind, and bone-deep hungry for life, for learning, for understanding this world and its inhabitants better. All that you have gained in this world, you have gotten because of your own huge heart and gloriously, mulishly stubborn resistance to standing still, or becoming stagnant. You are creative during times when I'd curl up in a ball and twitch, you are loving and generous in situations where I'd shoot someone, you are humble but determined not to stop trying to make your life better. You're like a weeble, you know; you wobble, but you don't fall down. Let's hope we can get together; I'll make curry for us all, and you can make your legendary pasta sauce. In the meantime, keep being your extraordinary self, and know that I adore you, and want you to have your best year yet.  Happy Birthday!

And far across the Atlantic, 
[personal profile] elisi  has been celebrating her birthday with Mr. Darcy and their daughters. I hope your birthday has been magnificent, in just the right shade of magnificence you desire, whether that be quiet or raucous. You are one of the first people who introduced me to the idea that one could look at one's fandom love in a way that takes squee beyond squee, into depth of thought. You are both insightful and incisive; you provoke thoughts in those with whom you speak (I know this from first hand experience.) Your influence is such that, when I watch something that I know we both love, my first thought is "I must see what elisi thinks."  When I write, one of my first thoughts is "Does this rise to elisi's standards?" Not to mention, you have a puckish sense of humor that you let out on just the right occasions; you care deeply about the world - you are, in short, someone that I am so very glad to have met on the Internet. Here's to many, many more discussions (at least that don't involve four-letter alphabet soup personality modalities; I leave that to you, Owls, and Proton.) Happy Birthday! 

Dept. of Don't Despair

Saturday, 9 July 2016 01:57 pm
kaffyr: The ninth Doctor (Pink Doctor)
It's Been A Long, Hard, Heart-Shredding Week

So I'll just leave this here.

The pictures are all pretty cheesy, but the song Todd wrote isn't, not in my opinion at least. 

Dept. of Independence

Monday, 4 July 2016 04:30 pm
kaffyr: (Joe Hill)
A Plea

Every Independence Day, I try to write a post that tells friends and acquaintances what I feel about Independence Day in America. This year, my post is a plea to everyone in this amazing country - and, frankly, to any of my friends and acquaintances around the world. Because what I'm about to ask all of you is something that I think is necessary. It's a plea from my heart, asking you all to help maintain democracy in a way that goes beyond love and duty, to action. 

Read newspapers. 

Read newspapers that you agree with, read the ones you're pretty sure are wrong-headed. Compare their stories. Continue reading them. Read newspapers from other countries if you can. 

Pay for those newspapers.

If you read them online, and there's a way to subscribe to a digital version of those papers, think hard about which ones you think are doing a good job - not necessary the job you like, but a good job - of trying to inform their reading public. 

If you read them in hard copy, subscribe. If you can only afford to get weekend delivery, do that. If you can afford seven-day-a-week delivery, do that. It'll be more expensive, but it's worth it to you - after all, you won't have to worry about your access to news dying with a recalcitrant laptop or aging tablet. And you'll have something to line your birdcage with eventually. More importantly, you'll be able to turn a page and find news you hadn't expected, hadn't looked for - and you might learn something important about your world. That's another benefit to hard-copy. When you read online news sources, they tend to conform themselves, via algorithms and other marketing magic, to what they think you want to read, or hear. Voila, instant echo chamber. 

So, yes, if you can, read newspapers, and pay for them. 

Most of you know I'm a reporter, so you may assume this is my biased, and slightly panicked, plea to my friends and acquaintances to help keep my source of income alive. Well, of course it is. 

But there's also this: this is what The Nation wrote most recently about the public's decreasing access to news that men, women, and children need to know, in order to make informed decisions about what's going on in their neighborhoods, their towns, their counties and provinces and states and nations and world. 

It's nothing new, as even the author states. But it's frightening in the extreme. 

They call journalism The Fourth Estate. I consider it one of the important pillars of democracy, along with informed voting, and continued informed involvement in democracy before and after voting. In fact, if you don't know what is happening around you - what businesses, governments, individuals, corporations, courts, et al, are doing to and for you - you cannot vote in an informed fashion. 

Newspapers are dying. And I'm not sure that live media is doing much of a job providing the news that people need in place of newspapers. Reading heavily targeted news that agrees with what you believe (something of which I'm equally guilty) will not tell you what's going on in this world. Newspapers, general circulation newspapers - small, medium, large, weekly and daily, neighborhood and national -  are what will help. 

They need money to keep going. So pay up. You're helping pay for democracy. 

Will keeping newspapers alive keep news alive? Probably not, in the long run, or at least in the way we once thought of news and newspapers. But it will help. And I can't think of a more patriotic thing to do on this Independence Day, than to check your wallet, figure out which two or three newspapers to support (remember to make one of them one that you don't agree with, but which you think has half-way decent reportage), and put your money into a subscription. 

Nor can I think of anything more patriotic for Canadians, for Brits, for Australians - for anyone whose country has a half-way open society - to do. We don't have the excuse of personal danger when we subscribe to good news sources that many folks across the world have. Let's use that freedom. 

Thank you, and here's a little something from Robert Reich that says other good things about democracy.

kaffyr: (See the Sky)
To My Son
My Fellow Geek )

I wrote the following on Facebook, where FB is most often online, but his birthday is an important date at Casakaffyr. His is one of the two stars around which I've circled, willingly, for decades. I am so glad that he is my son.

Dearest Andy:

Back some 31 years, just around this time, you were taking your own sweet time entering our world. You eventually did, a little later in the day, and the world has been a better place for it.

Andy, you are one of the brightest lights of my life, and I have seen how much you light up others' lives as well. You are wise in the best ways, the ways of kindness and compassion; those around you have benefitted greatly as a result. You are learning other wisdoms
 as well, which will make your light burn even more brightly.

As you enter another year of life, you can be proud of your growth. As a mother, I am proud and humble in the face of your talents, your creativity, and the life that bursts from you.

We have had our tumbles, and you have had your own; you always rose up from them, and we have always remained a team, whether that meant sitting together and watching Duck Tales, arguing over who got to be online the most in the days of one household computer, geeking out over Doctor Who, or providing shoulders for each other to cry on.

I love you more than you will ever know — and I like you more than ever. May this day be fantastic for you, and may this year be magnificent!
 



kaffyr: Nine, Rose and Jack on Game Station (Love story)
Wanna See A Match Burn Twice?

That was what Bob said to me shortly after he'd met me. He was a bartender at The Barbarossa at the time, and I was already entranced with him, despite having known him less than a week. I was sitting at the bar, late at night, after the live music had stopped. Perhaps someone had put a dime in the jukebox; I can't remember. But I remember him pulling the joke on me, much to my horrified surprise. I also remember how horrified he was, in turn, when he realized that he'd just pulled the joke on someone who didn't know enough to move her arm away in time. 

Sort of a weird thing to start a birthday wishes post with, I suppose. Perhaps I should have started with the story about him drooling beer down the front of his shirt as a piece of guerrilla bartender theater? No? 

Then let me follow with why I remember those things, from way back at the beginning - it was because he always knew how to laugh, and how to make other people laugh. And it was because his sense of humor was so sideways that it invigorated me, and reminded me not to be so sour and dour. He made me laugh, and that was, if not lifesaving for me, then certainly a priceless gift at a time when I
 wasn't too apt to smile

Over the years, he taught me about more than just when to laugh at fate.

He taught me how good and patient a man he is, as he became the full time parent to our son. 

He taught me how talented he was, and he taught me how to entertain people. 

He taught me about rock and roll. He taught me about jazz, and made me listen to A Love Supreme, and now decades later, he doesn't have to force me to do that, because I want to listen to it myself. 

He taught me about living outside my comfort zone in other ways; sushi, and foreign films (at least some of them), and anime, and long late-night talks about whether or not "Is There A God" wasn't the wrong question to ask about life. 

He taught me about persisting in the face of pain, and fear, and uncertainty, and about how important it is to talk to the one you love when you need help. 

Much of what I am today is because of him. I am so grateful to know him, and to celebrate his birthday with him. 

Love you, President of the World!
kaffyr: Dancing French cracked geniuses (Sometimes you need to dance)
This Has Made My Face Hurt 

I've watched it far too many times now, and every time I do, I'm afflicted with a huge grin, one so big that I understand what they mean when they say "a grin split my face."

Everyone may have seen it before, but perhaps you'll enjoy it one more time with me. And [livejournal.com profile] eaweek? There be some Hiddles dancing in there; as soon as I saw it, I thought of you. Heh. 



Saving bandwidth since 2006 )

Dept. of Who

Saturday, 28 March 2015 04:25 pm
kaffyr: (My Doctor)
 In Honor of The Tenth Anniversary - the Ninth Doctor

Not my words (perhaps those will come later), but this is a really nice run-down of why the Ninth Doctor is awesome. And why he is one of my favorite three Doctors. 

Read and enjoy, and come back, if you want, to squee about the Ninth Doctor with me. 

Dept. of Positivity

Tuesday, 17 March 2015 10:16 pm
kaffyr: (Porco Rosso friends)
Good Thing for Tuesday

The Girl Standing in the Light of the Dawn, aka Akatsuki No Yona.

The anime is pure, unadulterated pop melodrama history, with a mystical kingdom standing in for, as far as I can see, Korea. That in itself amuses and/or impresses me, given that it's a Japanese anime. The story is so full of anime tropes that I should be bored out of my gourd, but I'm not. I love the slow (oh, so slow) unveiling of the real story, which is Yona's growth as a person and a leader, with the added fun of unexpected chibiness when it's least expected or, probably, appropriate. The art style isn't even one that I normally go for. In fact, everything about this signals that it's the kind of anime I should just yawn and avoid. 

And yet, it's the one I wait for every week. Tuesday is a big day chez Casa KaffBB, because it's Agents of SHIELD Day.  And it's Yona day.

Someday, I should examine why I love this thing so much. But for now, I'm just going to love it. 

(Well, one reason I love it, is some of its music. Its first opening musical theme, and its second closing musical theme, are so very unlike most anime themes, and kind of glorious. At least, I think they're glorious. Here - have cheesy, glorious anime music!

Oh, so wonderfully cheesy .... )
kaffyr: Fantasia - night and the profile of a hill (Dark and lovely)
Beautiful, beautiful.

It seems odd to start posting again after days and days with someone else's words, but I ran across Michael Shaara's The Killer Angels on my shelf the other day and was reminded that reading his novel about the battle of Gettsyburg years ago was one of the most wonderful reading experiences of my life.

The novel is a masterpiece in my eyes - a piece written by a master - for several reasons, not least of which (oh, god, not least of which) is because he uses language in a way that made me fall in love with language all over again.

As I read The Killer Angels, its language did two things; it was sensually, cinematically, kinetically direct, throwing me into the world about which he wrote, wrapping it around me and making me unwilling to leave it.

Shaara's language also stood on its own, paragraphs built of sentences, built of phrases, built of words, braided into rhythms and patterns, put together so gorgeously that I read them over and over, independent of their meaning, because they were that lovely.

Love of a book is such an intensely personal thing, I know. This one, and its language, may leave many unimpressed. But part of the reason I write so slowly is, I think, because I am constantly aware that I would someday like to write as well as Michael Shaara did in The Killer Angels. 

So I'll leave you with one passage. The first is very early in the book, from the point of view of a Southern spy, catching his first glimpse of the Army of the Potomac, 80,000 strong. 

He rode into the dark of the woods and dismounted. He crawled upward on his belly over cool rocks out into the sunlight, and suddenly he was in the open and he could see for miles, and there was the whole vast army below him, filling the valley like a smoking river. It came out of a blue rainstorm in the east and overflowed the narrow valley road, coiling along a stream, narrowing and choking a white bridge, fading out in the yellowish dust of June but still visible on the farther road beyond the blue hills, spiked with flags and guidons like a great chopped bristly snake, the snake ending headless in a blue wall of summer rain, 





Dept. of Joy

Friday, 12 December 2014 06:54 pm
kaffyr: Still from Arakawa Under the Bridge (Arakawa afternoon)
Thirty Three Years

We have a beautiful card that sits on our mantelpiece. It's a reproduction of a Chinese painting. On a separate cover sheet is a single English word, and the Chinese symbol that represents the same concept; contentment.

Inside, BB wrote: "Your head. My chest. Our bed. 20 years."

That was 13 years ago. It has never left the mantelpiece.

Four homes, eight cats, one son, 10 or so jobs, seven or so used cars, 10 or so computers, various life-threatening ailments and five different hair colors between us.

One life together, where the worse is always made better, and the better is always turned into the best; where the ride is roller-coaster, the sorrow is bearable, the joy is sharable, the sex is probably none of your business, the laughs occasionally uncontrollable.

He is my lover, my best friend, and so much more.

Who cares if he doesn't make the bed the way I like to make the bed?

kaffyr: (Clara under pressure)
Under Pressure

(I wish I could write like [personal profile] elisi ; I wish I could think like [personal profile] promethia_tenk . If I could, perhaps I could have come up with something about Season 8 of Doctor Who that was better than this, or at least more organized. I've been thinking hard about this season ever since it started, but those thoughts never quite coalesced the way I wanted them to. They'd start - I'd get bits of imagery, or flashes of understanding - and then they'd dissipate. 

The only thing I could do, in the end, was put those flashes and images into some sort of broken-tiled picture. I can't speak to themes and motifs; I can only speak of how I felt, and about what, and who. And I found, a little to my surprise, that I care a great deal about Clara, that indeed I found her the most compelling part of this season, with the new Doctor running only slightly behind her. I was ambushed by my affection for her, which happened with Amy as well. Why should I be so surprised, I wonder? Perhaps that's something for another day.

In the meantime there is this: unedited, unbalanced technically and probably thematically, not to mention emotionally.)

*********************************************
Glass breaks, mirrors shatter )

Dept. of Beloved

Monday, 20 October 2014 12:11 am
kaffyr: Alak and Stahma Tarr from Defiance (Alak and Stahma)
Happy Birthday, Andy

Thirty years ago today, I gave birth to my - our - one and only child. We knew you were going to be a son, and we knew what your name was when you finally found your way to the world. You took your time arriving, but when you did, you were Andrew Louis McNeil Berlien.

Andy, I Love You )
kaffyr: (Big Barakomon grin)
 Happy Birthday To the Daughter of My Heart

It's been about 15 years since I met a bright, beautiful, brave, bold, and brilliant young lady when she became, at the time, my First Born's girlfriend. I immediately loved her, and so did everyone at Casa 
[personal profile] kaffyr . She became a daughter to me in many ways. Over the next few years, as these things go, she stopped being FB's girlfriend. But she never stopped being his friend, and she never stopped being the daughter of my heart. 

Today, she is an artist, and activist, a member of the managerial class (which I do not hold against her), and still one of the most wonderful young people it has been my blessing to meet. Today, too, is her birthday. 

To [livejournal.com profile] art_tastic - Happy Birthday, my dear! And Happy Birthday to your wonderful sister as well! May you continue to be magnificent, and may life always treat you in the way that you deserve! (And let me know the next time you want to come over and have mashed potatoes!) 

Dept. of Beautiful

Saturday, 9 August 2014 01:12 pm
kaffyr: Two elegant dancers (Dance)
The One I Love

Today is my Best Beloved's birthday. He is wonderful. He is kind and loving, he is intelligent, inventive, creative, careful, and unrelenting when there's a problem to be solved.

His sense of humor is frightening, alluring, off-putting, wondrous, sophisticated, sophomoric, and sideways. If people get his humor, I know we will be friends.

He is one of the most intelligent men I've ever had the pleasure of knowing. He re-reads Godel Escher Bach regularly; he re-reads Cordwainer Smith once a year or so. Both of those things he does because he finds something new in the books every time he does it.He forces me to think hard when we're debating, and he likes exercising his own mind when we get into conversations.

He is musical. He introduced me to jazz and taught me that there is no musical genre that does not have music worth listening to and treasuring. When I think of him, I always think of music.

He is handsome, knows how to fill out a suit most impressively, still looks good in a tee and jeans, and is the only man I know who looks good even in a beard.

He is unbelievably strong, even though I don't think he believes he is; he's weathered ailments, heartbreak, bad craziness, the unknown and the terrifyingly known, and come out on the other side.

There is no one on this earth to who I am as happy to wish a happy birthday. Happy birthday, [personal profile] buckaroobob ; happy birthday, [livejournal.com profile] dr_whuh!

Happy, happy birthday, my beloved BB.


Dept. of OMG Beautiful

Saturday, 19 July 2014 11:39 am
kaffyr: River Song and the Eleventh Doctor (River and Eleven)
Dear Lord ...

... I love River Song. I love her like burning, I love her forever. There is so much I could say about her if I were halfway intelligent today (not intelligent enough yet, sadly.) And of course I ship her and the Doctor, particularly Eleventy.

I look at that last sentence and shake my head at myself. In fact, I look at the last paragraph and shake my head at myself. Look at the language I'm using - the language of internet fans who are 20 to 30 years my junior. The language of people who are turning English into a spiky, abbreviated and admittedly dynamic offshoot of itself, rather than the English of which I am a supposedly professional user. 

Where is my ability with words? Where is my facility with communication? Where the fuck is my goddamned gravitas?

And to top it off, as I mentioned in the previous extremely problematic paragraph, I don't even have the ability to concentrate, the discipline to organize thoughts, to create an explanation of how much I love River Song, how much I respect and am in awe of her story and her place in the Doctor's life. I lack the ability to say how great an individual character she is, free and clear of the Doctor.

So "love her like burning" will have to do for now.

I am sitting in eager anticipation of S08. Capaldi will be masterful. And I'm glad that there are spoilery whispers about the woman I would sometimes like to be when I grow up (only sometimes, because dear lord, the price of becoming her is really too high for humans, isn't it?).

But The River I knew and loved in S04, S05 and especially S06 - yes, S06 is my favorite season For Reasons - she is who I will miss. Here, Have a picture. I don't know who made it, but I'll gladly credit if someone can tell me.

ETA: Thanks to the wonderful [personal profile] merryghoul  over on LJ, I can now tell you that
the piece is called "That Very Last Moment," and it's by inklou on DeviantArt. And this is why I love fandom.

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kaffyr: The TARDIS says hello (Default)
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