![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Not much ficcing yesterday, as my mother was late collecting her furbabies. The dogs and cat have returned to their abode, and a happier gaggle of animals I have yet to see. Poodle butts became fluffy, white pendulums of rhapsodic joy as the dogs skittered and clacked around my mother's feet, and Trixie was breathing so heavily that she sounded like a phone sex maven. I didn't take it personally; I know how they felt, being as I am a creature of routine.
So, they're home, and I'm home, and everyone is happy. I've been watching old Falco videos on Youtube. I'd forgotten that he had died in 1998, and it was rather melancholy to watch him singing "Jeanny" and "Rock Me Amadeus", so young and bright and dashingly handsome, blissfully unaware that fourteen years later, he would die in the Dominican Republic, shattered by a bus. I was never a huge fan, mind you, but "Rock Me Amadeus" was and is just plain awesome, and no one deserves to die alone and so far from home. "Wiener Blut"(the Falco version)is also awesome.
"Emotional" and "Body to Body", however, are pieces of shit in four-four time. Who told him that a duet with the terrifyingly talentless Brigitte Nielsen was a good comeback vehicle? Her attempts to "dance" made her look like an armless Parkinson's Barbie trying to wield a set of Viking boob maces.
I didn't fic last night, but I did reread old fic. God, I wish I could write with the same fearlessness, the same thoughtless surety that the magic would be there. Then, I wrote with the weightlessness of youth. Now I write like a cataracted old woman just trying to remember the steps to dances she once knew by heart. The passion remains, but the talent wanes, and its erosion frightens me. I'm no longer young, no longer astride the world. Soon, I will be old and take my place beneath it.
I should have finished House of Bad Faith. It had potential. So did Through a Glass Darkly, Come Ye Home Again. If only my stupid, palsied hands could keep up with my feverish, desperate imagination and its frantic desire to whisper its secrets to the world before time runs out and it's so much useless gelatin inside a drooling carapace.
So, they're home, and I'm home, and everyone is happy. I've been watching old Falco videos on Youtube. I'd forgotten that he had died in 1998, and it was rather melancholy to watch him singing "Jeanny" and "Rock Me Amadeus", so young and bright and dashingly handsome, blissfully unaware that fourteen years later, he would die in the Dominican Republic, shattered by a bus. I was never a huge fan, mind you, but "Rock Me Amadeus" was and is just plain awesome, and no one deserves to die alone and so far from home. "Wiener Blut"(the Falco version)is also awesome.
"Emotional" and "Body to Body", however, are pieces of shit in four-four time. Who told him that a duet with the terrifyingly talentless Brigitte Nielsen was a good comeback vehicle? Her attempts to "dance" made her look like an armless Parkinson's Barbie trying to wield a set of Viking boob maces.
I didn't fic last night, but I did reread old fic. God, I wish I could write with the same fearlessness, the same thoughtless surety that the magic would be there. Then, I wrote with the weightlessness of youth. Now I write like a cataracted old woman just trying to remember the steps to dances she once knew by heart. The passion remains, but the talent wanes, and its erosion frightens me. I'm no longer young, no longer astride the world. Soon, I will be old and take my place beneath it.
I should have finished House of Bad Faith. It had potential. So did Through a Glass Darkly, Come Ye Home Again. If only my stupid, palsied hands could keep up with my feverish, desperate imagination and its frantic desire to whisper its secrets to the world before time runs out and it's so much useless gelatin inside a drooling carapace.
Tags:
