Songs that call forth ancestral rage: Labour by Paris Paloma.
It's magick at its deepest and most primal. Even women with supportive partners feel the pull from the lyrics, calling forth the rage out of deep within our souls. The fury of women from time immemorial.
If you -- a man -- hear a woman listening to this song, humming along, singing along: be wary. If you hear their voices together chanting the words, under the moon: run.
I am working on some Lego flowers. I was a bit concerned, because I am very much not a visual person, that I would have difficulty with the instructions -- but they turned out just fine. Nice.
thank you, Lego, for these charming sets.
I went to an event at a local park this evening, as an effort to get myself out of the house and do something For Fun. (I am struggling to do Recreational Things, but am trying.) It was cold, and windy. But the air was crisp, and there was a campfire somewhere, and the scent on the breeze reminded me of camping with my favorite people. For just a moment, I was freed from all my burdens. Lovely.
I wish I could be as relaxed as the kitties. Instead, I am a ball of disgruntlement and fatigue, like an overtired elderly chihuahua trying valiantly to guard the house but in reality needing desperately for someone to put me into a soft round bed in the upstairs back bedroom so I can get a little bit of decent rest for a change.
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