One week to go until the renaming ritual. This is a fairly significant occasion and doens represent if not a break, then a discontinuity in my identity. So I have something for those of you who want to feel that you've engaged with it in some capacity - or if you know someone who would but who doesn't read my LJ.

1. Come to the housewarming/renaming/meet-my-cousin party in about a month

2. Send me a note containing, one thing that you hope that I can:
    (a)    shed from my old identity, way of living and/or interaction with you
    (b)    keep from my old identity and way of living and/or interaction with you
    (c)    avoid in my new identity and way of living and/or interaction with you
    (d)    find my new identity and way of living and/or interaction with you

You can do one, two, there, all four. You can pick more than one item from one category and/or skip another. You can be glib, frank, solemn or brusque. You can send it by email, by post, hand it to me, drop it off, use one of the King's messengers, or carve it in a bathroom stall. Or you can not send a note at all, but just acknowledge it whatever way you see fit and for which you have time. Do whatever suits you.



...and Gilgamesh lost his

The urge towards self-______ is here again.

Self what? Not self-destruction; but perhaps a shade of self-annihilation and some self-escape with aspects of self-transformation.

This happens from time to time: the urge to slip away like ice cream under a brick. The urge to shift, change (from least to most) my dress, routine, hair, skin, sex, mode of speech, name, home, work, hobbies, values, sense of humour; it all has to go, or rather change, or rather stay with the something (i.e. "me") that's left behind. At least it feels that way.
                                                                I'm such a conservative dresser.

That which no longer is cannot be wounded. An old skin, left behind, is no more than a place-marking curio, like an historical plaque. It will not bleed when cut. The new will have slithered off and is somewhere else being... different, getting injured and forming new scars, but the new snake shed those too.

The catch is that snakes have to crawl everywhere.

Why this urge now? I feel death creeping up on me. It's custom to disguise yourself by inverting your clothes. Maybe death just hates exposed seams. Does anyone think it's strange that we wear the seams next to our skin?  I digress. It's good to digress.

Anyway. Change in the face of death.
Everyone here looks old, sick, worn out, worn down, worn away. Going. Eroding.
I don't want to be caught up in this, but I can feel it in me.

That's one explanation

Alternative or Conjuncitve explanation

Grandmother: dead. Job interview: done.  Current academic haits: unsustainable.

And so I think I'm going to dye my hair funny colours - baldness be damned.

Whether or not I take up street luge remains to be seen.

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the_fantastic_ms_fox

August 2017

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