By George Herbert
Love bade me welcome, yet my soul drew back,
Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-ey'd Love, observing me grow slack
From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning
If I lack'd anything.
"A guest," I answer'd, "worthy to be here";
Love said, "You shall be he."
"I, the unkind, the ungrateful? ah my dear,
I cannot look on thee."
Love took my hand and smiling did reply,
"Who made the eyes but I?"
"Truth, Lord, but I have marr'd them; let my shame
Go where it doth deserve."
"And know you not," says Love, "who bore the blame?"
"My dear, then I will serve."
"You must sit down," says Love, "and taste my meat."
So I did sit and eat.
I am going bonkers because I can't figure out where my M&C cover issue of Entertainment Weekly has gone, though there are, like, two years' worth under the end table where the kids have dumped them so they could put their Game Boys on top. But my in-laws are coming and I have work to do, so I shall not post any deep thoughts on the weirdness that overcomes my parents every November 22.
Hee, HASA took "Night's Pursuit" which is vaguely slashy and ragingly movieverse and I always feel like I pulled something over on someone when I get that combination past the Canon Police there. Am tempted to send up "Promises and Pledges," which I get more mail about than anything else I've ever written, but it's the one story with which I would actually take personally if I got one of the obvious anti-slash "weak or unlikely characterization" declines. Then again the only fic of mine turned down (and that was by a 4-5 margin, meaning that an hour later it could have gone the other way) was barely 200 words, nearly a straight riff out of canon, and so boring that I thought it was a sure bet with the Canon Police even though there was no actual story involved. So maybe the people who like crawling around in the margins are there in greater numbers than is immediately obvious.
Gacked from altariel, making me sob and wail until I remembered that I said "Go away and never come back!" to my inner theorist when I left grad school, and thus far no Precious has re-corrupted me:
You are Jacques Lacan! Arguably the most important
psychoanalyst since Freud, you never wrote
anything down, and the only works of yours are
transcriptions of your lectures. You are
notoriously difficult to understand, but at
least you didn't talk about the penis as much
as other psychoanalysts. You died in 1981.
What 20th Century Theorist are you?
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