Trompé Setsuled (setsuled) wrote,
Trompé Setsuled

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"Like Touching Except You Don't Touch"

I was bringing the trash cans up from the curb just before leaving for class when I met a pretty, short haired white cat. She (I'm guessing it's a she since that's how she'd be cast in a Disney movie) was on the fence between houses and started to run away when the big trash cans I brought up scraped loudly against the concrete. But she stopped and watched me, and I noticed she looked slightly cross-eyed. I stood still and silent, and we watched each other for a few moments. Her eyelids finally started to droop, so I stepped closer. She immediately back away, but then walked back towards me a little, her nose twitching. She never let me pet her--it might have happened if I'd had a lot more time to just stand silently with her--but she seemed to grow accustomed to my proximity. I like friendly cats, but there's something to be said for the cautious ones, especially if my grandmother notices her hanging around and tells the gardener to kill her.

I can't overstate how much I miss my aunt's cats. Their absence makes me feel like I have a chemical imbalance. Everything feels very, very unnatural.

I didn't actually go straight to class--I had to read Shakespeare's sonnets and eat breakfast first, and I did both at the same time at Starbucks. I've read the sonnets before, but it was years ago, and I don't think they ever impacted me as much as they did to-day. It was also amusing to see how many good Christians in the class seemed upset by the idea that Shakespeare might have been in love with a man.

I feel like I oughta post one, but it's hard to decide which. Here's 23;

As an unperfect actor on the stage
Who with his fear is put besides his part,
Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage
Whose strength's abundance weakens his own heart,
So I, for fear of trust, forget to say
The perfect ceremony of love's rite.
And in mine own love's strength seem to decay,
O'er-charged with burden of mine own love's might.
O let my books be then the eloquence
And dumb presagers of my speaking breast,
Who plead for love, and look for recompense
More than that tongue that more hath more expressed.
O learn to read what silent love hath writ;
To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit.

And here's another Smiths video, one directed by Derek Jarman, whom robyn_ma and hernewshoes have recently told me about;

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