June 5th, 2017

daddy's girl

Poem: Sonnet 7

Lo! in the orient when the gracious light
Lifts up his burning head, each under eye
Doth homage to his new-appearing sight,
Serving with looks his sacred majesty;
And having climbed the steep-up heavenly hill,
Resembling strong youth in his middle age,
Yet mortal looks adore his beauty still,
Attending on his golden pilgrimage:
But when from highmost pitch, with weary car,
Like feeble age, he reeleth from the day,
The eyes, 'fore duteous, now converted are
From his low tract, and look another way:
So thou, thyself outgoing in thy noon
Unlooked on diest unless thou get a son.

- William Shakespeare

(Confession: I am absurdly fond of Shakespeare's "go have babies!" sonnets.)

Let me count the ways

Or, well, let kalliel do it for me:
I love SPN when it's on its game, and it's doing what it does best just SO fucking well, either in its limited screen time or by way of invitation/implication. I love its best self. I love when it's off to the races. I love it at cruising speed. I love it when it takes some bizarre frontage road and can't for the life of it find the interstate. I love it when it's wandering down one way street after one way street downtown, completely lost. I love its sloppiness, forgetting its coffee on the roof or leaving its gas cap dangling. I love it when it's carrying too many bags, most of which it probably shouldn't have brought, or purchased in the first place. I love it when it straight-up gives up for a sec and throws half those bags out the window (plot thread, what plot thread?). I love it when it insists on collecting things--like Alphas, Godly weapons, bunkers, Macguffins--on counting things--Trials, Seals--on growing things--psychics, sisters, antichrists. When it invites its dumb friends over. When it keeps inviting the same dumb friends over. When it forgets why I married it. When it remembers. Eventually, I know it will always remember.
Because that's pretty much it. <3