Twas the night before New Year

I feel compelled to write something to usher out the old year - to somehow acknowledge the passing of Time - despite any inability to control said Time, although I may certainly control how I use it! Itsa curious thing, Time I mean. I tend to write quite a bit about it, contemplate it, ever since learning my Einstein and then reinforcing that with Agustine, although it ought to be the other way around, but there's the public school system for you! "All our yesterdays have lighted fools the path to dusty death." I should hope I never become Macbeth-y, or Havesham-y. *brrr*

But it is awe-full to sit and consider time, and the weight of time, the current inexorability of time - and then to counter that with the uselessness of time in Heaven, or to God. Were we to allow ourselves to be crushed by any of the dimensions - the third, materialistic, the fourth, temporal - I imagine we should all throw up our hands and become absurdists, or at least yell with Auden, "Oh let not Time deceive you! You cannot conquer Time!" From this mentality comes all the extremes of the pendulum, the gnostics, the hedonists, the epicurians, the puritans - all those who don't know what to do with the body in time because it's all so fleeting. The middle two declare that it's fleeting, so one ought to live it up and then kill oneself. The first says it's all garbage so you might as well live it up or give it up entirely and then kill oneself. The last says that it's all evil, so one ought to abjure it altogether and wait to die.

However, there is another route - and it does not fall between the this and the that "lies the shadow" as Eliot would put it - but rather the knowledge that what is here is NOT evil (although we may use it so), but only a foretaste of what is to come. Consider, I tell the students frequently that Heaven is outside of Time as we know it, and so it is - but just as it is the perfection of all that is and could be and ought to have been, so Time there, one presumes, is perfected too - that is, there is just enough of it and we do not waste it and it HAS no end. Curious to think - we always forget and accord Time divine properties - that Time has an ending, too. In fact, Time must be defined by its finiteness, by its beginnings and endings, just as we ourselves are so defined in our third dimention. But our soul is not finite, nor is it bound by either of those two things which are finite. Yet when those two things are perfected, it shall join the soul once more. The soul absolute, I should mention - absolute in its perfection or its dissolution. And the only finiteness which shall exist will be that the souls who reject God create themselves. Who was it who said, "The Gates of Hell are locked from the inside." Huh - Hell is infinite finiteness. Wuh. Gah. Don't go there. Neverending nothingness. Eternal ending. Blaugh.

So, lessee, must finish said letters. Will send off tomorrow. Was barred from doing so today by visit of Kr. Pru. Loverly visit. Must write to my FUS profs. In other news, Ruse has ended. What? Why? Aaaaaaaaaaaaugh! How will I be satisfied never knowing whether Simon and Emma ever got together? Whether Simon has a sigil pin for a reason? What Emma's gifts are? What happens to Partington? Noooooooooo! There's so much world left to explore! I am quite put out! :( Why is it, precious, that they are constantly KILLING the best comic book lines. Hrumph. Nicht so frolich! Pas de TOUT. I have modified a smallish picture of myself from college to be Rss. Evangeline Green. May change later on, I hope. Put on a huge hat. Amazing what Photoshop can do. See, all those years playing with paper dolls have finally paid off! Sad, isn't it, when drawing becomes another form of dress-up? Not sad, perhaps - rather, extension of what is good in childhood into meaningful goodness in adulthood. Randominity: I don't have to chaperone any more dances! (Unless they force me to do prom. Please, God, no.)

Right, right. Off to (really, really) finish up loose ends. Quite at a loss re: what was at the Vieux Lu. Must figure out if Vieux Lu is the Palais Juste, or whether Palais Juste is on different grounds? Seems far more likely that they are one and the same. Shoot - must double check last article written, then. And what exactly did Prince Alexi do? And HOW did they catch him? Lessee - Juste is, what, 25 now? So he was...12 when the latest nialten happened. I'm guessing that he had something to do with being able to overthrow the local branch of Reyjori. Drat. Must come up with more substantial history than the one I currently have vaguely floating around in les petites celles gris(e? - prob. bad Franglais anywho). Note to self: stop writing like BJD! Right, so obviously the main folk who needed overflowing were the Khlaov and the Khlaovnja, and their kids. But that's in Reyjori proper (nearish Cimoren or no?). Can't think that ill of Alexi at moment - I mean I don't, not that others couldn't. Anywho, so...he spliced together animals. What sort would he have on hand? One's local variety of course, but they had trade with...need name of continent rather than what currently stands: the triumverate of D, H & DK. So...he'd have had access to more exotic Serengheti-type stuff. Which he then spliced together and...were they killed? Did he splice them together with MACHINERY? I'm thinking that the Second Khlaov was way big into technology, yes? Which is then kept during this particular nialten, and then the Third Khlaov rose - is THAT the one with the Ori? Or was this one. Imp. point - must consider. And THEN they not only smashed sorcery but technology - with exception of Factory and other such useful things that Wardens controlled - which makes me wonder whether Wardens exist at this point? Naw - they must rise later, yes? Or do we have Wardens NOW? Because they survived through all these nialten....

Pete wants me to watch Willow. I shall take my computer with me, and MST3K the heck out of it whilst writing furiously about the Fete and/or the death of Alexi. Poor guy. Perhaps I ought to start with that second and see what Alexi says for himself. Now what am I trying to say? Or am I saying anything - or rather, am I trying to make folk see humanity as more than compartmentalization?

Mood: Perplexed
Music: Enigma, taking the place of Dangerous Beauty. Neither one is giving proper mood. Shall soon be bad Willow music. Will laugh heartily.
Thunk: Ah, White Zinfandel tonight. Yee-HAW. All quarter glass of it! (Oy.)
What the HECK is that ad? C'est moi! Much manipulated. And wigged. And birded. (Cerebellumed!) Tee hee hee!