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...and I'm neither going to name names or quote the precise passage, but it all has to do with a place called Lothlorien...which I've never been to yet, but I think it'd be a wonderful place to stay awhile--pity there's so much bad residue in my mind from things of a past entanglement. Anyhow, here's the stung retort to the lofty(?) reply to what was intended as a fairly mild and reserved comment:
"Well, I don't particularly like people forbidding my own (extremely moderate) use of alcohol outright, certainly, but the rest of it certainly ain't a problem--point is, that was someone else telling me what the rules were, and in a very pompous and overblownly-"reverent" way, assuming moreover that I was "under his wing" so far as behaviour and accountability went, even though I was fully a legal adult. He was what they sometimes refer to as a "magical bully"--and a damn lech too.
Don't think that I'm the one making any perceptions yet about the place (seeing as I've never yet gotten the chance to go) except that I won't be talked down to or berated about it. I don't go places where I feel that I'm not welcome, and so I have made no attempt to push myself into these circles. My former friend was a major blowhard and loved to get all officious about ceremonies and the "proper" way of doing things, so don't be so surprised I'd have a bit of a chip lingering there about people giving me shite. I had a dream about Lothlorien once, that it was very close and calling to me--rather like that short story about the woman who kept dreaming about a perfect house, and finally found it, and the owners were selling it because it was haunted--by her, the twist was. Anyhow, who knows?--I've been put off enough times by people full of themselves and wanting to pull a rank or a guilt trip that I'm not in the mood--I'd rather wait for a sign that things are right and intended and welcoming for ME than get in a useless argument with people who haven't the faintest idea of me. Or what it is that I find most "repressive" in organized areas--believe me, it's not the land itself, as I know that it has no reason to push me away. It's always the people, always the agenda and the presence of something established and insular and tribal that repels in every case where it does not feel like a welcome.
But then, I think too much....everyone knows that.
Oh, I hope to read your post sometime."
Oh, yes--of course, and I likely will read it. Well, I'm hardly the social butterfly that I could be in this day and age, but then that sort of cheery pan-sociability might require me not thinking quite so seriously as I do for myself. I'm an artist, not a collector, not an impresario passing about the latest buzz--and frankly, I waste my time trying to keep people interested in things and groups of mine if they don't really want to be there. But I try to give people a place, I try not to assume their motives as unworthy, I try not to cut them down. I attack no one without provocation, I try to give fair credit where credit's due....
So how dare people assume the worst and the shallowest of me?--how DARE they try to put me down with a sanctimonious word, chiding my perceptions and apprehensions as flawed? And how dare they step on me, even unknowingly, not knowing where the apple has sunk in or their foot has broken through into the hole itself, that lightless oubliette....?
How dare I give them weapons?--how dare I lay myself bare in the least? Am I not worthy enough wherever I want to go, as the land itself would call me?--am I not above hints and wistful sighs, and wishing that the poisons of the past would be willingly drawn out by other lips? Say no more--grant no more to those who give nothing themselves, who are not me, who do not understand. I am more than this!!!--I am no one's begger at the gate, no one's penitent sprawled on the steps of the temple. I go where I will go, and if the gates do not open then curst shall be them that deny. I am no less, and I have short patience these days. If they do not know what I am, then how dare they judge my thoughts?
Ah, but it remains true, more or less--I don't go where I'm not wanted, I merely wander around, lone and sinister being that I am--stealing about, slipping between the shadows of the tribal fires, holding to my own haven-territories, where none dare try to cut me down with impunity.
Until the soon-coming fiery time of my own, when I get pissed off enough at last to start blowing houses in...
