November 5th, 2010

hasui hirakawa morning

I mean every word of this. without a shred of irony

Ohh, Kohri no Mamono. How I do love you. How I do love Twoo Wub of the Racish variety-- those pure-hearted semes swearing to protect their pure-hearted ukes. We are all pure-hearted here, even when we're traitors who sell out our friends (oh vol 11, you are my joy and delight. You press all my betrayal buttons. You blatantly milk the erotesis that I find in the moment when someone realizes they've been betrayed, when the smiling face of the traitor superimposes itself on the smiling face of the um well business associate, shall we say; and then you let me have my cake and eat it too.) We are pure-hearted semes with *style*. We betray with grace and surrender with grace and have our gag moments with grace-- in unlikely robes and even unlikelier glasses and of course with hair to our bums. We and our loves share enormous beds, twice as long as they need be, with enormous pillows twice as large as they need be-- such luxury-- and we never have sex because sex isn't part of what our relationship is about.

I lap this up like cream, really I do. It's impossible, yes, because people aren't like that, but in the Racish world people are; just as in the historical world the dying Philip Sidney would give his last water away to a fellow soldier with a 'Friend, thy need is greater than mine own.' "Not for us, not like that", as Stoppard's Guildenstern said (or was it Rosencrantz?) but in this sunlit fantasy world it's just the way things are.