“Faffing about with my projected self-publishing foolishness” is, it appears, going to be the default setting for a while. Illustrations are being illustrated. I’ve set up a writer account on Kindle, Apple and a couple of others. I’m looking at local sourcing for the printing of physical copies.
So… the next few updates are likely to be down to three columns, just to avoid repetetive redundancy reiteration.
Also– day off tomorrow, and I need to relax, so there’s probably no film appearing after this.
I’m somewhat repeating a tweet I committed recently, but the situation which prompted it is still in effect.
The eponymous phrase above comes from the summation of“Ode on a Distant Prospect of Eton College“, a poem written by Thomas Grey in the middle of the 18th century. Unlike the modern handwaving about “a few bad apples” (a phrase which is being rehabilitated, hoorah) or the general view of the story of foolish King Canute (which I explain the non-general view in an old post on the writing outlet), the common understanding of the phrase really does follow the source: remain unaware, and remain happy.
I object to this. There is something to it– when I was pursuing therapy for depression, the therapist wondered why I burdened myself with the daily news– but as a rule for living, in the world as it currently is ignorance leads to… well, the world as it currently is. People who shout about deadly surgical masks. The persistent unwillingness to address climate change with vigor. Crocs as quotidian footwear.
To underline my stance, let me offer a sterling example of how ignorance brings the opposite of bliss– painful death!
If you watched that through, I imagine you’ve somewhat less bliss in you than before, and I’m sorry. I’ll offer this as a counter-measure; when you’re aware and attending, the small joys that life offers are substantially sweeter, standing out more clearly from the background of daily worry.
I was looking as someone’s lunar astrology prognostication for the upcoming year, and in explaining the cycle of elements the signs pass through, they mentioned that putting “water” and “cat” together strikes some as unlikely.
On the subject of bird seed– it’s been below -25 the past three days (normal February stuff, here), and birds eat a lot to avoid turning to feathery lumps of ice. That bag may last a week.
The progress on the story seems slight, but compared to the whole of last year, I’m pretty happy about it. The deadline is not frightening me yet.
And finally– Merry Water Tiger, all. Tuesday’s pen and even more the ink was chosen specifically for the day, and I was taken with an urge to do a bit of art with them. I share, with the proviso that I make no claims to skill in graphic arts (that’s my brother’s department).
I am not a cat (a statement which is true in at least three separate ways)
What's up at Ravens March. 
