(no subject)

[xinjinmeng]

:

After a performance at the Orpheum a few weeks ago, an anonymous admirer had sent me a gift which included a lovely inkstone. Today as I looked out across the horizon to watch the false sun set yet again, I was reminded that a form of insanity is doing the same things over and over yet expecting new results. As much as I might like to estivate under the Songhua, there is an emotion within me to resist such navel-gazing. This inkstone is a sign -- no material thing but an anchor that I might moor myself to this place. I shall not look back, but instead look around me now.

This is the fourth time I have written this, and the first in the vulgar script. Reeds and mud, but my Judge's Pen technique was so horrific to look upon that I almost gave up on the endeavor entirely. Now I cough and call it fate and use the simpler characters; perhaps time will invoke the memories and strengthen the wrist.

Now what to say? It is already dark and the stars have come out. I can recognize at least two new constellations -- or is that two older ones that have been restored? The aesthetics of the Astrognostic Society are beyond me -- yet another cabal that I attempted to ingratiate myself to, only to find myself holding my tongue and nodding obsequiously until every scale ached. This paper is suitable for now, but vellum sheets do not make fine scrolls, which may be why my Judge's Pen was not flowing smoothly. Who can say?

I satisfy myself that I have made the first of what should be many attempts to craft something of some sort. It is late and I think I will reward myself with dichlorodifluoromethane and the 'fire and water' technique.