(no subject)

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Last evening was the first that I assented to the standing invitation of the Reverend M_M_ to visit his Hypodulian Church during a sermon.  I had always found the Reverend to be of ready wit and sharp eyes, yet I was not eager to be "handled as a snake", to use his colorful phrasing.  The choir was in in polyphonic force, and the Reverend did not disappoint.  I had to wonder if his commentary was fully understood by all those in attendance -- the Reverend does claim that he's never "turned a sinner from their door", as it were.  Afterwards, I politely declined to partake of "Eucharist", which my keen nose easily detected as something other than unleavened bread and sour wine.  Many hands stroked my scales that evening, on arms buoyed by ectasy of at least two kinds.  It was an experience that I did enjoy, yet not one I soon care to repeat, if you might understand.

Before the party, I was in a mixed mood after crossing paths with B___.  From the gossip, it would appear that, yet again, N_M_ had grown bored with her latest passion (the Sappho-Objectivists), and thus with the departure of her charisma everything was falling to pieces.  I attempted to commiserate with her, but all that talk really did was sour me on how, just a few years ago, I'd attempted to join their little faction only to be ignored.  If she had been more socially aware, B___ would have detected that my nodding assent was automatic while I meditated upon my own past.  The ease of how I could win B___'s favors that evening cooled my ardor towards her more than anything -- I have been accused of being a Don Juan in the past, which still rankles me.   No, leaving her be was the right decision, even if her sartorials could bend iron. 

Tonight: Чернобыль белое вино and the Catherine position.