V

'Great art ... is mad with its own loveliness.'

Art is often the first thing to suffer for censorship. If it is not the first, it is one of the first---and it is always one of the first. One would wonder why this might be; I should hope I see, but I believe I do.

Plato first argued against art, declaring it dangerous, a potential corrupting force, which, if unleashed, could apply itself equally to education and to ethics. The artist, he felt, produced a shoddy replica of a shoddy replica, and drew attention further away from all ideas, although the real world already did that quiet reliably. Art was twice removed from truth, according to this imitation theory, deceptive due to its inaccuracy.

Artists may use lies, but artists use lies to tell the truth. The truth is this: Any revolution relies on anger. Anger relies on reason. The chief reason for revolting is oppression, when the oppressed people have had enough of being treated as inferior---not just to their oppressors, but to their known, innate worth. Art is a reminder of that worth, and that reminder is all but essential to the element of self-respect in anger as a reaction to oppression, as the idea of revolution. The masses' memory is notoriously short; something of the eternal must be seen, to echo in the soul. 'I', one may say, 'have felt love and hate and fear and hope as strongly as this man, or that, or another yet, has writ or wrought to show it; I have, as any man will and as every man must!'

If one would forget that---that every man must love and hate and hope and fear---one will not listen to art of ages past, but to the authority of the present. One will listen, and begin to believe, and in believing lose that self-respect. They say that we are incoherent and incompetent, that we are only ugly and unfinished. We are not. We are everything…

and we must always remember

To a prosperous year,
To the friends that are here,
To the new chandelier
We've the masquerade.

This New Year's Eve at six o'clock until midnight, held in the first floor foyer of the New York Palace Hotel, by virtue of the kind contributions of Vyers, Miwako, Giselle, Iris, and my dear Eve.

There will be mystery, music, room to dance, and---of course---refeshments.

The life that we live / What we are after,
Is certain to give / Tears through to laughter,
What was is still seen : We bear what's between
And one may say : damn everything but the circus.

To keep one's face and behave as a free spirit despite circumstance is essential---if one wishes to survive as the self one wants to be. As we are imperfect beings, true faces will be obscured from time to time...and in time, unearthed again.

Why not seek out the sport in it?

...and I'm afraid I'm feeling especially unwell. I've felt worse, admittedly, although there were others near; as it is, I'm alone (having encouraged Evey to continue her explorations, albeit with caution) and would rather enjoy some company. Wolf, would you be interested in visiting, and stepping in as soon as you can? I've our entertainment (and some snacks) at hand, and I encourage you to bring others, as well. It's been some time since I've had an opportunity to speak with Flute or Giselle, and suspect they'd enjoy the film, as well---it does, after all, have a happy ending.

Our looming Lady's little ones are every inch as unpleasant as I'd imagined---I've found it out quite recently, being injured while out after art. (These injuries are hardly worth mention, but for the eager attack; I've seen sicced hounds show more reserve.)

Two cuts. A minor inconvenience, but a valuable learning experience.

I'm aware that I'm not the only one wounded this past week, and I've a question in the wake of that knowledge: Namine, are you open or opposed to some additional company? We could commiserate.

(I'd like to add another thanks to Billy for aiding me in rescuing the oils---should you be reading this, you're more than welcome to stop by again whenever you'd like.)

Though, that song need no longer go unaccompanied---I've gotten a piano, and although I must admit to a certain measure of uncertainty regarding the placing of my prize, I am most pleased. It's been some time since I've played.

There isn't much more I can do in preparation for any entertaining, is there? Perhaps I'll host some sort of teatime affair after a little more time taken to tend to my potted projects.

Speaking of entertainment... Wolf? Granted, it isn't the screenplay, but I have come across a film---a personal favourite, in fact---which I think you would enjoy watching.

And what a time to find roses it is! Admittedly, I would like to know if anyone's happened across more...

What was it, in 'Afternoon on a Hill'...?
"I will be the gladdest thing
Under the sun!
I will touch a hundred flowers
And not pick one."

There's work to be done...after some rest.

And it is with this in mind that I make a request; Flute, I believe it was? If you would be so kind, it would be well appreciated if you would see to another young miss, a friend of mine injured in an accident involving the monster. Her toes have been broken and she needs her feet quite badly; I'm not aware if you've met Toph already, or not, but believe me... ...of course, I would be happy to repay the favour however I might.

...and this network seems ideal for asking; I've one, open to anyone---everyone---reading this, prompted by a very interesting conversation with a rather unconventional artist and intrepid soul over cake and coffee.

What are six truths you will share? Great or small, obvious or obscure.

This is what I offer:
Everyone has a story: Everyone is a hero, a villain, a lover, a fool: Everyone.
History is a symphony of echoes heard and unheard.
Noise is relative to the silence preceding it.
Integrity has no need of rules.
One must dare to do things worthy of imprisonment if one means to be of consequence.
'Through the power of truth, I, while living, have conquered the universe.'
This much I know is true.

In this broken, battered city,
very little is still pretty,
what with an unlovely lady rearranging the poor place
---and it is my understanding,
her small ones scrabble at the landing,
and no looming Lady's little one is a pretty face.

To counter, one kind-hearted miss
is doing what she can in this;
thanking madame Mia Fey---our applause is absolute.
Even aided, a self active and alive,
isn't living, if not energized.
(A nod to cafe noir, our roastmaster, Mr.Pinstripe Suit.)



Hello, to whoever happens across this. I’m not sure how it was I came to be here, but I suppose I ought to browse a little longer; I have yet to speak with people sufficient to extend the verse. I shall see some of you on the streets, as likely as not; by all means, let us meet.

It will be my pleasure.