Carl Jung says the the finest symbol of manhood and his potent libido is the portrayal of him as either a devil or a hero, caught in his paradoxes and I guess he is essentially a bit of both in that context. Most of us are not hugely devilish or heroic but the madness that is called love and libido surely draws on those extremes, although most of the extremes are buffed away by cultural conventions and social acceptability - and of course the influence of the church, in this country certainly. And indeed that thought reminds me of a short Stevie Smith poem called Angel of Grace:
I was talking one day
To a lady gay
When my Guardian Angel
Plucked me away:
Where can she be
Oh where does she wander
The lady of whom
I grow fonder and fonder.
Ah well, I guess I could always just sit in the garden and play the banjo instead. November is nearly drawing to a close and with it the rest of this year looms. The realisation that you are actually hitting the last furlong doesn't linger, I confess, indeed I never think of it. I thought I would but I don't and that has to be good. Today I get to work at home - I have tons to do but oh yay, I will be in my own study, with my own desk and stuff and endless cups of citrus early grey - small pleasures on a grey day, while talking to a lady gay, just once in a very blue moon.
