Class of rockage, and downhill from there to contemplation.

Have had two of my classes so far. The digital arts project tutorial is just about as I'd expected, and Nino wasn't even put off by my crazy pretentious-as-fuck proposed modeling project. The Literature of Artistic Obsession...well, it's a class with Marguerite Feitlowitz. An advanced lit seminar with Marguerite Feitlowitz. I am in gorgeous brilliant pretentious lit heaven. (And I have to read Pygmalion by Thursday. But, frankly, I'm not worried about that yet. Won't be able to buy my copy until tomorrow anyway.)

Marguerite has as a first-day exercise (she did this in the class of hers I was in last term too) a freewrite/brief response bit of in-class writing. She'll give us a page of quotes and we'll respond to one.

This short Utena fic has been eating my brain. Gah. Brilliant.

I'm posting my freewrite because my hands were shaking when I read it aloud in class, so I know I put something more into it than I normally do with these sorts of things. Emotionally *and* intellectually.

( I is an other. )

Somehow getting the impression that some of the readings in this class are going to cut too close to home. I've spent how long losing myself in other people's characters? And mostly they are not particularly healthy men to have as shadows. *coughs at Mikage, or whatever his name might be today*

But heightened interior experiences do me good, in their own way, all sorts of them. They keep me from staying all frozen up and walled in. I'd like my feelings to at least be known to myself, and maybe to my art.

And she keeps telling me that I have enough chaos power within me to destroy the world.

Maybe, just maybe, I'll be able to invest myself in my original work again.

I wonder what Becky Godwin will do if I write about werewolves for the short story class.