Alongside the snow and cold, we had a windstorm. You know, the kind that makes the trees sway dramatically, with a roaring sound, and the occasional piquant snapping sound when a branch breaks loose. Somewhere in the county, a tree did more than just sway; it toppled completely against a power line, and knocked out all the electricity throughout a very large area. Yes, a tree fell in a forest, and although I cannot declare with certainty if this went either heard or unheard, it most certainly did not go unfelt. Virtually NOBODY had electricity, and normal life screeched to a standstill. CF headquarters was a dark icebox for nineteen solid hours, with enforced web silence and no computer at all. Reading by candlelight was. . . different! As was writing by hand. Especially when I could see my own breath in that candlelight. . .
The power has just been restored. It is about 3 o'clock in the morning; I am luxuriating in a mug of HOT coffee, and getting the place warmed up again. Also, I am sharing the experience with all of you fine and excellent workers in the counter-feminist vineyard, everywhere on earth! This rhetorically disciplined interval of lyric prose has been strictly personal and . . . strictly apolitical -- which is to say that it does not mix the personal with the political. We don't do that in our sector.
It does, however, put a bit of a human face on the Movement -- although not too much of this. As a gesture, it is "just right", being neither too much nor too little. Nary a grappling point in sight! But it offers a certain "toasting marshmallows around the bonfire in a winter wonderland" sort of feeling, yes?
And yet, the total effect is calculated, with political designs uppermost.
Very well. This blog will now resume its normal political character.