Oh.
Wow.
Or, as Judith Wright says…
O.
I have discovered online journals. Searchable libraries. Academic (tingles) journals. Literary critiques. Verbalostic ruminations.
Having been warned at the risk of excommunication of fraternising with the brazen hussy who is Wikipedia (and I thought she look rather chaste) I have been introduced instead to my soul's desire. My one fate. The pieces I was… missing.
Some of this writing is really good.
What I particularly like is no-one seems to be making things up. It's all… true.
Refreshing.
At the same time, I'm perplexed to discover that newspaper articles are included in the canon of good works. No fanfare, they're just… there.
This is actually a big surprise for me. I had truly believed that journalists were trained liars with consciences seared and in search merely of their dinner. The more ambitious one, perhaps, of a mortgage.
But no. Their words are law. Immutable. Canute in stone. I may quote them.
I am uncomfortable with this new power. Heady freedom, indeed: it makes me challenge my prejudices.
And yet, quotable means fewer other words I need find for my essay.
Prejudice be buggered.
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