Sep. 22nd, 2008

karanguni: (HUGHES junshou)
Maybe it's because it's lull season for me right now - I'm in the midst of starting and finishing research papers and getting one set of results back before going into a new set of revision and examinations in late October and November - but I want to get all the crazy holiday stuff set down before the INSANE CRUNCH TIME of Yule and November frippery.

SO:

Christmas/Yule/Happy Non-denominational Random Celebration Day Card Sending List

If you want a postcard to find in your mailbox come December - no promises on the content ("8D 8D"), but I can give promises on the, uh, ontological existence of the card itself - leave your address/a address in the comments (screened!). This doesn't just apply for you - if you have a friend/loved one/family member/pet/relative/best friend/doctor/spouse/neighbour/teacher that you want to send some lovin' to, set that right down here as well!

Therefore leave:

- A Name/Identity/Thing I can address the card/thing to
- An address that a postman will deliver to
- If it's meant as a surprise for a friend, a note you may want me to stick in for you
- If it's meant as a surprise for you, a note about what you might want me to stick in for you (HINT: IF YOU ARE A JE FAN, there are a couple of magazines and things that I want to see in better, more interested homes!)

Your addresses are safe with me. *g* I realise that makes it sound totally washy, but YOU'LL JUST HAVE TO TRUST ME ON THAT.

Feel free to spread this 'cross LJ if you want - more people = more love, right? - or to spread a little ho-ho-ho yourself. In the middle of September. Because it's cool to be early. And stuff.

 

A universe of unmapped grief and love
And new master light is beyond
The pleiades and plow and southern stars.

O soaring
Icarus of outworld, burn bright
The traceries of known skymarks,
Slide the highway planets behind
Your clear waxed wings.

Go conquer the everywhere left
Beyond your sad confinement
In a predicted bonehouse,
Witch thrown riddle of flesh
And water.

O soar until nothing
remains but great glittering holes
In the black godspun shirt over your head.

- John Fairfax