“What is REAL?” asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. “Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?”
“Real isn’t how you are made”, said the skin horse. “It’s a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with but, REALLY loves you, then you become Real.”
“Does it hurt?” asked the Rabbit.
“Sometimes,” said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. “When you are Real you don’t mind being hurt.”
“Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,” he asked, “or bit by bit?’
“It doesn’t happen all at once,” said the the Skin Horse, “You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t happen to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out, and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.”
The Velveteen Rabbit
During the Warm-Fuzzy Eighties I wrote and produced Warm-Fuzzy material, Warm-Fuzzy songs, Warm-Fuzzy poetry, a Warm-Fuzzy play……. I’m sure that my memory of this time should be clearer to me but actually it’s a bit Fuzzy, if you know what I mean. I should consult with another amorpologyologist perhaps, but that’s actually not exactly what we amorpologyologists do. Objectivity first, you know.
And then ….the Nineties. Those memories too, present a rather shapeless imagery; I think there was a divorce. Somewhere along there I dislodged myself from another obstacle to my course. I know. I didn’t do much of anything. I did muse, however. I’ve always been a great muser. Musing requires putting my thought into actual words. I’ve always been a picture person but in the nineties I began the transition to text imagery as a matter of practicality because I have just under a dozen very bad things which are gradually robbing me of my vision, removing that part of my life, one amorphous spot at a time.
The decline of the decadent decade of the Not-so-well defined Nineties involved frightening the entire population of the planet with a countdown to the last stroke of the last second of the last minute of the last hour of the last day of 1999. By the end of the first day of 2000, the world had forgotten its preoccupation with the fear of the Internet grinding to a halt, bringing with it all kinds of amorphous non-activity. We were soon to be given an image which will last for decades, if not centuries to come.
And the first decade of the twenty first century brought focus to the planet. The strongest nation of all the nations was officially under attack by an unofficial Mob of Muslimesque Madmen. And now that we have acknowledged a decade of mourning the only distraction seems to be another new Decade. The decade of financial disaster.
Bring back the Velveteen Rabbit. Please.