In case y’all were wondering… and if not, I have a psychotic urge to explain myself, so here goes.
Who am I? Why am I blogging about queens and queenship? Me, a dude, single… you get the picture.
I am an art gallery attendant. I am a lost child. I am… I am the water that runs downhill.
I’m not the art. I don’t know where everything is. I’m just looking at the pretty pictures and seeing stuff that the grown ups have forgotten to see. Doing what is my bent to do.
Which is not be boring and ask why. But see the amazing, possibly impractical, and ask, why not?
See the queen behind every woman. The royalty implicit in her identity. The shadow that could be cast.
Little King. What’s with the nickname? Well, if I’m talking about queens, I had to throw in “king” somewhere. The male equivalent. What is a king, exactly? What is living like a king? More on this later. I still need to figure it out.
Hence the “little.” Beginner. Rookie. Amateur. But, more importantly, humble, realizing there’s a King of kings out there who won’t brook grandstanding.
It also gratifies my etymological interests. Any paperwork would tell you that my name is Ryan. But for the Irish, Ryan and “Little King” are exactly the same thing.
Neat, huh? You could probably also prove that every woman is just a woman, if you read the paperwork. But if you’re speaking the right language, you know that the dreadful, sublime, mystic, eternal quality that is woman… is queen.