Either I have become more aware of the members of my gender or I am suddenly surrounded by a few drool inducingly hot females. All shining hair, lip gloss wielding, lily white yielding flesh and razor wit. I completely understand why you wand carriers* can barely think around women. Let it be known that I occasionally have these 2 hour bouts of infatuation on extraordinary human beings, male or female**. Himself said that he thinks everyone has these bouts but that they just don’t talk about it. Is this true?

Now, I am no hag and have in my time caused a few moments of lusty discomfort but I’ve always wondered what it is like to be truly beautiful. Do beautiful women have so different a life from the Jane’s of the world? And while we are at it, beautiful men too. CC is freaking gorgeous***. Poet Programmer piningly concurs. So let me rephrase: do beautiful people have so different a life from the rest of us?

I wonder what it is like to look in a mirror and 9.9/10 times think “not too shabby, eh Nige” as opposed to the mental editing that happens with normal folk. Oh don’t pretend you don’t know what I am talking about. The Jane’s of the world all have that brain powered editing suite without which it would be just that little bit harder to walk out the door and face the world which has had beauty ads crammed down its collective throat everyday for years. Lookit this if you are doubtful:

1. Word of the day: rapturous (The Sage: 1. a feeling of great rapture or delight)

2. Insight of the day: My ‘golden oldies’ are almost exclusively 90′s music. This sucks beyond belief as it was just the other day >.< *mutter mutter*

3. State of the pool: Sluggish but quite burbly.

4. Joys of the day: 1. Listening to ‘golden oldies’, 2. drinks with El the Legend, Himself and FdP at the upside down cow later today 3. Listening to D cutely mangle say “plesier” when I thanked him.

5. Awesomest lines: Neal Stephenson’s Anathem. I can’t begin to describe how magnificent this book is. If I ever stumble across the fountain of youth I would offer the first cup to this man on the promise that he will never stop writing.

* I put on my robe and wizard hat from good ol bash.org.

**I believe that you should be a little in love with the people with whom you spend time because otherwise you are wasting your life. Why spend time with people for whom you couldn’t care less?

***Aesthetically speaking folks. I adore Himself who btw is smoking hot…/grin…*sigh pine*, anyway…CC is the kind of godlike pretty which makes him so far out of the Jane league that you wouldn’t even consider a liaison with him. Like, ever. Unless you look like Hot Bridesmaid…pity she has a significant other and CC is in that godforsaken ocean place.

©2010 Feylian's World. All Rights Reserved.

Last night was indeed epic, even if it was not nearly what I had envisioned it to be. El was, as always, freaking legendary. It is a miracle that the woman can move without stepping over the supine supplicators for her affection. And, dear gods, those legs. If ever you are short of cash and in need of a drink, dress her in 4inch fm-boots and take her to a “club”*. Oh and I managed to freak out a dominee. It’s been awhile /grin. Met some lovely people, I guess those “clubs” have their pro’s. (muahahaha…no I kill me, really)

This morning I woke up to rain. Which turned into honest to goodness Scotland sleet. Global warming ftw! Hid away in Tall Stories. Both Beautiful Pagan Redhead*** and Delightful A are on my top 6 dinner party guests. Delightful A opened Milan Kundera to me and 4 other awesome books which I cannot wait to read. If you have time and are in the area, go there. Seriously. It is a joy comparable to dark chocolate mousse or listening to a CC mixed tape**. Met The Blonde Engineer for a much belated bday lunch and he too only after a few minutes, and some enthused nagging, bought 2 books. On soup. In time he might upgrade to non-happiness-of-the-mouth reading. Well, one can hope.

CC, The Lovely Redheaded Photographer and I made a paprika goulash and are swimming in music which melts bones and movies…oh hooking up soundsluts rocks. I love my life. I really do.

1. Word of the day: salacious

2. Insight of the day: I am a rocker. Even trying to gyrate to crap rythms last scoffed at when 13 is several levels of not ok.

3. State of the pool: A beautifully aged claret.

4. Random thought: It rained slush puppy today.

5. Awesomest lines: Milan Kundera – Slowness. There is far too much here so let’s start with page 4 -

Speed is the form of ecstasy the technical revolution bestowed on man. As opposed to a motorcyclist, the runner is always present in his body, forever required to think about his blisters, his exhaustion; when he runs he feels his weight, his age, more concious than ever of himself and of his time of life. This all changes when man delegates the faculty of speed to a machine: from then on, his own body is outside the process, and he gives over to a speed that is non-corporeal, non-material, pure speed, speed itself, ecstacy speed. 

*I rarely use inverted commas and with good reason. But in this case it is warranted. Why on earth people have a desire to spend time in a place where the patented once-over-and-then-dismissed/adored-look is so prevalent that eyes water at the small African country crippling energy expediture is beyond me. /shudder. No. Just no. If I want my posterior manhandled I’d rather commit an act of freedom fighting and have someone be my female canine companion.

** Yes. I am that old.

***For some reason I am inundated with gorgeous carrot-tops. I guess I need to see better..oh it was lame but I enjoyed it :)

©2010 Feylian's World. All Rights Reserved.

Reading him and those guys is like swimming in syrupy long island iced tea and every somatic cell takes greedy, hiccuping gulps.

I told you I was reading My mistresses’s sparrow is dead. This is one of those books you will be proud to own and will reread on rainy days with a mug of liberally fortified tea. Every story sticks to you like post-it notes with glue made of boiled first love. Go to Tall Stories in Irene Village Mall and get it. If you aren’t in the area, buy it online. I know I sound very bossy but these stories and authors will make of you a better/smarter/twistier human being.

Reading the good stuff is like watching ideas motion capture in your head. First your mind is raked, the the seed planted, then the shoot, the little bud thickening becoming a tree and then watching the blooms and the finally the fruit. All condensed in a few minutes or hours. Or days…*pointedly looks at the stack of dusty books vs sparkling HDD and dvd series I know you have within reach*

Maybe this is why I love short stories and essays as much as I do. I love the tangibility of a world created in a novel and knowing characters as well as you would heart-friends but a short story is like a Godiva* truffle. And a good anthology, an entire tiny box of Auditor** killing joy.

Short stories are decadent, almost wasteful. An author’s best idea condensed into world altering sentences. You get to have 25 summer romances or 20 paradigm shifts. No 3 years down the line mundanity and threat of teeth grinding, rage swallowing relationship counselling because the romance wasn’t so much lost/imagined as consumed by previously ignored picketfence-mindedness.

An excellent short story reminds you how bitter and beautiful this world is. And how utterly, yawpingly alive we are.

Whenever I don’t write I feel as if I am nothing but swirling, inconsequential mist. But when I write, for that little while, I am real. I exist. So if you ever wonder why I am clumsy and a /bounce fool around you it is because my words are not captured and that somehow makes it not count. It’s as if I have to be more, that being bold requires more effort/energy just to have it create an impression on the world around me. That excessive actions will hopefully linger even for a little while in the time and space it was made.

I am the best of me when I am online. When I am defined and surprised by what I write and shaped but what I read. There are no pillars or unseen doorframes into which to walk. There is no wall vibrating, ear grating brash laughter. There is no too much flesh and unwieldy body. There is just this. Me. Even if that isn’t comparable to the minds like Nacho or Cassander or CC. But it is my kingdom and I am home.

*Pratchett – Weinrich and Boettcher

** Terry Pratchett – Thief of Time

©2010 Feylian's World. All Rights Reserved.

©2010 Feylian's World. All Rights Reserved.