stone against skin
August 19th: leaving Bethlehem
You make me feel like a candy apple all red and horny
You make me feel love
Lover I don't know who I am.
—Paula Cole, Feelin' Love
You make me feel like I want to be dumb blonde
In a centerfold, the girl next door.
And I would open the door and I'd be all wet
With my tits soaking through this tiny little t-shirt
That I'm wearing and you would open the door
And tie me up to the bed.
Am I Barry White - am I Isis?
Lover I'm laced with your unconscious,
I will be your Desdemona
Dream:
I was hanging out in Melanie's car with her and Paula, and we decided that we wanted some pizza. So we went into a pizza place to get some, but before we did, we took off all of our clothes. when we got inside we decided to put our clothes back on, but I was wearing this shift-type thing that left my butt bare. Melanie was riding one of those silly horse rides and I was looking at a TV up in the corner of the foyer that was showing something that was like a cross between porn and a horror movie. it started out with these two girls looking at a third girl, and saying, "Should we kiss her?" and the other saying, "We should." and the three of them having sex, interspersed with shots of a human body rising from the dead--a skeletal hand stripping away its own rotten flesh and organs and climbing out of its body. Then, the skeleton with long hair walked into the room where the three girls were having sex, and one of them jumped up to try to defend the other two, and the skeleton touched her, the girl's eyes did this weird spiral thing, and her head exploded.
Then i was riding this weird ride involving a rubber slide and a conveyer belt, and I could feel my bare butt on the rubber. i kept losing pieces of clothing, and Melanie was looking at me with this strange semi-amused semi-worried look in her eyes.
(this gets kinda gross. you've been warned.)
Reality:
"At each others' side, there is nothing we cannot laugh at, no translation impossible except those that are wholly unnecessary."*****
I have broken that shell that was surrounding my talents, and I am busy at work on about a thousand different projects, most of them nonfiction of some sort, some of them erotic. I knew that the mix of books i was reading was potentially explosive, but add The Lover by Dumas to the mixture and i have blown certain synapses right off their little chemical lies. I'm working on several new articles for blueprint, and just in time, too. One of them will be an article on how to organize a writing site, and another will be on how to translate things into hypertext. I need to write about food for girlie style, as well.
My paying work is starting to pick up, just in time for me to step back and start doing the high-level management of this project that I so enjoy. It may sound kind of silly, but there's a real sense of accomplishment involved in getting the schedule just so, and figuring out how to arrange everything so nobody feels unduly burdened and the books get done.
It's fun, it really is. and i've figured out some documentation issues, and we're well on our way to making this thing a smooth machine. Hoorah!
*****
I'm still working on myself, and this deep root of anger that I can't figure out is still tripping me up as i try to move forward. Where does it come from, this anger and hatred? I've experienced my own mysterious font of hatred before, this anonymous need to throw things against the walls and otherwise act out in ways unbecoming to the vortex of calm that i am striving to be.
Breathe. Where is this coming from?
There are reasons that I identify with Sekhmet, and this deep anger is one of them. I used to know why I was angry, i remember knowing why i was angry, but I can't remember now what the reasons were, or are. This is why my anger used to frighten me so much; it comes from somewhere within a deep well of violence and it's horrible and uncontrolled and and it's all out of proportion to the things that make me angry.
i've learned recently not to be afraid of it, that i'm not going to kill anyone when i'm angry unless they decide to attack me, although i might break a few things.
i suspect that if I knew where the anger comes from, i'd have the answers to a lot of things about my life that puzzle me.
*****
The kitten is getting so big! Her paws and ears are evidently growing faster than the rest of her, since she now looks rather like a bat with big fuzzy things on the end of its legs. But underneath that, I can see the shape of the cat she will be taking form--an elegant thing with long bones and athletic manners. Now, if she can only learn that it's okay to lick and suck on fingers but not to bite them, we'll be all set for her adulthood.
the moment:
stone against skin
your assignment:
CD: Paula Cole, This Fire
Book: le ton bon de Marot, Douglas Hofstadter (I finally have a head of steam built up, and I'm two-thirds of the way through.)
Outside: beautiful, again. what am i doing inside, again?
Doing: working my will on crowds
Link: puce.com
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