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tonight I can't hold a pen
I feel like I might be boring y'all. It's a quiet summer, and I'm living quietly the way I do anyway, and I wouldn't want to bore you, but at the same time, I don't actually want to know if I am boring you, because it's one thing to suspect and quite another to have your suspicions confirmed. So, um. I guess just keep steady on your course, ladies and gentlemen?
What a pointless paragraph that was.
In an effort to be slightly less summer-slackery, let's talk about something different, okay? How about this: a while back, I wrote a bunch of listy stuff that sparked a curious question about body-writing and what my shall-we-say partiality to it entails, which probably an easier question to answer would be what doesn't it entail.
I do love tattoos, and of course I want one myself, but on other people, I love temp stuff more, and temp stuff of my making even more than that. In no particular order, I love temporary marks of possession which only two people recognize as such, love drawing and writing, love ephemeral works of art that (literally) wash away in manner of sidewalk chalk worlds in Mary Poppins, love occasional quasi-zen reminders that every day of our lives we start fresh.
And, and, any of those things (good), or a combination of those things (better), or all those things together (best). Man. I seriously fucking get off on writing on people or being written on by them, I guess that's what it boils down to. Does anyone besides me remember the film The Pillow Book? It was my first inkling that body-writing made me so happy on so many different levels, and it's embarrassing to admit that such an admittedly mediocre film might just have changed my life, but it did, and I don't think I'm exaggerating all that much when I say that.
As a related bonus, please allow me share my all-time favorite music video with you. It's Tom Waits's Come On Up To The House, and it is my crazy shivery four-minute addiction. From the time it starts to the time it ends, I cannot look away.
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What a pointless paragraph that was.
In an effort to be slightly less summer-slackery, let's talk about something different, okay? How about this: a while back, I wrote a bunch of listy stuff that sparked a curious question about body-writing and what my shall-we-say partiality to it entails, which probably an easier question to answer would be what doesn't it entail.
I do love tattoos, and of course I want one myself, but on other people, I love temp stuff more, and temp stuff of my making even more than that. In no particular order, I love temporary marks of possession which only two people recognize as such, love drawing and writing, love ephemeral works of art that (literally) wash away in manner of sidewalk chalk worlds in Mary Poppins, love occasional quasi-zen reminders that every day of our lives we start fresh.
And, and, any of those things (good), or a combination of those things (better), or all those things together (best). Man. I seriously fucking get off on writing on people or being written on by them, I guess that's what it boils down to. Does anyone besides me remember the film The Pillow Book? It was my first inkling that body-writing made me so happy on so many different levels, and it's embarrassing to admit that such an admittedly mediocre film might just have changed my life, but it did, and I don't think I'm exaggerating all that much when I say that.
As a related bonus, please allow me share my all-time favorite music video with you. It's Tom Waits's Come On Up To The House, and it is my crazy shivery four-minute addiction. From the time it starts to the time it ends, I cannot look away.
Leave a Livejournal comment