I. Am going. To Burning Man.
Not this year, but next. Llyra wants to go. Mike wants to go, and he'll have a van.
Why do i want to go? It's really kind of hard for me to tell that right now. I want to participate. I want to shed everything and see what I become without my skin.
But most of all, i want to participate in this giant art-thing that all of these hands have built. I want my hands to be in there, building, burning, tearing down. I want to feel this primal force.
I want to go to Burning Man.
I discovered the other day that PCC sells Lindt truffles.
Have you any idea how dangerous this is?
Lindt truffles are, for me, the perfect chocolate. The snap of the hard chocolate, melting against my tongue. (The melting temperature of chocolate is approximately 95 degrees farenheit, give or take a few degrees. You should never, ever have to chew chocolate. It should melt on your tongue.)
And then the filling...I have no idea what it's called, other than "heaven" or "OH MY GOD YUMMMMMMMM." It comes in different flavors. Dark, white, milk chocolate. Mint. Hazelnut. The mint is my favorite. But it's all wonderful.
But, man. The PCC is right next door. i'm going to go broke buying truffles.
I moved the computer and the desk, with Melanie's help, to the office in my apartment yesterday. It's also known as "the smoking room" because it's the only place in the house where smoking is allowed. So now the computer is next to a window with a view on the backyard, I'll be moving the boombox down there soonish, and making other modifications to the room that will transform it (I hope) into a comfortable place to work or hang out.
It's a start.
Fantasy for this morning: I am a Class 44e(c), of the caste known conversationally as techies. Having shown a definite maladjustment to communal living (a maladjustment occurring naturally in 1.3% of the human population), I have been assigned living quarters in a decaying neighborhood in what used to be known as Seattle. There are many complicated conventions regarding what it appropriate for techies to dress in, but since I am a creative (that's what the (c) is for) I am allowed a lot of leeway in my mode of dress...
and it goes on from there. My worlds are kind of weird, sometimes.
and lately, i've been thinking about swallowing the fire.
You know, the fire that lights some people up from within. The need, the urgency, the motion. the passion.
I feel sorry for the people who don't have it...because they're boring.
But I feel sorry for the people who do have it, as well. We spend our entire lives looking for things that might not exist, pursuing things we've only seen in dreams, running away from the disasters we've created.
some are able to spend their lives in meditation of their small flames, gazing deep into it, seeking to perfect it.
And other people set themselves on fire accidentally.
That would be me. Nymph on fire.
[phrase borrowed from Puce, of course]
New schtuff on the fray. Elly has gone on hiatus. (December and July seem to be popular hiatus months.) Pomegranates is coming to an end, shortly. Toys in Babeland has opened a store in New York, and are giving away cool-ass stickers at their Seattle store. Hell is up, and I SWEAR I am going to make a splash for it today because God knows I abhor default pages like the one up there now. There was a hour-long discussion in SILC messages on Depths last night about my tits. I'm thinking about an update list, but everyone else has one and I'd feel like i was being a copycat. Maybe I'll make a list and just not have it be an update list. or....something.
That is all, good night.