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14 October 2008 @ 07:24 am
The spheres are in commotion...  
The other day a young lady started a conversation with me for no apparent reason. She asked
"Do you like boys?" and while there are lot of ways to answer that, I just said yes.
So she went on to tell me about her friend Ignatius, and how she never knew someone with a name like that, so she just called him Snoopy.
"I have to write him a poem, so he can recite to himself in the morning and remember all the things he needs to remember."

While that delights me, she was a little odder then I could deal with at the time. She told me about so many people she knew, and asked me if I knew Madonna. When I said no, thinking she meant another friend of hers, she went on to tell me everything she knew about the popstar.
I think I liked Beagle B. Mosquito a bit better, he lives closer to the same world I'm in.

Kim asked me why I don't write as much lately, I'm meeting the people I'd like to write, and just have a feeling that art is too pale an imitation. That my imagination doesn't come close to the surrealism of people I meet while I'm out.
A friend of mine is working on a project about sapiosexuality lately. She's asked me to contribute my thoughts which means I've been trying very hard to think of it. When did I realize that intelligence did more for me then appearance. I think it was a very long time ago since without my glasses, appearances soften and blur. Everyone becomes just shape and color without defining feature, so I notice more of what they say. Part of it of course, is reading Heinlein when I was very very young. All his fiercely independent characters with their minds and sexuality. They were my best friends in grade school. I remember having crushes on the science geeks in high school. For all the good it did me, they were afraid of me, and I dated the guys I was expected to date. Looks fade, go grey or go bald, and wrinkles form. Without conversation and imagination, appearance is just the frosting. It can be sweet, but there is no substance or complexity to it. I feel a bit guilty for it sometimes. That sincerity of emotion was never enough. That I need to be with someone who can keep me interested the other 22 hours of the day and not repeat themselves too much even after 6 month, a year, a decade. Someone full of ideas and opinions that are constantly renewed by experience and information. It always seemed a lot of the people who were merely pretty ran out of things to say too quickly, they used up their cleverness trying to impress, and then relied on habit to stay together.

***kiss kiss***
Feeling: amusedamused
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