novy

Novy, i now love you..... not in some sort of homosexual lusting way... but i do love you. reading your journal reminded me that there are smart people out there, and i thank you.

I'm a fan of anyone who pays me for something I wrote.

Have you seen FFX:2? Yuna's in some hoochie-momma shorts!

hey- what's up.

Dude, you know you want a piece.

The fantasy of the missed opportunity remains unspoiled by the imperfection of reality. Familiar territory.

Interestingly enough, I think that's what causes people to be critical of their own work. Inside the head, it remains perfect. Once it's been made solid with words, or paint, or stone, or whatever, it become imperfect because of the medium. As the creator, all you notice are the imperfections, where it failed to live up to the vision in your head.

Afterwards, she told him, "it was like Sophocles at the ampitheatre."

He'd found her trolling around the classics section of the museum. His class had gone to see the "Dildos Through the Ages" art exibit that was all the rage, but he'd broken off from the group. He hadn't seen the point, had instead wanted to see the way the Greek masters had made stone curve as through it were flesh. When he came into the classics room, he saw she was the only other person in there, standing there in that tiny t-shirt with a purple catterpillar riding high on her breasts. A crooked smile met him.

He called her a catterpillar; she smiled and said that she liked to crawl through rubble. She waggled her fingers at him. A secret shared.

A cool hand slid into his jeans once she'd pulled him behind the bust of a twenty-year-old Catullus. His own hand crept under her ankle-length skirt to find cotton and then moist folds as hot as her hand was cold. When he slipped into her -- cotton pulled to the side, skirt cascading around his hips -- he closed his eyes, rested his head against the granite wall. She murmured, "My, my," her head on his shoulder, mouth at his ear, "I feel," legs shaking slightly and squeezing his hips, "like Medea."

He looked past her, seeing Catullus' face reflected in the glass case on the other side of the room; the poet smiling on the happenings of young lovers.

Walking hand in hand back to the "Dildos Through the Ages" exhibit, she sniffled slightly.

"I told you to take some vitamin C," he said.

"You also told me to stay home today," she smiled as they came upon his classmates, "and look how that turned out."

"Indeed."

---

I'm never satisfied with what I write; I don't think it's possible. The process of editing is unlimited; the work can always be made better. So, yeah, I can certainly empathize with you on not being satisfied. My problem is usually that I'm willing to settle for a less than perfect draft. I'm still unsatisfied, but I've had enough of editing, or I've run out of time. Had I my druthers, I'd probably edit something until I was sick of it.

And no piece is entirely worthless. There's usually something worth taking from it.

I was rather disappointed with Final Fantasy: The Spirits Within when I waw it. In fact, I don't think I ever got around to finishing it. Had they merely made a movie version of Final Fantasy III, it would've rocked. But they had to do something else. Waste of money, it seemed.

Hmm, yes, you're probably right about the relationship. But I'd for once like to have a relationship based entirely on lust. Not a long one, just a short, intense, passionate fling that burns itself out quickly. I've never had that, so that might be why it's so appealing.

cheader cheese is better. and all greasy and buttery.... yum.