(no subject)

[sanura]

It is amazing what lengths people's subconsciouses go to in the direction of self-defense, however misguided. Alexander yesterday; why do people ever begin such habits? Letting go of all the micromanagement of one's body is so exhilirating, and then it just goes right back, crunching you up involuntarily as soon as the teacher concentrates on someone else. Reggie half-a-foot-taller and relaxed in the spine is one of the most beautiful transformations I've ever seen.

Back-to-the-original, back-to-nature seems to be a theme for me this weekend. I am on a primitivism kick, and it's showing in my art. No, it's showing in my attitude to life. It's not that I want to be primitive, it's that I want all the civilized filters to just drop. Alexander brings about a fairly intense mental shift for me every time if I'm doing it right, and as a less advanced but also less artificial animal I see the world and admire or am disgusted by completely different things than as a productive member of society. The manufactured giggle people use in their conversations with one another, indicating some social nuance I have yet to understand, becomes a major, major irritant in my interactions with humanity. I live my life in a mesh of flawless internal hygeine, indifferent external apperance, and a nearly medieval state of extrapersonal cleanliness, with a kind of base pride about each one. My scent is as absent as I can possibly accomplish, and the animals around me cannot find me by it when I am newly clean. I fiercely do no care what the masses think about how I look, for I dress and floof and primp (or don't) to please myself and not them. I gamble with the societal laws of illness and cut the mold off the cheese, cut the rot off the beef, use the knife left on the counter from the last time I ate this meal, use the sponge left on the sink from the last time I cleaned it up, use the dishtowel from the last time I cursorily rinsed my hands. A few germs are only natural.

In contrast to all this, the quasidraconian side of me reveled in the proliferation of beautiful things to admire and acquire and hoard and manipulate into even greater beauty. The Gem Show is organized to a point that it barely recalls the archetypal pile of gold and glass and gems and furs and silks, but every consituent is there, if the arrangement is not so disorganizedly pleasing. As an incorrigible hoarder, I must take stock of the new elements of my inventory:

deep Tuscan Red 18-gauge square wire, 10 yards
4mm-diameter moonstone beads, 1 strand
8mm-diameter tourmaline beads, 1 strand
magnetic faceted hematite closure beads, 2 strands
3"-diameter soapstone spherical boxes, 2
6mm amethyst cabochons, 23 (cursed number, yes!)
crinkled-leaf green stretchy shirt with two-tone dye job in the wrinkles when they show
white-gold crocheted shawl poncho to go over shirt
tiger-feathered poofy pin
gem-encrusted wide triangular pendant (garnet, citrine, amethys, peridot, iolite, unidentifiable orange) in silver
gem-encrusted wide round pendant (similar)
amethyst 12-point star pendant with cam in middle, faceted ellipses around, and faceted pears dangling from it
splitting backache
an appreciation for how much I miss Nia

And I will now finish my germy beef and cheese, and waste homework time watching the first new Star Wars dvd.

Comments

[music-dissident.livejournal.com]

Oh, I wanted to see the gem show. Phooey.