"When she woke him at dawn by lightly sweeping her nipples across his back, he sometimes forgot who he was."
The above is a quote from the novel Good Benito by Alan Lightman.
When I read that line for the first time many years ago I had to pause for a moment because I could feel my brain expanding with awe. Reading it now makes me nearly tear up at the beauty of words, the sensuality of the setting and characters, the subtle yet overflowing passion.
Every time I read this sentence I have a tiny visceral meltdown, and it is absolutely wonderful.
Showing posts with label random prompts. Show all posts
Showing posts with label random prompts. Show all posts
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Monday, August 9, 2010
What really matters is what you like, not what you *are* like
The full quote:
"...I agreed that what really matters is what you like, not what you are like... Books, records, films - these things matter. Call me shallow but it's the fuckin' truth, and by this measure I was having one of the best dates of my life." ~High Fidelity
I recently got into a debate about the validity of the above quote, and while it's not by any means the golden rule, there have been too many instances in my life and my friends' lives that prove having the right pop culture favorites in common can go a long way.
The opposite is clearly also true, and obviously more volatile.
A fellow and I had been dating for several months. We were being snuggly on the couch and talking about local music festivals, one of which we happened to both attend long before meeting each other. I mentioned I thought Wilco was, "just kinda okay," and he was suddenly no longer holding my hand. He was agitated, even disgusted. I was fairly certain he was going to break up with me on the spot. Internally I wasn't sure if I should back peddle and talk up specific music nerd qualities I particularly enjoyed about Wilco, or defend my "meh" stance. But my main thought was simply, "What the fuck?"
A gal friend recounted watching a very dramatic and heated debate between her boyfriend (Joe) and his bff (Mike). The two gents had been best friends since grade school, but at a bar a few months ago Joe discovered Mike liked The Rolling Stones far more than The Beatles. Joe was livid. Hurt. Betrayed. How could he have not known this about Mike, despite living in a small town in Kansas together all these years? How could Mike be so stupid and tasteless? Mike stood firm. Joe nearly friend broke up with Mike that night, nearly ended a life long friendship over pop music band favorites.
While these sorts of anecdotes are endless (and also endlessly enjoyable), my intent for this post is to begin a new set of prompts for My Favorite Things as they are remembered and discovered. Hopefully it will provide some good self insights and possible cultural favoritism discussions among my friends, acquaintances, and readers. ^_^
"...I agreed that what really matters is what you like, not what you are like... Books, records, films - these things matter. Call me shallow but it's the fuckin' truth, and by this measure I was having one of the best dates of my life." ~High Fidelity
I recently got into a debate about the validity of the above quote, and while it's not by any means the golden rule, there have been too many instances in my life and my friends' lives that prove having the right pop culture favorites in common can go a long way.
The opposite is clearly also true, and obviously more volatile.
A fellow and I had been dating for several months. We were being snuggly on the couch and talking about local music festivals, one of which we happened to both attend long before meeting each other. I mentioned I thought Wilco was, "just kinda okay," and he was suddenly no longer holding my hand. He was agitated, even disgusted. I was fairly certain he was going to break up with me on the spot. Internally I wasn't sure if I should back peddle and talk up specific music nerd qualities I particularly enjoyed about Wilco, or defend my "meh" stance. But my main thought was simply, "What the fuck?"
A gal friend recounted watching a very dramatic and heated debate between her boyfriend (Joe) and his bff (Mike). The two gents had been best friends since grade school, but at a bar a few months ago Joe discovered Mike liked The Rolling Stones far more than The Beatles. Joe was livid. Hurt. Betrayed. How could he have not known this about Mike, despite living in a small town in Kansas together all these years? How could Mike be so stupid and tasteless? Mike stood firm. Joe nearly friend broke up with Mike that night, nearly ended a life long friendship over pop music band favorites.
While these sorts of anecdotes are endless (and also endlessly enjoyable), my intent for this post is to begin a new set of prompts for My Favorite Things as they are remembered and discovered. Hopefully it will provide some good self insights and possible cultural favoritism discussions among my friends, acquaintances, and readers. ^_^
Sunday, July 25, 2010
6 word autobiographies
strong handshake, precocious eyes, sly smile
blushing bibliophile always has book recommendations
mischievously frolicking in fields of wit
often prefers to summarize in haiku
succulently sarcastic siren seeks surreal synchronicity
how her belly loved to undulate
slightly manic instigator socially lubricates all
absurdly efficient at the mostly mundane
top shelf liquors and questionable morals
vocabulary nerd desires a lunch date
aspiring acrobat prefers to fly upsidedown
naked tongues love a good story
blushing bibliophile always has book recommendations
mischievously frolicking in fields of wit
often prefers to summarize in haiku
succulently sarcastic siren seeks surreal synchronicity
how her belly loved to undulate
slightly manic instigator socially lubricates all
absurdly efficient at the mostly mundane
top shelf liquors and questionable morals
vocabulary nerd desires a lunch date
aspiring acrobat prefers to fly upsidedown
naked tongues love a good story
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Memorial Weekend Drunk Writing Fest
My roommate had the brilliant idea of getting a bunch of creative people together with booze, laptops, notepads, and random writing prompts (if the author didn't already have a project). The following is unfinished but not bad for a timed writing in which alcohol and social chatter were a main distracting factors.
---
Having a fear of the color mauve was proving highly unlucky that day. Lucy cautiously wandered the lingerie section of a downtown department store sizing up the rows of gaudy unmentionables and formulating a mental plan of attack. On her lunch breaks Lucy would soothe her nerves by reorganizing racks of clothing or make-up stock counters. Apparently mauve was "in" this summer. It reminded her of a vague sorbet dessert topped with cream and surrounded by a halo of berries.
Mauve. Ugh, it made her shudder. Ruched boy-cut booty shorts in mauve silk with a black and white lace trim. Perhaps that particular display would not be OCD-ified this afternoon. She turned the corner down a long isle and began facing brassiere hangers. One day each of these padded bras will belong to someone, she thought, and her mind wandered to the possibility of geotagging specs of DNA, and why the prospect of touching piles of undies didn't freak her out as long as they were neatly stacked with all the waistbands parallel to the floor.
"Might I help you find something?" A slim manicured store associate interrupted her meticulous zen. The sterile name tag announced his arrival: Ricardo. Ricardo's bow tie was a sleek shade of butternut squash, perfectly complimenting his moisturized olive skin. Lucy was startled but unsurprised. Helpful customer service employees are just vampires for commission, and they were always sucking at her lunch time meditations. "No thank you, just browsing." As Ricardo swished away Lucy admired the golden ratio angles of his body, the balance of his strut, and the faint trail of mathematical algorithms left in his wake.
Right hoodie pocket buzzing. A text from Cousin Lenni: Call me. Like any Cousin Lenni should be, Lenni was kinda sketchy, but calls from him were generally bizarre and always amusing. Lucy exited the store with a small knowing smile. Lucy didn't own a raincoat. The so-called Emerald City didn't see much rain in during its stretch of summer, but the nine plus months of white grey sky and mist piss drizzle wasn't much of a real threat, and raincoats did little to keep out the passive aggressiveness of the city from seeping under the skin. Also, umbrellas are for pussies, not Seattleites, so stepping directly in the wet air suited her just fine.
Piped directly into her skull, Lenni's voice didn't bother with introductions. "Hypothetical: An older woman I know wants to watch a friend and me fuck each other and is willing to pay for the show. How much should I charge?" "Depends. Please elaborate."
Lenni, "Supply/demand analysis. How much people are willing to pay, and how much people would want to get paid."
Lucy, "I'd say 500 to 700 bucks. Each. But any touching from the old lady would be extra."
"Dang. That's a lot more than the current poll average. Have you thought about this before?"
"Not necessarily, but I've been on those fancy information tubes so I maybe the median rate for voyeuristic sex acts found its way into my brain somehow? I totally thought I was low balling it."
"See, this is why I wanted your input. Your perspective is so refreshing. I'll tally the poll results and blog about it later."
---
Prompt from cohorts: flamboyant, racy, obsessive-compulsive disorder, mauve
---
Having a fear of the color mauve was proving highly unlucky that day. Lucy cautiously wandered the lingerie section of a downtown department store sizing up the rows of gaudy unmentionables and formulating a mental plan of attack. On her lunch breaks Lucy would soothe her nerves by reorganizing racks of clothing or make-up stock counters. Apparently mauve was "in" this summer. It reminded her of a vague sorbet dessert topped with cream and surrounded by a halo of berries.
Mauve. Ugh, it made her shudder. Ruched boy-cut booty shorts in mauve silk with a black and white lace trim. Perhaps that particular display would not be OCD-ified this afternoon. She turned the corner down a long isle and began facing brassiere hangers. One day each of these padded bras will belong to someone, she thought, and her mind wandered to the possibility of geotagging specs of DNA, and why the prospect of touching piles of undies didn't freak her out as long as they were neatly stacked with all the waistbands parallel to the floor.
"Might I help you find something?" A slim manicured store associate interrupted her meticulous zen. The sterile name tag announced his arrival: Ricardo. Ricardo's bow tie was a sleek shade of butternut squash, perfectly complimenting his moisturized olive skin. Lucy was startled but unsurprised. Helpful customer service employees are just vampires for commission, and they were always sucking at her lunch time meditations. "No thank you, just browsing." As Ricardo swished away Lucy admired the golden ratio angles of his body, the balance of his strut, and the faint trail of mathematical algorithms left in his wake.
Right hoodie pocket buzzing. A text from Cousin Lenni: Call me. Like any Cousin Lenni should be, Lenni was kinda sketchy, but calls from him were generally bizarre and always amusing. Lucy exited the store with a small knowing smile. Lucy didn't own a raincoat. The so-called Emerald City didn't see much rain in during its stretch of summer, but the nine plus months of white grey sky and mist piss drizzle wasn't much of a real threat, and raincoats did little to keep out the passive aggressiveness of the city from seeping under the skin. Also, umbrellas are for pussies, not Seattleites, so stepping directly in the wet air suited her just fine.
Piped directly into her skull, Lenni's voice didn't bother with introductions. "Hypothetical: An older woman I know wants to watch a friend and me fuck each other and is willing to pay for the show. How much should I charge?" "Depends. Please elaborate."
Lenni, "Supply/demand analysis. How much people are willing to pay, and how much people would want to get paid."
Lucy, "I'd say 500 to 700 bucks. Each. But any touching from the old lady would be extra."
"Dang. That's a lot more than the current poll average. Have you thought about this before?"
"Not necessarily, but I've been on those fancy information tubes so I maybe the median rate for voyeuristic sex acts found its way into my brain somehow? I totally thought I was low balling it."
"See, this is why I wanted your input. Your perspective is so refreshing. I'll tally the poll results and blog about it later."
---
Prompt from cohorts: flamboyant, racy, obsessive-compulsive disorder, mauve
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