I finally printed off my picture of the glasses on the sill and framed it, which is quite something considering the fact that I have barely any decorations in my room. I was lucky enough to have been given a nice metal frame as a Christmas gift a few years ago, but have not had a decent picture to put in it. Since I don’t have a career going yet, I try to keep a minimalistic amount of furniture until I can afford to invest in long term sets, and for now the picture rests on my coffee table. I wanted a physical manifestation of the image because of the poignancy it evokes in me.

Every time I look at it I can’t help but think of the morning sun seeping through the cracks of blue venetian blinds, of the flourish of green leaves outside the window. I think of lying on a swollen bed with my back to the wall, noticing the brightness of the sun fill the room, talking well past the break of day. I think of sleeping next to someone, holding her head, drawing on her face, seeing the early light bring out the sunflowers in her eyes. I remember how we’d go to sleep, placing our frames on the windowsill before succumbing to exhaustion.

Perhaps I’m so affected by this image, this bittersweet memory, because of how much I relish the act of sleeping next to someone. One of my favourite parts of a relationship is being able to hold someone before losing consciousness. I suppose it betrays a vulnerability, a certain unparalleled intimacy, and vulnerability is something that I’ve always been attracted to.

But how odd it is that this may mean so much to me, yet mean so little to another. That even someone sharing this experience with me may think of it in passing, as some ephemeral experience, not worth remembering.

What do we take with ourselves when we fall apart? Do we keep the memories or the emotions? Do we only take the good and leave the bad?

With this picture I try to take everything. I don’t want to hide from hurt, I don’t want to neglect any feelings. I choose to see the image as a beautiful thing, a frame in time when I felt something greater than most things I’ve felt in my life. I try to turn the pain into productivity and gain from my experience. I look at this picture and become affected by everything it means to me.

Even if it means nothing to anyone else.

I find that I’ve become more attracted to unconventional beauty lately. Well, that’s not to say that my past propensities have been completely traditional. Aaron thinks that my whole speech impediment thing is just me trying to be a unique person. I’m not really insulted by this (even though I’d normally be, especially since I have a great respect for Aaron’s opinions) simply because I think that if he had any…interesting tastes, he’d understand.

I once had a discussion with Trolley about the fact that almost any type of fetish made sense to me — hair, lolicon, necrophilia, rape, scatology, plucked chickens — except for foot fetishes. I mean, most of these all have very deep-rooted psychological justifications. Sex with animals, for example, may turn someone on due to feelings of dominance over an animal, or a belief that they are making something feel blissful pleasure (perhaps as a compensation for insecurity in being able to pleasure someone). Most any sort of fantasy can be relatively easily justified.

Aaron and I were even able to find a justification for bad teeth fetishes, which is an interesting idea since I know so many people who can’t stand crooked teeth. He knows people who only date others who are “less attractive” than them, and we take this as a sign that these people may be insecure about their looks, and are turned on when viewed as the more attractive person in the couple. Of course, this can be related to any sort of “flaw” that may be found in someone.

I once knew a girl who was turned on by guys using calculators, and I can easily relate this to my “girls wearing glasses” proclivity, insofar as being extremely attracted to intelligence, both being a sort of physical (albeit possibly societal) manifestation of an intangible thing.

Feet, however, I can only justify when related to the tribal tradition of feet-forehead touching. Subordination is represented in the younger people touching the feet of the elders with their foreheads. Perhaps someone may be attracted to the fact that they are brought to the level of the toe sucking, similar to the idea of dominance. It’s hard for me to even see foot fetishes on a basic physical level, which is easily done for breasts or waists, etc. unless one considers the impact of society on what people find attractive.

I can just see all the hits I’m going to get from interesting search strings now.

Most of my propensities can be easily explained, although I get various odd reactions when people find out, and most are either laughing too hard or too weirded out to allow an explanation. Speech impediments are something I just can’t seem to justify, although such an ineffable thing has allowed me to more easily accept the quirks of other peoples tastes.

So there’s this girl who works at Folio and she wears glasses and turtlenecks and is there whenever I buy something and I doubt other guys would find her as attractive as I do.

Presently, Leto passed him and, glancing back, said: “Have you noticed, Stil, how beautiful the young women are this year?”

—Duke Leto Atreides, Children Of Dune

I seem to be struck with a great need for mental and physical antipathy lately. Everywhere I look, things are filled with beauty, and I am unused to it. I’m not sure what has changed; whether it’s myself, or the world around me. It often feels like there’s too much to take in, too much to experience, and that I’m unworthy. I wish that I could be cold and bitter as before, so that I could feel better about myself, that I didn’t feel so ugly and ashamed.

Everything is so much simpler when the world is black. My mind is made up, everything is stable, I can create. Yet there is always something that is missing, something that I’m always striving towards.

I think it all has to do with the fact that I’m still uncomfortable with contentment. It’s still an awkward feeling for me, something that I’m not used to yet. Antipathy could change this, but I can’t bring myself to hate again.

My antipathy has mostly left me.