Do you ever wish you could have someone's brain babies?
I am talking about an attraction that goes beyond physical wink-wink's and coy gazes--though both of those may be included. I am talking about sexy thoughts. Minds you wish you could just make out with for DAYS.
There have been, and are in the modern day, people with heads full of images and ideals and analogies that I wish I could just roll around in until I am stained with their brilliance, like genius-brain tye-dye.
Word-craft is my favorite kind of smolder.
Every now and then, I will come across a turned phrase or sly sentence that takes root in my brain until all of my thoughts are misted over and covered in the author's fingerprints.
Broinlaw loaned to me the major works of H.P. Lovecraft the other day, and I am loveins it. A sentence I am currently obsessed with:
"I felt conscious of youth because I remembered so little."
You see that? You see what H.P. did there?! Possibly not, because it makes more sense in context. But the narrator is discussing a life of isolation, in the depths of a great big castle full of damp and dank and books and not even a mirror so that they can recognize their own face. In the midst of wandering, directionless in every meaning of the word, the narrator muses on what little they know of themselves. They don't even know how to speak, or how old they are. Then that line pops up.
Wheeeeze. IT MEANS SO MUCH.
Most of the people whose brains I would wed are gone the way of last summer's flowers. But their works are still around. Lying about, just waiting to be studied, to be adored, to be let in through the window of the audience's mind, where they will pollinate the seeds of thoughts and bloom into all new hybrids.
Brain babies.
I am talking about an attraction that goes beyond physical wink-wink's and coy gazes--though both of those may be included. I am talking about sexy thoughts. Minds you wish you could just make out with for DAYS.
There have been, and are in the modern day, people with heads full of images and ideals and analogies that I wish I could just roll around in until I am stained with their brilliance, like genius-brain tye-dye.
Word-craft is my favorite kind of smolder.
Every now and then, I will come across a turned phrase or sly sentence that takes root in my brain until all of my thoughts are misted over and covered in the author's fingerprints.
Broinlaw loaned to me the major works of H.P. Lovecraft the other day, and I am loveins it. A sentence I am currently obsessed with:
"I felt conscious of youth because I remembered so little."
You see that? You see what H.P. did there?! Possibly not, because it makes more sense in context. But the narrator is discussing a life of isolation, in the depths of a great big castle full of damp and dank and books and not even a mirror so that they can recognize their own face. In the midst of wandering, directionless in every meaning of the word, the narrator muses on what little they know of themselves. They don't even know how to speak, or how old they are. Then that line pops up.
Wheeeeze. IT MEANS SO MUCH.
Most of the people whose brains I would wed are gone the way of last summer's flowers. But their works are still around. Lying about, just waiting to be studied, to be adored, to be let in through the window of the audience's mind, where they will pollinate the seeds of thoughts and bloom into all new hybrids.
Brain babies.
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