(no subject)

[angiejolie]

I'm reading White Oleander because someone wouldn't stop talking about it, and eating dark chocolate. I'm not going to lie, I feel disgusting putting anything that isn't fruit, meat or non-fat yoghurt into my mouth so it's almost like a big deal to me. I could write a lot about food and diets but it would only make me come off shallow so I'm refraining. Dark chocolate isn't even tasty, just bitter, and it's supposed to be an aphrodisiac. I figured I'd give it a try. I haven't even been close to touching anyone in a couple of week. All this focus on sex is a little odd to me, like a double edged sword because sometimes I just can't stand to be touched. I love the character of Ingrid. I'm about a hundred pages into the book. I saw the movie some months ago. Maybe that was dumb but even then I couldn't imagine anyone else cast as Ingrid than Michelle Pfeiffer. She's like the ice queen of all ice queens; so cold but so beautiful you'll surrender to her in a second. I have a pattern when it comes to choosing favorite characters, and I've learned it's unusual. I love the cold, hard ones. Untouchable. The ones you wouldn't like if you met them in person. I don't enjoy fictional weakness at all; I like the cleanliness of them, their simplicity and strength. I could live in Venice, in an all white apartment and keep fresh lilies in every corner. The few books I would own would be first editions; Alice in Wonderland; Peter Pan; The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy; Harry Potter; The Vampire Chronicles. And then, stacked away in a large wooden box, would be all my paperbacks. Worn to shreds, the ones worth keeping. The rest would occupy various second hand bookstores. We'd wearing matching Indian pajamas, white of course, and walk down the boardwalk in the afternoons to get Egyptian candles. Some days we'd stroll down Farmer's Marked and get exotic vegetables and when the Santa Ana winds set in, we'd eat nothing but passion fruit for weeks and not even notice. I can't claim to descend from the vikings but there's Indian blood running through me and on those nights the heat makes it impossible to sleep, I can't bear to be inside. So my mother taught me to read the stars and the bloody moon is her favorite. There's really nothing like it, lying on the roof in the middle of an artificial city in the desert. Gentle winds, the air too crowed with smells and the body still warm from the sun. And then you have to ask yourself, how much of this is influenced by Francesca Lia Block. Beauty is so universal, it's the selective parts I enjoy.

I did an entry a few weeks back and I never got around to replying but I just wanted to say thank you.