Polytropos
This:
is probably my favourite work of art. Ever. Upon seeing it for the first time, I felt nervous and reverent. Every time after that, when I chanced to lay eyes on it (which would happen much more often if the people at Orsay were not so intent in having me indulge in a mad game of Where's Hermes? without even the benefit of a striped shirt to make my quest easier), I experience that same shiver-jolt that starts at the nape of my neck and ends in knuckles rubbed raw against the fabric of my pants. It is a sorry --and somewhat creepy, if the looks I get from museum attendants are anything to go by-- spectacle, but one which I must accept as my lot in life.
Corollary:
- this:
- and this:
too often account for my standing slack-jawed in a museum, clutching the hem of my own coat.
A mind more systematic than my own would infer a pattern...
I prefer to wear (wing-shaped) blinkers and shrug off the unhealthy fixation as 'aesthetic appreciation'. Although it would appear I'm not even good at that pompous internalising. Case in point, my recent spazzing out in a comic book store. Marble, paper, scissors pshaw! It's obviously less the vehicle than the subject matter. I all but blew a gasket when I spotted this:
Awww, Marvel! No fair. When I was this close to giving up on you.
The caduceus-like staff with flashes of light figuring the serpents (and if this is a delusion, I don't want to be rational!), the wings. THE WINGS! [therefore, yeah, I'm not all that enthused about the new, Kate-provided costume. Where are the friggin' wings? My fetishist self Wiccan needs them!]
Oooh yeah, Billy, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful obsession.