Well, clearly someone wanted an explanation.
ushas42 went all Academese in the comments for the Sam Tyler/Ten pic. And since I spent about an hour writing the reply, I might as well post it here:P.
I propose that we approach this conundrum through the existentialist narratives inherent in the source material. The centerpiecing of the mirror confronts us with inquiries to the nature of reality itself and the ultimate subjectivity of sensory perception. The Biblical reference, the subject's nudity and the implied cruelty on the Doctor's part present a problem between, or arising from both love and necessity: the sacrifice implicit in the concept of agape (particularily in its Oordean definition of "an intentional response to promote well-being when responding to that which has generated ill-being"). This interpretation, however, is merely one of many: if the character in the reflection is a mirage brought on by the imbalance of psychotropics and narcotics in Sam Tyler's bloodstream, the premise of a horologically imprisoned seigneur-de-temps seems dubious. Research into the artists' oeuvre also suggests a purely pornographic slant to the piece, most evident in the prominent display of the gluteal regions and the flaunting of the subject's swollen testes, suggesting sexual arousal. Despite this, the craftswomen deserve due credit for circumventing the dilemma of autotelic eroticism by echoing the Victorian genre of the problem picture with this particular work; and the lack of gratuitous chronophalli lends weight to the overall composition.
Or perchance, the undersigned is engaging in conversation through her anus.
Dear gods, Academese is a whole different language. Which is probably why I couldn't resist:P. Next up on your megabyte modem: timecock porn in the style of Pip and Jane. His virile generative organ pressed against the puckered rosette of flesh, yearning admission to the antechamber to the other Time Lord's corporeal being... oh god, no. I think I'll save that brain haemorrhage for later.
Seriously speaking, thanks for the comments, guys. They're much appreciated. It's not often that a post reaches 100 comments in 26 hours. I know two thirds of those are me and 45eugenia replying, but it's still a staggering amount of feedback. Guess the pic really worked, huh? Or that it just brought in people from two fandoms and was all fake cut to one LJ when crossposting, or whatevz, but STILL, OMFG YOU GUYS.
And in another crossover note: I have no idea if Tu£sday is going to be shit, but Silver/Vila, now. Or, well, Silver-Vila. On a heist. Because that'd be amusing. (What's up with the poncy letter fail in the title, though? It's a bit idiotic, 'cos the pound sign is based on an L anyway. This'd work so much better if the heist took place on the continent: now, Tu€sday makes sense. Or if it was a Hollywood flick, Tue$day would work too. But forcing it like that just emphasises the lame, desperate attempt to look cool. And it's sooooo 1995. Hurrr.)
And I need moar Sam Tyler icons.
I propose that we approach this conundrum through the existentialist narratives inherent in the source material. The centerpiecing of the mirror confronts us with inquiries to the nature of reality itself and the ultimate subjectivity of sensory perception. The Biblical reference, the subject's nudity and the implied cruelty on the Doctor's part present a problem between, or arising from both love and necessity: the sacrifice implicit in the concept of agape (particularily in its Oordean definition of "an intentional response to promote well-being when responding to that which has generated ill-being"). This interpretation, however, is merely one of many: if the character in the reflection is a mirage brought on by the imbalance of psychotropics and narcotics in Sam Tyler's bloodstream, the premise of a horologically imprisoned seigneur-de-temps seems dubious. Research into the artists' oeuvre also suggests a purely pornographic slant to the piece, most evident in the prominent display of the gluteal regions and the flaunting of the subject's swollen testes, suggesting sexual arousal. Despite this, the craftswomen deserve due credit for circumventing the dilemma of autotelic eroticism by echoing the Victorian genre of the problem picture with this particular work; and the lack of gratuitous chronophalli lends weight to the overall composition.
Or perchance, the undersigned is engaging in conversation through her anus.
Dear gods, Academese is a whole different language. Which is probably why I couldn't resist:P. Next up on your megabyte modem: timecock porn in the style of Pip and Jane. His virile generative organ pressed against the puckered rosette of flesh, yearning admission to the antechamber to the other Time Lord's corporeal being... oh god, no. I think I'll save that brain haemorrhage for later.
Seriously speaking, thanks for the comments, guys. They're much appreciated. It's not often that a post reaches 100 comments in 26 hours. I know two thirds of those are me and 45eugenia replying, but it's still a staggering amount of feedback. Guess the pic really worked, huh? Or that it just brought in people from two fandoms and was all fake cut to one LJ when crossposting, or whatevz, but STILL, OMFG YOU GUYS.
And in another crossover note: I have no idea if Tu£sday is going to be shit, but Silver/Vila, now. Or, well, Silver-Vila. On a heist. Because that'd be amusing. (What's up with the poncy letter fail in the title, though? It's a bit idiotic, 'cos the pound sign is based on an L anyway. This'd work so much better if the heist took place on the continent: now, Tu€sday makes sense. Or if it was a Hollywood flick, Tue$day would work too. But forcing it like that just emphasises the lame, desperate attempt to look cool. And it's sooooo 1995. Hurrr.)
And I need moar Sam Tyler icons.