smokingboot (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
smokingboot) wrote2006-03-14 12:00 am
smokingboot) wrote2006-03-14 12:00 am
Thoughts of a heateater
So for further writing I have done a little research including a frustrating hunt for an old (not very good) piece I was sure I put up on lj ages ago, and now can't find; if only we had tags then. If only I could remember to use them now. Oh well.
The hunt led nowhere, and, as is the way of all research, when I start, doubtless it will be about something else entirely. The idea isn't usually with me at the beginning. I stare at a blank screen, and find the headspace needed; this should be optimum time for me, now my love is away for a week, and I have house and computer all to myself, only instead of flitting off to fantasy realms, my brain pulls off in a hundred directions, all of them here, in the real world, whatever that is. I'm caught up in earthdreams, sensual, resistant to word pins; I can't even make this feeling a story, it's too real and shadowy for that. It exists under fur bedspreads, by candlelight where the heat of a fire has thickened the air til you breathe it in like silk, or petals on your mouth.
Maybe it's because I am alone, my thoughts drift towards hands and eyes, lips and fingers, someone else's touch... or maybe I'm just bloody cold, and all my backbrain wants is some victim to mercilessly suck heat from. There may be a whole collection of them under the bed, dessicated ice-mummies who, over the years, surrendered their body-warmth at the touch of my frozen feet. I won't check, just in case they're annoyed.
The hunt led nowhere, and, as is the way of all research, when I start, doubtless it will be about something else entirely. The idea isn't usually with me at the beginning. I stare at a blank screen, and find the headspace needed; this should be optimum time for me, now my love is away for a week, and I have house and computer all to myself, only instead of flitting off to fantasy realms, my brain pulls off in a hundred directions, all of them here, in the real world, whatever that is. I'm caught up in earthdreams, sensual, resistant to word pins; I can't even make this feeling a story, it's too real and shadowy for that. It exists under fur bedspreads, by candlelight where the heat of a fire has thickened the air til you breathe it in like silk, or petals on your mouth.
Maybe it's because I am alone, my thoughts drift towards hands and eyes, lips and fingers, someone else's touch... or maybe I'm just bloody cold, and all my backbrain wants is some victim to mercilessly suck heat from. There may be a whole collection of them under the bed, dessicated ice-mummies who, over the years, surrendered their body-warmth at the touch of my frozen feet. I won't check, just in case they're annoyed.