Had a moment (several moments actually) of rather animal attraction to a friend's picture-- an LJ icon-- and it threw me off. I had to go for a walk to recover. It was a moment of very animal desire, like the I want to bite your neck kind, and entirely inappropriate. From whence this came I have no idea.
And no, it wasn't croonerboy's ass. Sorry Timmah.
(No, it wasn't petsnakereggie's either. Get your mind out of the gutter.)
Radio is playing clips from Anna Nicole Smith. The girl was not the most articulate shando in the boogatron now, was she? I tend to like my girls with less plastic and more coherence. I never "got" Anna Nicole, even as a Playboy Playmate. And she was certainly no comparison to Marilyn Monroe. She had a certain vulnerability in a freaky Michael Jackson sense, which I suppose has the same kind of attraction for some guys as a wounded deer in wolf country. Professional bait, if you wanna go there.
I dunno. I prefer the amateur bait myself. Or maybe something different. Someone with some substance, someone who can speak clearly and spell worth a tinker's damn, someone with talent and passion and brilliance.
But once in a while, I am swayed by something more ephemeral: the play of light and shadow, the curve of a face, the whiff of cedar and earth and something just a bit darker. And something in me awakens and rises to the surface, something that wants to play.
Bad marmot. No cookie.