06 April 2015

We move through space in a certain way

Before I begin the present entry, which I titled We move through space in a certain way (please note that I capitalized only the initial character, to comply with what I assume is French tradition), I must share the following image, which says: “NIZE PulCs”:


I wish I were so attractive that anyone, after meeting me, would search for my name on the Internet and find my blog and my books and my ostrich and read all my words. I would like to get a telephone call in the evening, when the sun is setting and the air is the perfect temperature, and hear a voice say:

“It’s awkward to call you out of the blue like this, I know – but I MUST unburden my heart. . . . Even though it’s only been a few hours since we met, I can’t stop thinking about you – already I’m deeply and madly in love with you – I’m infatuated – you’re irresistible – I’m positive that you’re the finest writer of our age and the most imaginative soul I’ve ever encountered.”

It would make me feel good to hear a speech like that. Especially if I could receive the call on one of those gilded telephones that you see in Hollywood films from around the 1950’s. That’s the golden era. Or the second golden era, if you count the first as happening around the silent 20’s. I find either epoch attractive and would court them both.


Also I wish that fine gloves would come back in fashion. I’d prefer to wear fine gloves constantly. Fine white gloves. With the grace of a magician, I would remove them prior to touching the shoulders of a lover. The neck, the shoulders, the upper back, and the arms – those are beautiful body parts: I like the type of gown that shows them off.

But I also love the style of attire that is so modest that it reveals no flesh at all. Like very classy sweaters, shirts with collars, buttoned blouses, and business suits.

The soul is just as important as the body: Whitman says that neither should abase itself to the other. And it is good to inflame the imagination. Yes, I could easily fall in love with a disembodied voice. For we living humans are the rebel angels – jealous Yahweh drove us out of Heaven and cast us down into mortal flesh: into Hell. But I, for one, have learned to like it here.

Moreover, I’ve always found Barbara Bel Geddes more attractive than Kim Novak in the movie Vertigo (1958). And although older women are infinitely more alluring than those who are young, I favor Novak’s Judy over her Madeleine.


When you develop a crush on a movie persona, that character never ages, because celluloid film was invented by Urizen so as to freeze (and thus own) eternity’s splendors. But your secret crush is played by a real human actor, who continues to age after the film is released into theaters. Time steadily drags the performer away from her role.

When this star from the silver screen gazes out into the audience and locks eyes with her own creator, it’s like Dorian Gray beholding his corrupted self-portrait. The LORD God is the first and only known sculptor to have found a way to reverse this natural tendency, which he achieved by barring his artworks from Everlasting Life.


Anonymous said...

Here's the gloves you need (white gets dirty so easily): http://livelymorgue.tumblr.com/post/119601627195/feb-16-1935-another-entry-for-the-annals-of
Many fun reads too and thanks.

Bryan Ray said...

FINALLY someone has manufactured the gloves of my dreams!!


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