“What?”
“In the real cities, you walk, you know? You brush past people, people bump into you…in LA, no-one touches you. We’re always behind this metal and glass. I think we miss that touch so much, we crash into each other, just so we can feel something.” -Opening dialogue from the movie, “Crash”.
Man, what a *perfect* opening for this post! It conceptually links up to the text of the post above, and both are already visually linked, though you may not know it yet. And I absolutely *adore* the opening of that movie, the almost entirely abstract images of moving spots of coloured light, passing each other, through each other, following each other, flowing and dancing, representing cars, and then a voice emerges from the darkness that follows, saying the above quotation. Fucking perfect. I love it. That’s the artistic summary of the *entire* movie, in the first few minutes. Beautiful. Brilliant.
So here we are, brushing past each other in this virtual space, I love it when some of you aren’t in a rush and stop and chat when it happens. Thank you so much.
Touch.
All my life, all my various sensory receptors have run on overdrive, have constantly and consistently craved more and more input…
But my most heightened physiological reaction comes from touch. Texture.
Guess it’s no surprise then that I have an orgasmic penchant for lipstick… (Wonder why I didn’t realize that before?)
I love being touched as much as I love touching. Texture. The creamy velvet that produces a silken sheen on lips. The warm, milky silkness of skin. The liquid smoothness of a slinky, satin cocktail dress…
I just had a flash back of being a child and being dragged around with my mom on one of her shopping expeditions. I remember the lady’s clothing department of this one store she would often frequent. Without fail, every time I was there I would end up burying myself in a rack of clothing, the faux furs, the velvets, the satins, the silks, the chiffons. Always starting with my face and ending up entirely immersed. I remember the one time I got so carried away with the satins the whole rack came tumbling down. No one reprimanded me though and mom never discouraged me on future excursions.
The first time I snuck at mom’s tubes of lipstick (I was around 11 years of age), the amazement at discovering how wonderful it felt and wondering how come all the girls weren’t wearing it? It wasn’t like coffee, you saw all the big people partaking of it, but it was vile to my preadolescent senses. But not lipstick, lipstick was clearly one of those fun things you get to do when you’re big, like stay up after bedtime.
And I didn’t even know just how right I was then ;-)
So I’m a sucker for touch. But for the past couple of
months, owing to being a very faithful lass (well, it’s generally discouraged to be rude to girls so I’ve allowed one or two particularly cute one’s to have some of their way with me…but really, it’s been a while), I’ve been feeling extremely deprived. And that, in all honesty, is an understatement. To atone for this deprivation I’ve been indulging in as much textural sensory input as I can get when it’s Lady Lipstick’s *playtime*. Dressing in gently tickling lace, luscious leather, watery satins and
whispering chiffons, as well as incorporating feathers and cool, slick glass and sashes of succulent crushed velvet and lavish lotions and whatever else I can while partaking of my most *blissful* indulgence, lipstick. My current favourite make regarding texture,
incidentally, is L’Oreal Endless. It’s like liquid, creamy velvet to the touch, but has a beautiful glisten to the eye. Everything about it says “take your time, luxuriate in me.”
I’ve often been able to
have the whole digs to myself for an entire day lately and was feeling particularly *playful* so I thought to blow it on three such sessions, each indulged in at length and it did such wonders for my mood I thought I simply had to celebrate by doing photoshoots of each.
These are as depicted in the above post and the following… (and here the aforementioned feather)
Let’s celebrate people! :-)
