Sly old fox

She couldn't have been more than 20 years old, and even then, it was obvious her manner of dress was chosen to add maturity to her age. I saw that she was lost in her magazine, and didn't catch me stepping up to her register. I relished moments like this - this game.

In my head, i contemplate every move and gesture i need to make in order to fluster and catch a girl off guard. I will first surprise her with a firm, low-register greeting. Immediately following that, i will find her eyes, and stare right into them. Once i know she has realized we've locked eyes, a smile will break out the side of my mouth baiting her, as i wait for her to act upon my transaction.

This one seemed perfectly ripe and a virtual lock as a target.

"Hi, there."

She saw me smiling at her, quickly putting her magazine on the counter behind her.

"Uh...hi." She smiled back at me. "Hiya..."

She looked down at the items i'd placed on the conveyor belt, and began to scan each one. Following the beeping response of the scanner, she gazed up at me, right into my stare that hadn't moved from her. And each time she looked, her eyes bubbled and she smiled.

"You have to guess what i'm making for dinner."

She chuckled while arching her eyebrows. She gandered at me while biting her bottom lip, to gauge my seriousness.

"I'm serious...i'll give you three guesses."

She scanned the items, assembling them in a list in her head. She squinted at me contemplatively from the side of her head, trying to figure out what my appetites might be, what lay in my background and my biography. The only thing she had to go off was what stood before her.

"Do you give up?"

"Nooooo! Give me a - "

She stopped mid-sentence, and a disembodied thought that had been boiling in her mind finally formed together.

"You have really beautiful eyes."

Caught off guard a little by the change in subject, i didn't know exactly how to react, so i just offered a simple thanks.

"They are like looking into a bright Summer sky. I could stare at them all day."

I swallowed any words that were on deck in my mouth. She completely turned things around with this comment, taking the advantage in the conversation. I smiled, a little embarrassed by the fluidity of her compliment. As she finished scanning the rest of my groceries, i didn't say much. I didn't have much to say. I continued to hold the corners of my mouth upwards as i paid my bill, and gathered my bags.

As i walked away, i thought about how one should not overestimate the prowess of one even as young as that. Just as i reached the exit door, i heard her cheery voice call after me.

"Tacos! You're making tacos."

I smiled as the sun of the beautiful Summer day hit my face. She was right.

Lynch/fetish

From the first moment i heard the opening, tragic notes of this song, i was hooked. I wanted to escape to this world of simple, forest-inhabiting, cherry pie-ingesting, supernatural people. Each stroke of the cascading six tones, rising then falling, like the chest of an innocent child stopping to catch their breath amidst a game of hide and seek hypnotized me, putting me in a euphoric trance. It all seemed so innocent, the pristine woodland creatures, tumbling waterfalls, soft amber colors. And of course, there were the girls of Twin Peaks. Every single one of them angelic heartbreakers, with pin-up looks and well-concealed darker sides that threatened to burst at any moment. This world represented a place where the fulfillment of my appetites could occur - the rigid capture of romantic beauty - i just didn't realize how much this hunger would affect me or how frequently i'd need to satisfy it.

My favorite of all the girls was Audrey, played by the gorgeous actress Sherilyn Fenn:


This image of Ms. Fenn is an exact copy of one i stared at for many, many hours. I'm not sure what i hoped would happen by these lengthy staring sessions. Her mouth invited a kiss. Her hands at her neck spoke of surrender, as well as one lost in lust. Her eyes, the delicately slanted whispers, bore into you, challenging you to muster up the courage to even be near her. The mountainous, ebony tendrils of her curly hair gave her a regal look, but also made her look like she was falling - away from you, urging you to save her, to catch her.

Hours.

I had to know everything about this actress, the man who composed this music and the other people behind this show. Everything. Eventually, i learned all of the actresses names. And eventually i learned the man who created this dreamy world: David Lynch

It's been (and i can't believe this) almost 20 years since David Lynch first brought us his world of Twin Peaks. Since that time, i have obsessively sought out his entire ouevre. He has imagined very diverse, incredibly surreal landscapes. From Victorian freaks of nature, to a senior citizen taking a jaunt on a riding lawnmower in the Heartland. From a futuristic desert landscape to a neverending highway of nightmares. There has been one theme that has consistently materialized in his work, that of devestatingly gorgeous feminine beauty. Without saying the word, Mr. Lynch, in his cinema, has paraded a world of his spiritual and sexual fetishes. The women have curves as if they belonged in a museum of ancient Roman vases, and the perfection of their faces certainly worthy of heavenly Goddesses.

Recently, i became aware of a collaboration between the cinematic visionary David Lynch and the footwear fantastico Christian Louboutin. Now, i'm a little embarassed to say that this partnership happened back in 2008. How i could've missed this exhibit, i'll never know, but i hope that it escaped my clutches doesn't harm my reputation as kink aficionado with you, my readers.


It's not exactly clear what the full exhibit consisted of, but i gather that David Lynch took the photos of models wearing shoes that Christian Louboutin designed specifically for this project. With all high-minded intellectualism, i can sense a woundedness that each model expresses, that they are trapped by an insanely demanding ideal of femininity which truly only values their parts rather than the sum of them. However, one look at the shoes in this photo, and the fetishist in me completely starts to lose composure. These extreme heels are totally unwalkable - to someone who has a fetish for female objectification, having your doll mobile rarely seems to be a necessity.

This gallery shows the spectrum of shots and shoes these two created.

This has a video that shows the gallery space, and a bit more examples of Louboutin's creations.

I'm not surprised that David Lynch at this point in his career is being more outwardly obvious with his own kinky bents. The arc of his career has been a gradually ascending dialog on this subject. It's comforting, somehow, to have an artist that i've followed and adored for two decades "come out", even though all along, when i first encountered his vision of a sleepy logging town in the Pacific Northwest, i had my suspicions.

The Slut vs. the Lady, revisited

It's summer here, and with the increased temperature so goes my increased irritation with the manner of dress some women choose to wear. Back in 2007, i wrote a post addressing this issue, and found myself returning to this idea very frequently these days. Here we are a full two years later, and i do not detect a massive retreat from the march of the sluttification of feminine beauty.

In my post i speak about what sort of clothing offends:
"There are days that i find myself walking behind some of the filthiest trash, causing my stomach to turn. It's worse in the hot, summer heat. Something in the swelter releases a chemical in the minds of a number of women, convincing them that they should dress as skimpily and vilely as possible. This chemical also seems to block their ability to recognize what is sensible. I see the most lurid of sights parading on the sidewalks:
-vicously tight jeans whose top line seems to recede more and more each passing year, and whose shape makes a trip to the ob-gyn more stream-lined
-visible panties (g-strings or thongs) as a result of the eroding coverage the above pants provide
-backless, belly-less, shoulder-less...really material-less tops that cling to the gal's torso like a frightened child to its mother
-multiple bra straps serving as evidence that the wearer in fact owns undergarments
-belly piercings
-fabrics of bold, tacky and loud colors"

These trends continue, unabated. The fashion designers are obviously responding to a demand by their clientele to look more and more like amateur streetwalkers. My protest is not one out of conservative values and archaic rules of propriety. My reasons are much more dire.

"The men i work with will oggle and drag their tongues along the dirty street whenever they see a female dressed like this. They'll elbow eachother, whistle, snicker, say something crude like "I'd do her," all of which are appropriate (and sought after?) reactions to this kind of dress. The female is dressing like a slut, and for some reason, this is being celebrated, even coveted within our appalling fixation on the lives of celebrities."

I worry about the violence this onslaught of slutty dress promotes. I'm not suggesting that women who dress this way will be raped as a result of their outfits. The violence i speak of is of a mental kind. My male colleagues, when they see a young woman traipsing by in skin-tight jeans whose ass cups and separates each buttock, they're first reaction is a guttoral, instinctual reaction to pounce on her. They do not wonder about her intelligence, or her value to this world. She has become to them what her costume dictates: a piece of meat

Contrast that with a woman who wears a handsome pencil skirt, a titillating but elegant blouse, and modest makeup and her audience has a completely different, more healthy reaction. They speak of and focus on her beauty. A trait, feminine beauty, that has been celebrated for centuries. Yes, i am proposing that a woman's physical appearance is in fact a major contribution to this civilization because seeing a beautiful woman presented in a dignified way reminds us for that brief moment of the divine. Just like when we view a stunning flower garden on a sunny Spring morning, we receive a moment of reprieve from the harshness and brutality of life.

Now, i'm not naive enough to believe that if you eradicated this slutty form of dress, violence against women would disappear. No, in fact, what i propose is to stem the rise of what has been a crime committed against women as long as they have been fetishized and enamored, while also contributing more beauty to the world.

My addiction

I seek to avoid acknowledgment of a fixation
to the flesh you pass before me;
to the off-white translucent thigh and the
amber shadow that traces between your legs.
And since i cannot claim the strength to turn from
nor deny this attachment, i abandon words for actions.
I find my hands tracing the silky down of your side,
skating along the smooth surface of your skin,
but this delicate dialog is not enough, for soon,
my fingers long for a stronger hit.
They curl around a long, stiff rod that will
strike against your body, extracting a more sincere
outburst from your mouth.

Pounding into you like a starving beast feasts
upon its fresh kill, my mind thinks of nothing else
but this
urge
hunger
ache

I fall off of you, lying next to your unmoving body.
The heat from our communion warms the air around us,
incubating this addiction that will rise to overcome me again.