~on truthful parodies...

i suppose it's a weird sensation, enjoying something that makes me slightly paranoid (um. am i bad? oh god, i'm bad! i made him do -that- in my fic.. gods! ugh... i have sinned ;)

but yah. i like it. there's no way to have love that's like, -totally- devoid of either angst or sap. and face it, we're writing harry/draco. if you're not an insane mush-fiend romantic, what the hell is up with liking harry/draco? suuuure you like conflict, things to be "interesting" not "too easy"... but really, isn't that what it's all about? it's an insult if it's too easy. it's not grand enough, then, ne?

i say i hate always-loved-you!draco, but i wound up writing him. otherwise it'd be 2 people going through the "oh! i'm gay!" experience, which is kinda dull. or the "wow, i DO like him" experience, which is common, but... still, draco cries out to be schizoid and in denial doesn't he? well not -sorry- about anything, just in denial about who he is. we hope. unless he's just boring.

in my little world, no one is -that- boring unless they're not worth thinking about. even enough to dislike. so :)

that was fun. there's no way out you know. you -can't- write a "straight" harry/draco fic and have them be "in love". i guess (from what i heard) cassandra claire tries to go there. have it be.. um... not mushy.

love is kind of ridiculous and mushy isn't it? am i wrong? it is though. it doesn't make us "good" but it probably makes us stupid. wow waxing philosophical over a parody, heh.

can draco keep his dignity and still be in love? that is the burning question :>

ah well, as far as rhetorical questions go :)

she walks in beauty....

my ex recently told me that beauty is limited to society's perception of what pretty bodies are like. i gaped. i said, what about nature, trees, river-rocks, sunsets. he said, but i don't care about that stuff. partly, i want to scream, WHAT??! you don't care about...that?? and you say you have any idea of god?? what the fuck's wrong with you? well, he lies and bullshits a lot, so i dunno. but i'm just trying to imagine someone who has no conception of real beauty, and it's like, so horrifying, so utterly alien, that i want to scream and hide and never touch that person's mind again. i was in love with HIM?

actually. it seems my other ex was too visually caught up in the complex artform type of beauty, the sort that doesn't exist in "other things". like, the sort that implies ugliness. the former ex would say, yah, and there's a lot of ugliness around, look at me, look at you. doesn't your fatness preclude you from talking about beauty? the boy has problems, i know, but i mean, he used to mean so much to me, how could he be so... so... so horribly bereft? without beauty, i would be... skinless, screaming, raw and terrified. without beauty there is no magic, and no poetry, and no life. what would that sort of existence -be-? what the hell does beauty have to do with breasts and skinny waists? that's lust, not beauty. how can he be so plebe? so... so very... dull??

i look at precious stones, and clouds, and flowers, and the light streaming across the wall, and i want to shiver and dissolve, shiver and transform into weightless wonder. my whole body is in ecstacy. my last bf, doesn't really appreciate visual beauty all that much. i would never stoop to saying it's a "male" thing, but really-- it's scary, how much my sanity rests in the sacred remaining intact. beauty, love, magic, joy, humor, and nature. without the threads binding me to the sacred things, i am like some cast-off seed, groundless, frightened.

my approach to life, and understanding, rests on my feeling for symmetry. those things i adore, i adore because of their symmetry, their resonance, their living presence within me. harry and draco have symmetry. the sort of thing you find in fall and spring, winter and summer, anything dancing with its shadow. it doesn't matter where i find it, something intended to be sacred or profane. in fact i like the profane more. as long as it has that hidden twanging, that sound of reverbration and synchrony. i try not to say things i really don't mean. i try not to do things i find meaningless. i don't have the strength to always say the things i DO mean, and do the things i DO want, but i can at least not live in a fake little world for no one's benefit, really. because who really cares WHAT you do, or who you are? do people actually care? if you stay out of the way, no one will stop you. you play the game at the most surface level, you keep mostly to yourself and you're pleasant-- unless there's some kind of war going on where you're the target because of your larger affiliation-- you're fine.

of course i don't really understand why anyone bothers to wage ideological (or real) war. people are so social. everyone seems to wants a piece of everyone else. their own slice of pie. i guess i do too. i wouldn't say i just want to be left alone, but definitely, i need my space, my freedom to be myself. am i lucky? i suppose i am. i guess i could be in palestine, or russia, or gay, or a minority, or horribly deformed, or deathly ill, or insane, or so beautiful everyone wants to rape me. hey, it could happen. i could be male. that would suck, actually... i mean, i wouldn't mind a penis or anything, but societally, it's easier to shirk responsibilities if you're female, heh. well, in some ways. easier to be part of the background, passive, etc.

well this has diverged from being about beauty. poor, sad boy. he would run away from me if i tried to hug him. he wants and yet doesn't let himself have. what a sucky life. funny thing is, i'm pretty sure sex with him would suck unless he loved you. it's just a premonition. ha. well, serves him right, really.

actually, probably, sex sucks unless you feel connected. i mean, sure, someone could touch you "just right", but i mean, don't people want more? don't people want passion? extreme, horribly debilitating and overwhelming passion? where you both fall to the ground, moaning and almost sobbing, needing each other like a drug, tearing at each other and never being able to get enough? isn't that what sex is about?? sex isn't about going, "oh um. breast! *swallows* breast! ack! must... ack! touch me! nono, not like that. mmm, fatty bits, kinky! you're so dirty, i'm going to come. ooh, baby, harder, harder." etcetc. ick, right? how can you like, think so much about sex and have no clue?

who can think that, even for a second, sex itself can be the point? i mean, there you are....
"come here"
*slowly undressing*
"um, i don't think i can do this..." *panicking*
*sits down on the bed*
"uh, well, we can go slow"
*stares and swallows*
"um, ok"
*awkward kisses, teeth knocking together, hands not knowing where to go*
"relax, ok?"
"i can't"
*lies back on the bed, looking slightly perplexed*
"do you really want this?"
*swallows, looks away* "no"
-or-
*mind gone, hands groping heedlessly, lots of harsh pats and squeezes, and guttural sounds*
"aaah"
*thinking how no one's calling the other's name, feeling sad*
"fuck...!"
*eyes closed, trying not to open them and see the other's face, oblivious above you, trying not to cry*
"tell me you want me"
"i want you..." *sighing*
*thinking, but do you want -me- or just my vaginal walls and breasts like cushions?*
"damn...you..."
"wh-what??" *panting*
"nothing..." *a dry kiss*
*a grunt*
"i can't hold back..." *a limp body falling atop another*
*sigh* "sweet dreams..."
---
bleh. sex without emotion seems like some kind of horror movie, except the kind that happens everywhere you look. scary, huh.