~~ self-consciousness and porn.

honestly, this is kind of frightening. i'm away (to see ethrosdemon!! mwuahahah!) and... well... no email, since out since morning till night and my mom sleeps early and anyway who cares... and like, 6 people friend me. i'm scared to even -read- how many posts have been made. do i even want to know? -.-
    i'm considering a new policy where i pretend the friending and unfriending process just isn't real and does not happen-- true, it may disturb me to advance that much closer to complete dementia, but otherwise i just kind of sit there and go, "whu--? eh--? wheeh--??" which... is confusing all by itself. so yes. figuring out why anyone reads me makes my brain hurt, since i never knew rambling meta was in demand by people who don't produce it themselves. well, i mean, back when i recced things and linked things a lot and stuff, that was different, i was useful. but now i'm like this old strangely obsessed person on the park-bench, muttering about "and then harry said to draco, `you do realize we're just symbolic representations of the writers' need for an unrealistic complementary union of mirror halves, fraught with existential friction, don't you?'" and so on.

in my own little world, the only person interested would be the old lady knitting socks for her imaginary dobby, sitting at the opposite park-bench. she'd say, "to which draco replied, `you're getting wonky in your old age, forgetting the more essential friction of randy boys groping each other furiously without lubrication in dark corridors.'" which is of course very true. h/d is all about the lack of lubrication and the intense need to romanticise that uncomfortable sensation when you sit down across from that really hot guy who annoys you so much you want to bite his nose off, except you want to give him a blow-job at the same time. existential horniness, baby.

i'm giddy at being at a computer again. also, while i was out i wrote this entry in my notebook about porn, but... eh, what the hell.
~~

while this may not come as a surprise to some of you-- and may seem rather out of the blue to others-- i have just now decided that fabularasa is, apparently, brilliant (albeit regrettably biased against my dear harry), upon reading this interview. so i'm going to ramble on in response to stuff she said, because um-- well, why not.

( on the other hand, i should probably cut most of it, as it's not of that much interest, since i mostly just squee and nod my head a lot. sigh. )

    she also said something i can go on quite some time about, and haven't seen anyone else mention that much:

One of the things I like the most about writing slash -- or any graphic erotica -- is that the curtain is never drawn. There is no barrier between character and author, or between author and reader, for that matter, or between character and reader.

i think i've said before, that sometimes i feel a little -too- aware of the fact that i'm writing erotica for a semi-known audience of women. there is definitely something tittilating and sexually transgressive about getting off on your own characters-- and yet they're not quite your own-- you're always watching, and so is the other participants in this fantasy-- not just readers, but co-creators. because the "fanon" lives of these characters are so communal-- like one whole collective sexual fantasy of a gorgeous bastard, and we all interpret him differently, yes, but in the end we commonly lust after someone who could be recognizably called 'draco' or 'snape', and at the same time we're -together-, watching together and writing together and reading together, and it's quite a bit more kinky than it seems at first.
    so basically, the question for me is, is the sharing of written porn fic between a knowing reader and a writer a form of sexual interchange.

( of course, that's not the only question. )