Good news for most of you: I am swearing off the reading of all those irritating “progressive” blogs which form a most unseemly, hysterical and generally irrelevant [except to their own selves] circle jerk.
Other than small stylistic differences, most of them do nothing other than read each other and cut and paste to their own blog, providing as many outgoing links as possible so as, of course, to increase their Technorati gravitas.
Tedious, yes, but one in particular finally convinced me of the inanity of it all. There are those who, desperate for something ever so slightly more sexy or compelling, have taken back up some old bad habits. Stealing, in fact. I have, therefore, decided to not provide him/her with any more material.
No more politics [or at least nothing clean enough for his/her new fanbase].
I shall foreswear all but Truth and Beauty. Which obviously means sex, fashion, gossip, food, flora, words, pointless rants and, always, fetching boys.
That's Dita Von Teese, just in case you don't know her, and you should.
8 comments:
I just ADORE really classic Burlesque, especially when it is as saucy and as witty as Miss Von Teese makes it.
And what a beautiful gown.
And the setting is absolutely perfect as well!
But we know that Miss Von Teese is nothing if not a consummate perfectionist when it comes to all aspects of her life, work and self.
I wish to be her.
At a recent dance workshop, we had a professional burlesque dancer teach us some of her special moves. It was eye-opening!
It also got us in touch with something... indescribably, and very fundamentally, FEMININE.
I do believe I might well have been a fan dancer or such in a former life.
I think it has to do with that dance, the one we used to speak of in the Parlour.
We both were. Don't you remember? We were captured by pirates somewhere in the Mediterranean, sold in the slave market in El-Bahdja, carried by camel caravan into the vast desert and sold again. Washed, perfumed and dressed in colorful silks, our arms and ears hung with silver.
He was a rich sheik and the floors of the tents in which we danced were thick with the finest, softest carpets. We clung together at night, comforting each other in our captivity.
An Englishman traveled through the desert, capturing what he witnessed in a new art form - moving pictures! Newly discovered in a dusty archive, here is the actual footage of our dance...
Our Desert Dance
My brother is 7 years younger than I, &when I was (I am guessing) about 11 i told him that i was not really his brother, but rather i was a prince from a faraway Arabian land, in exile because of the situation, awaiting the time when i must return..
he still believed me quite a few years later. how BAD is that!?
I wish we could stay right here. Seriously. With the silks, the sand, the new technology and the all together thoroughly acceptable fairy tales. Whether they're meant for ourselves or, my dearest Mark, for impressionable and very lucky little brothers.
maybe it's not cool to share, but i want you to know your words brought a tear to my eye, with a smile. my favourite kind of weather!
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