The Chameleon's Dish

9:53AM - I promise not to make a habit out of posting video this, but it is relevant to our interests.

Red Rabbit from Egmont Mayer on Vimeo.

Current mood: Oh, and Anthrocon was enjoyable.

Current music: Caprices (24) for solo violin, Op. 1, MS 25: XXIII. Posato in E Flat Major

2:12PM

( Overheard at the coffeehouse ... )

8:40PM

( Overheard at the Gymnasium ... )

3:50PM

9:58AM

I promise not to make a habit of posting links to images like this one.

Current mood: amused

9:53PM

( Overheard ... )
request by ff00ff

12:34PM

I give thanks to riotgearepsilon for these images from a book of etiquette regarding deflowering, as illustrated by Edward Gorey. If only I had had this book years ago!

6:04PM

( Overheard... )
request by suule

1:42PM

The first five people to comment in this post and repost this meme in their own journal get to request a sketch of a subject/character of their choosing from me.

5:04PM

So, given a choice between the two, which is better -- bad sex, or no sex? Discuss.

Current mood: whimsical

12:53PM

If you read this, if your eyes are passing over this right now, please post a comment with a completely made up and fictional memory of you and I.

It can be anything you want - good or bad - but completely fictional.

When you're finished, post this little paragraph in your LJ and see what your friends come up with.

10:02PM

:
I must apologize for the long delay since my last journal. ( Read more... )

10:22PM

Current mood: amused

1:45PM

( And now, English literature... )

4:12PM

:
Mythology is full of monsters, especially pregnant ones. Depending on who you ask, the goddess Nyx spent most of her time in a cave self-siring various monsters that she released upon the world. One has to wonder what such a lifestyle is like. There is certainly an appeal to being a cryptic oracle, in a small and silent room where the only visitors are over-educated reverents, where engineering and magic combine for false perspective and undiscernable inclines.

Recently, I traveled back to the Americas in the company of G___, who has a clear affinity for the culture. Her social appetites are far greater than mine, and I was led about by the wrist from taxi to wagon to train, from brunch to klatsch to party to rave. I recognized no one, and no one recognized me. Conversation was largely on matters of sports and modern music, two fields I know almost nothing about. The crone in me wanted to condemn the base sounds, over-stimulating lights, and gluttonous intoxications; the maiden in me wanted to bounce and to sweat; the mother in me just wanted to sit down.

I spent quite a deal of time sitting down, wringing out a hankerchief that dripped with sweet benzene and other emissions of my triple-heated glands. Demonstrating a surprising limberness for her size, G___ attempted to seduce me into some curious arrangements, but I respectfully declined with a hundred apologies. Excusing myself, I stole away. I was too busy thinking about absent friends, about cooler climes and darker rooms, about Doric splendor and stuffed grape leaves, about agape and eros.

I write these words, returned to my condominium, spending a moment to reflect upon the transitory nature of life, of folks who are gone and of folks who will return. I am full of things to say and I lack the breath to say them all. Let these words, then, say that I have more to say.

10:03AM

silvermink had written about a newspaper article entitled, Is Google Making Us Stupid?  The article has prompted commentary from myself. ( Read more... )

9:42PM

:
It has been a long time since I have thrown a fit or had a breakdown.  I immerse myself in the role of matron -- responsible, reverent, reposed.  ( Read more... )

Current mood: amused

Current music: Suzanne Lafaye and Lamoureux Concert Association Orchestra, "O mon cher amant"

11:38PM

Gracious, finally, someone did make a computer game for me: Cello Challenge.

9:29PM

:
You may be one of those people who does not consciously recognize illness. You assume that it is fatigue, or allergy, or perhaps the vapors. It is only when one tastes the bile and feels the aches that one finally acknowledges one's humors are out of balance. I had been feeling less than nominal for about a day before the sickness came in earnest.

When this dragon runs a fever, the temperatures often exceed four hundred degrees Centigrade; thus I first noticed my fever when my sleep-mask caught fire. My condominium is programmed to flood my abode with trifluoroiodomethane to surpress combustion, and I briefly worried that my guest would suffocate. It was a moment later that I achieved sufficient wakefulness to remember that I had no guest. Fortuitously, my stage performances as Hedda Gabler had ended just the previous night, and I was no longer on any acting schedule.

For the next two days, I was generally miserable. Being that hydration is necessary for my delicate condition, I was made all the more irritable by my constant, fevered perspiration, which made my silks sticky and my odor unpleasant. And since my sweat is richly deuteriated, I could not return home for fear of permanent exile for violating the toxicity laws. (Yes, I am still on probation from my previous transgressions, which the home-owners' association have yet to prove, but have yet to suspect anyone other than myself.) I could have relocated to O___'s tower, but the thought of my poisons seeping into the ground-water of those beautiful swards did not sit well with me. My personal physician, I have not heard from in some time, and what last I heard implied he was not to be imposed upon lightly, let alone in this dire context.

Instead, I temporarily relocated to a temple resort. The inhabitants there practice some sort of neo-pagan fertility worship that is ill-defined, in that way that neo-pagans always must always be inclusive to many beliefs. Shamefully abusing their open-door policy, I esconced myself in their springs, to enjoy a private tub where the water boiled under my own temperature. I wonder if there is a specific name for the fetish of being uncomfortable, because the head-aches and night-sweats invigorated me greatly. One hopes the plumbing in the bath houses of the holy sun are thoroughly decontaminated, or I will have much to answer for.

This day, I was feeling well enough to visit the theater. L___ has returned, carrying on as if nothing had happened, which is what I suspected he would do. I did not let such mercurialness bother me, I have others more deserving of my mighty frettings. As is par for the course, there were many little issues I had to address, because they were no one else's clear responsibility, and because I am a responsible person. Is my good behavior being exploited? I am still so naive to make work its own reward, and I suppose I am no happier than when I push my boulder up Tartarus' hills.

Post-Script to (anonymous), re: invitation -- I must respectfully decline with a hundred apologies. While I do not doubt the man so honored was a strong stage presence, I am almost completely unfamiliar with his work and it would be inappropriate for me to attend.

11:31PM

:
It may be springtime, but it is winter on our stage at the Orpheum Theater. Yes, dear reader: after interminable delays (more of which I shall speak of), our Ibsen revival opened last week with yours truly in the title role of Hedda Gabler. We will follow with the scandalous A Doll's House, next the passionate Love's Comedy, followed by the ever-relevant An Enemy of the People, and then the melodramatic Ghosts. If our revival is popular enough, we will have an extended show; I have petitioned for When We Dead Awaken, despite my unfamiliarity, but it is more likely that we will close Peer Gynt, instead. That would be unfortunate, as I feel our staging cannot even approach the Natatoria Neptuni's.

We have taken too long to get ourselves on the stage, and I have myself to blame. I should not be both an actor and a producer. I have too strong a personality. People fall in line with what I say too easily, and I lack the discipline to be a proper leader. This long time has weighed heavily upon my old standbys. We have a few old faces and a few

I had known T___ since my days before I called myself Xin Jin Meng. He has always been a supporter of my work, and he has helped bolster much of my early work. I can tell he has not enjoyed the changes he has seen in me, nor has he enjoyed our recent work. I suppose he is a hanger-on in the classic sense of the word. In our early productions, he was prop-master for our ornate Spanish and French operas; what he lacked in skill, he compensated with enthusiasm.

I have always found him to be somewhat of an enigma. He is not a typical theater person. His appearance is unkempt. His sexuality is quotidian. He does not smoke, or drink, or otherwise engage in intoxication. His knowledge of theater is casual, at best. Our most recent row, however, was about politics, which I know I shouldn't be discussing, but some days I get so angry. Those of you who are my familiars know what I believe; my acquaintances must surmise from what they know of my liberties. Our stage manager, who has known T___ as long as I have, recently speculated that the reason for his reactionary bluster may be because it makes him stand out among us lackadaisical bohemians. I cannot say.

Three nights ago, our production was finally open to the public. It took much of my resolve to avoid reading the reviews -- if they were too good, I would be tempted to make changes in my performance; if they were too poor, I would be despondent. No, I force myself to listen to the director. (For at least an hour a day, I meditate under the Veil of Maya to mask my own ego. Sometimes, I am successful.)

Later, I discovered T___'s room was empty. He had taken his articles and packed up, without a word. A theater always has people about, some folks remarked on his passing. Honestly, I can't spare the time to worry about him, and I must quash the part of me that likes to worry. It saddens me that I could not work with him, but frankly there are many who can serve as prop-master in our modest plays, and I can't waste resources culturing loyalty at the expense of the show. I hope he finds a way.

Afterwards, with myself still in makeup and dress, I lounged with the younger folks who discussed the latest in popular culture. I smiled and nodded appropriately, as much of it was lost between my ears. Eventually, I excused myself to retire to my room, where I recited my lines while staring into a long mirror, until I reached sufficient excitement for orgasm. Heaven above, I know in my heart of hearts, this is why I wanted to be a part of the production. I hope this doesn't become habit-forming.