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The Return of Fuzz-Head!
Mar. 25th, 2011 09:56 pmNew Life Goal: Be exactly as freaking silly as I want- it's the juice of the creative process spilling down your chin as you bite into it.
My hair's been in a buzz cut for a few months now, and that appears to have been long enough for most of the people I know to completely forget what my hair looked like long-- including some people who've known me longer with long hair.
But during finals, I let my buzz grow out from 12mm for about a month. It got to around half an inch, a brown halo of fuzz 'round my head that caused my fingertips to disappear into it.
And then I went to C2E2, and China Mieville was a bald bamf, and I found myself holding a beardtrimmer the next day thinking, well, maybe I can take it down to the shortest setting...
AND I DID.
It's been about three days now, I'm getting slightly fuzzy again, and life is good.
Finished reading KRAKEN. My brain is in a happy little place right now about the whole thing.
My Boy has bought me a string of fat purple pearls, which can only be cultured but are shockingly pretty. They are each just slightly off round and fascinating to roll between my fingers and feel the strange organic seams left in them from where they have been shit out of mollusks. I'm been wearing them draped around my neck and feeling like the exile baroness of a land that has since sunk to a dull and dreamless bolshevism where the people are busily oppressing themselves through the pedantic scribbling of bureaucrats. They will look up in the near future, at the grey walls of the grey prisons, peering out of the unornamented corners into which they have painted themselves with vats of mass produced cheap whitewash that will pull dust to it like a magnet, leaving it a grey sickly mess a year after it's brushed on, and they will lament that once, the heel that pins them in the mire was shod in style.
I have solidified my position in the highest echelons of the exile elite by the acquisition of a gin for slow sipping that leaves a faint taste of cucumber and cruelty on the tongue. It comes in a round plain and unfaceted glass jar, because of course I will be having my servants pour it into my cut crystal decanter before it ever touches my palate.
My hair's been in a buzz cut for a few months now, and that appears to have been long enough for most of the people I know to completely forget what my hair looked like long-- including some people who've known me longer with long hair.
But during finals, I let my buzz grow out from 12mm for about a month. It got to around half an inch, a brown halo of fuzz 'round my head that caused my fingertips to disappear into it.
And then I went to C2E2, and China Mieville was a bald bamf, and I found myself holding a beardtrimmer the next day thinking, well, maybe I can take it down to the shortest setting...
AND I DID.
It's been about three days now, I'm getting slightly fuzzy again, and life is good.
Finished reading KRAKEN. My brain is in a happy little place right now about the whole thing.
My Boy has bought me a string of fat purple pearls, which can only be cultured but are shockingly pretty. They are each just slightly off round and fascinating to roll between my fingers and feel the strange organic seams left in them from where they have been shit out of mollusks. I'm been wearing them draped around my neck and feeling like the exile baroness of a land that has since sunk to a dull and dreamless bolshevism where the people are busily oppressing themselves through the pedantic scribbling of bureaucrats. They will look up in the near future, at the grey walls of the grey prisons, peering out of the unornamented corners into which they have painted themselves with vats of mass produced cheap whitewash that will pull dust to it like a magnet, leaving it a grey sickly mess a year after it's brushed on, and they will lament that once, the heel that pins them in the mire was shod in style.
I have solidified my position in the highest echelons of the exile elite by the acquisition of a gin for slow sipping that leaves a faint taste of cucumber and cruelty on the tongue. It comes in a round plain and unfaceted glass jar, because of course I will be having my servants pour it into my cut crystal decanter before it ever touches my palate.
