What is with me? I feel so lethargic...indifferent....uninspired. Strange. Maybe I'm just tired.
I want to write, really. I just can' think of anything brilliant to say.
I was thinking of him the other day...after my encounter with his lookalike last week.
I
the rising, glowing moon; he the fading star. Even the moon is scarred.
Something along those lines. It could turn out beautifully, if I only
had the passion. Celestial references are so cliche though. I need to
come up with something a little more obscure. Why does conflict breed
inspiration? Life is strange. I'm a stranger to Life.
Comrade Von Pussycat
I had the powerful urge to watch Casino
Royale not once, but twice this weekend. I absolutely love the dialog
between Vesper and 007... the rich, glamorous fabrics and classic
European style...the glossy and gritty locations rolled up into one
movie. It was then that I realized just how much my definition of what a
woman should be has been shaped by the James Bond series. I began
watching, studying, memorizing all of these techniques and various
characters when I was a small child. Since then everything from the
Avengers to Mata Hari have influenced my views. In every character,
every Bond girl, I find a little particle of myself that usually has no
outlet in daily life. Maybe this is why I am a daydreamer. I love
thrill. I love intrigue. I crave glamor. I crave action. I crave it all.
I
have decided that it is time that I start reflecting who I am on the
inside by carefully selecting fabrics, cuts, and patterns that are an
accurate representation. I always did love fashion. I wouldn't call
myself a fashionista...that term is far too trendy. I am an artist. I
know how to use fabrics to my best advantage. Silk drapes elegantly over
every curve and indentation to suggest what the mind can only imagine. A
crisp white tuxedo shirt gives an androgynous quality to a woman with
minimal curves. The fabric takes on a whole new quality when a
curvaceous woman fills out a tuxedo shirt, which is traditionally a
masculine piece.
I would much rather dress my body in a sleek
satin pencil skirt than a mini skirt. I just feel so much more myself in
a pencil skirt.... it showcases the curve of my back, highlights the
shape of my calves and flatters my delicate ankles. A miniskirt reveals
absolutely everything, especially when you sit down. I would rather
suggest than reveal. Secrecy. Hahaha *evil laugh*. How appropriate. I wonder if I am
the only one who gives thought to these things. Pure frivolity you say?
Maybe not. I am just redefining the game, dollface. This is what it
takes to match me.
There are so many definitions of me. I am
Lolita. I am the lust bitten (I wouldn't go so far as to say driven ;P )
sex-kitten. I am the bad ass, rough and ready girl who likes shiny, shiny leather. I am the girl who drinks vodka straight out of the bottle, who has pet snakes, wears a bikini to target practice (go Walther go!), and who wears stilettos pointy enough to pierce a vital organ ... should you have the cajones to try (did I mention I've fought off men with my bare hands...and won?A story for another time!). I am the
adventurer, the global nomad, the citizen of the world. I am the daredevil. At the very same time I
am the nourisher, the compassionate, the hopeful romantic, the sunny
philosopher, the lover poet. Did I mention I've always been drawn to
extremes? I don't even understand me so I don't expect anyone else to.
What
was my point? I simply think it is amusing where I get these ideas
from. Vesper Lynd, Honey Ryder, XXX Anya Amasova, Melina Havelock, the villainess
Famke Janssen plays, have forever shaped my idea of femininity. 
Comrade Von Pussycat
