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Dec. 11th, 2010 02:39 amThis is what I fell asleep to last night:
I think it was Donald Mainstock, the great amateur squash player, who pointed out how lovely I was. Until that time, I think it was safe to say that I had never really been aware of my own timeless brand of loveliness, but his words spoke to me, because of course you see I am lovely, in a fluffy, moist kind of way, and who would have it otherwise? I walk (let’s be splendid about this) in a lightly accented cloud of gorgeousness that isn’t far short of being quite simply terrific. The secret of smooth, almost shiny loveliness of the order of which we’re discussing in this simple, frank, creamy-soft way doesn’t reside in oils, unguents, balms, ointments, creams, astringents, milks, moisturisers, liniments, lubricants, embrocations or balsams, to be rather divine for just one noble moment. It resides, and I mean this in a pink, slightly special way, in one’s attitude of mind. To be gorgeous and high and true and fine and fluffy and moist and sticky and lovely, all you have to do is to believe that one is gorgeous and high and true and fine and fluffy and moist and sticky and lovely. And I believe it of myself, tremulously at first, and then with mounting heat and passion because, stopping off for a second to be super again, I’m so often told it.
That’s the secret, really.
Dear Stephen Fry: please never, never, never leave us. Even when you are shooting your mouth off like a prize twazzock, you have created monologues like the above and thus I am contractually obliged to love you forever. &hearts
This entry was cross-posted to http://splash-of-blue.dreamwidth.org/1020.html. I'd prefer it if you commented here rather than there, though.
I think it was Donald Mainstock, the great amateur squash player, who pointed out how lovely I was. Until that time, I think it was safe to say that I had never really been aware of my own timeless brand of loveliness, but his words spoke to me, because of course you see I am lovely, in a fluffy, moist kind of way, and who would have it otherwise? I walk (let’s be splendid about this) in a lightly accented cloud of gorgeousness that isn’t far short of being quite simply terrific. The secret of smooth, almost shiny loveliness of the order of which we’re discussing in this simple, frank, creamy-soft way doesn’t reside in oils, unguents, balms, ointments, creams, astringents, milks, moisturisers, liniments, lubricants, embrocations or balsams, to be rather divine for just one noble moment. It resides, and I mean this in a pink, slightly special way, in one’s attitude of mind. To be gorgeous and high and true and fine and fluffy and moist and sticky and lovely, all you have to do is to believe that one is gorgeous and high and true and fine and fluffy and moist and sticky and lovely. And I believe it of myself, tremulously at first, and then with mounting heat and passion because, stopping off for a second to be super again, I’m so often told it.
That’s the secret, really.
Dear Stephen Fry: please never, never, never leave us. Even when you are shooting your mouth off like a prize twazzock, you have created monologues like the above and thus I am contractually obliged to love you forever. &hearts
This entry was cross-posted to http://splash-of-blue.dreamwidth.org/1020.html. I'd prefer it if you commented here rather than there, though.
