raybear | Remember those days, I had you smelling my boxers?

There's a Ghostface Killah lyric for every occasion in life.

This morning on the train I sat across from a woman applying makeup. It's one of my favorite femme traits -- not just the process itself, but doing it on public transportation or in a car. I'm always amazed by the techinique and ability to perfect the lines and colors in the midst of the bumps and turns and stops. I love the public display of a personal moment. I'm sure I stare a little, but I try to make it friendly and not gawking. It really is admiration.

On Tuesday night while searching the bookshelf by the bed for an old self-help book, something strange happened. I pulled out one of my favorite pieces of fiction I've ever read. And I'd forgotten about it. I don't know how it went away from my consciousness, and at one point did I stop thinking "this is a book that amazes me everytime I pick it up and I recommend in every conversation about books"? I opened a page and the words were familiar with new meaning. I needed another copy. I needed more of her words. But it's not something usually in the regular bookstores, next to the bestsellers.

Last night before the anal sex workshop, I remembered I was only one block away from a great academic bookstore which would surely have this book and others by the author. And they did. And with money I shouldn't spend I bought a book for myself as well, another novel by the author. I resisted reading more of her writing initially because I was convinced nothing would be as good as the first I read -- a common reaction when I fall in love with a book. I either rush out and read all of their works back-to-back or avoid all other books at all costs. But I think I'm open enough to explore more. Besides, I'll have a lot more time to myself coming up and it will be beneficial to have new touchstones.

[Sorry I forgot to mention the title and author: The Stream of Life by Clarice Lispector.]