My travel book this trip is a novel by a political commentator...he was actually a novelist first, I think...whose worldview much matches mine. One difference, however, is his rampant heterosexuality. He clearly likes women, not only physically, but as three-dimensional people. I get his female characters as characters, but when he waxes appreciative about their corporeal characteristics, he loses me. One detail in particular about "soft glossy red lips and perfume like bubblegum or candy"...These things excite him, arouse him.
Not in a million years.
Sometimes the very minority shape of my erotic drive strikes me, my utter tone-deafness to the music of the sexual feminine. But I am nonetheless very...musical.
1 comment:
Then talk Rorty to me.
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