Profile

It's been over a year since I last posted, and some things are different now, probably including my profile. However, I'm leaving the old because I'm not sure yet what's, um, new. I know I'm crankier these days, at any rate.

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oiran is the version of jed that isn't primarily focused on media-derivative homoerotica, i.e., fan fiction. If you are already "friends" with the other journal (that would be velvetglove, btw), it will continue to host the increasingly less-frequent bits of smutty fiction and squee about truly bad media. This journal will host the majority of talk about my personal/real life. If I have added you to the oiran list, it is because I already know and like you, or because I wish to know you better. Please feel free to be on one, both, or neither, and I'll respond accordingly.

An oiran was a high-class prostitute in Japan up until around 1900, at which time her ornate, highly ritualized, and restricted way of life became untenable. I am forever attracted to the whorish and base aspects of glamor.

* see this entry if this baffles you: raggedy ann

~o0o~

DISCLAIMER: Please note that I am fond of saucy talk, much of it negligent of presumed community standards, espec. in the vast, doughy middle of the United States. If you cling to heteronormative assumptions with one clammy paw and clutch at a Bible with the other, you aren't going to like me very much anyway, so you probably shouldn't read this journal.

Personally, I think a minor person who enjoys erotica and is able to successfully search it out online should be left to read in peace, but that's just me. If you are under the age of majority wherever you live, please do not read this journal, or at least do not get caught. I don't want to deal with your angry mother and, since I am a stupid American who only speaks English and a smattering of toddler-level French, it is very possible I won't understand why she's so mad.

~o0o~

"Solitude is the playfield of Satan."
-Vladimir Nabokov, Pale Fire, 1962

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What She Knew

People did not know what she knew, that she was not really a woman but a man, often a fat man, but more often, probably, an old man. The fact that she was an old man made it hard for her to be a young woman. It was hard for her to talk to a young man, for instance, though the young man was clearly interested in her. She had to ask herself, Why is this young man flirting with this old man?

~ Lydia Davis, from Break It Down

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I'm a willfully unemployed insomniac and I love my animals, my husband and a variety of friendly ghosts.