SIPS and gulps

Statistically Improbable Phrases and gulps of air

A gilded lily, the jeweled fragility of Harvard minds, the crystalline delicacy of the modern soul, a glass cathedral: talkin' shit.

They lived in an ethereal limbo, a détante mediated by the pandas and ping-pong matches of consummation. A dangerous, whirling dervish of sex, punctuated [only] to remoisten dry mouths and turn off aging lights. A peaceful crumbling, or a smouldering wasteland; that seems to be the cost those were the wages of their love.

P.S. I don't like that last sentence. I still don't like that last sentence.

He followed a desperate longing, long after it was unnecessary and impossible to fulfill. An obdurate shyness followed him, phantoms and demons of memories past, calcified and ossified into the dark, ghostly crevasses of his mind and body.

She still didn't know what to say after all this time. He had only known and not yet felt.

This is something I started writing a long while ago (27/11/08, if teh Blogger is to believed), and i'm not entirely sure where it started or where it's going or what I want to do with it. I have conjectures and rumours, but that doesn't help anybody in a concrete way, unless passing time is a concrete thing. Which is really left up to debate to the metaphysicians, and not to the sensible people like us.