I'm not sure which of God's angels are responsible for passing out obsessions when us mortals enter this world, but I frequently thank the stars for the one I've been given. Honestly, could I have been given a better target for my most intense fascination? Well, to be true, I reckon everyone feels thus about their object of desire, their finest flower, their one and only unreachable attraction, so I'll not dis the fellers hooked on John Deere or the gals jived up on Prada handbags. But thanks again and again Higher Power for my obsessing over Christina Aguilera.It's been almost a year since aj took me to see my Muse in person, and as I recall the event it's with loads of pleasant memories that I reflect on the singing, the choreography and awe-inspiring performance of the HWOTP. (Of course, I must add right here smack dab in the middle of my laudatory remarks on X-tina that the concert was only eclipsed by the brilliant times spent with aj on our wild and wacky road trip surrounding the show!).
A couple months ago, for V-Day in fact, aj bought me the DVD box-set of the Back To Basics tour, and we've watched the production with bated breath and miles of smiles. I sit spellbound and entranced through each step and across every note. I highly recommend you watch and enter the ethereal realm of what being high is all about.
So, since it's been a minute since I've posted a pic or word about my favorite artist, I thought I'd jot down a snippet about what's at the core of my obsession.
She's blonde. She's beautiful. She's brilliant.
In her glory I bask.
I am blessed.
4 comments:
God gave me an obsession with books. That's cool, too, isn't it?
Cool, yes, but unless you start them on fire, they can't keep you warm at night. My obsession, on the other hand...well, I'd have as much of a chance at that as you will of seeing your library spontaneously combust (a word?) when you're cold. But hey, see John Deere and Prada above...I ain't hatin', I'm just glad I got the obsession I did. Peace...
As he rides into town the first thing he notices is the unnatural quiet. The tavern door swings purposelessly back and forth in the breeze. The empty water trough lies on its side in the street. A broken down wagon sits with rusted wheels in front of the abandoned General Store. The only sign of life is a tattered daguerreotype of Lady Marmalade nailed to one of the posts.
"Damn ghost-towns."
He turns his horse and rides on.
Well said. If only he'd found her, it'd have been:
"Touch of her skin feeling silky smooth
color of cafe au lait alright
Made the savage beast inside roar until he cried,
More-more-more"
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