forgive me father, for i have sinned...


the crimes of passion, one does in the name of love. Routing on the topic of what i would possibly develop into a full-fledge creative piece...stuck deep.
The plot that would unroll seems too deviant in nature to comprehend, even in the well-meaning crimo books. how can a psycho killer, murder women base on PAGE BY PAGE descriptions from what a murder-she-wrote writer enscript for a living? sighsy...

but the interesting idea that the book does bring up would be that relationships, even those between complete strangers, might be the most intimate one ever held. was musing on a piece called, "strange bed-fellows" or something...

The intriguing part would be, how you would wake up on a daily routine, seeing the same person next to you from a different angle you never noticed. 1. Cuddles up to Toys, 2. Doesnt brush teeth...or so on and so forth. Being able to have a camera-like intensive imaging of someone who you know like the back of your hand, pin-pointing with microscopic precision what exactly it is that makes them tick....that would be TRUE art.

Then there would be the stifling bits, where you would find this form of intimacy of a killing kind, something like a diease that knaws at your very being, the depths of your soul that tells you not to even considering being with the person, that tells you that eventually it might all go up in hot smoke. HOGwash. Strange bedfellows....yet stranger habits....with a mysteriously weird e-motional reaction....now, who's the strange one?

Analogue one:

She came into the room through the day-washed curtains as she gazed lovingly at her L-over. He looked so peaceful all cuddled up to the bolster, serene with his wispy hair flopping over a slightly crooked nose caused by an ancient fight. As she looked, her eyebrows furrowed as she pressed her lips tightly together. Happy thoughts, happy thoughts, she quietly reminded herself as she fanned her flustered face with a free hand. He might not be the greatest personality you could find, but she knew that he had something inside, deep inside that might allow her to access him from. A platform or so. But for now....

- Really.... flowery english with a twist of lemon for spice...


Analogue 2:

She sat up in the bed and looked around the room with disgust. His room was in a worse state then what she had left it in a few hours prior to this. She swore as she swung a scrawny leg over the edge of the bed and into goo. Half-eaten pie on a plate. She swore loudly as she shoved the sleeping figure next to her. He barely moved, lost to the dead. There was a long pause, and then soft draws of stifled sniffles.

- and yes....the usual. He was NOT who she thought he would be, OR in this case, become.

Right.... SOoooo strange bedfellows might be a good idea to start with, but at this pt in time with my darn take home test to complete....this is hell of a lot of thought to be delving into. now...if you would excuse me, i need to return to mine. ^-^ "PooH Bear".

ZzzzzzzZZZZzzzzzz.....ZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzZZZZZZZZZzzz.....