On the Deep Heart of Soul and Mind Transportation

"Las 9:37 y todo sereno" (9:37 and all quiet), would howl the old watchman on the streets of some Spanish or Spaniard town. And in all truth it is. I expected more of a ruckus, but things are soft and quite, safe from the Sun, that's rising up against my shaded, polarized window, pumping up the heat as if it where the one thing I needed to accompany my daily glass of bubbly, dark, refreshing Coke. The door to my office, made of glass and metal is open, held that way with a broken piece of light gray plastic that came off from whatever unidentified piece of furniture we all hope is not missing it. See? I don't mind having or not an office. I can work fairly well with the door open.

I can't work, though, without my music, so I hooked up my earplugs on, and pushed the play button on my iTunes letting the gates open for the flood of Dutch music (in English) break to the levees of silence and pour unsuspected into my ears in the sweet voice of Sharon den Adel, waiting for her glorious duet with Anneke Van Giersbergen. (And this is that very thin, very fine, very fragile point where all my cells, pouder for a moment a whim, to just push everything aside and say yes, I love them and if that makes me a lesbian for the lenght of the song, fucking be it. Those two worth it.) Music, this particular music is just... so transporting. Their voices, the sounds instruments and throats conjure cast such a dark, maddening hex upon us, dribling in our ears like the poisin in the King's ear in Hamlet. It makes us fly. It makes me fly. They make me fly. It's like the voices of dark angels guiding you in the chilly black night sky, in a trail of kisses and feathers towards an unknown destination that might be dooming, might be enlightening, but the trip itself splits self from body, consciousness from soul, rips you to your components, untangles the human and spread it so far apart pieces doesn't seem to match anymore. This looks a lot like a great day. 

I've plans to meet with Carrie for some fangirling, basically all about Supernatural - what else? -  and the last Episode "The Devil You Know", and the episode before that, and perhaps a few others down the way. After all, going the series down the trackthey are taking only two things are worth to do: fangirling and fanfic-ing. Not that I can complain, because at least Dean has finally stopped going all Twilight every time Sam breaths, and Sam has been losing his Marianne Dashwood mood too, so things are going back to two-hot-brothers-kicking-the-supernatural, with a few glitches on the way, totally forgivable because they are handsome. I know, that's so sexist, but I'm not watching the series because they are smart of curing cancer, or are you? (Yes, I'm a straight woman who appreciates male beauty VERY MUCH! Is there a problem with that?)

I'm thinking also about talking to her about my latest (one of them, at least) fangirling, fanslashing discoveries. You know, because among girlfriends all good things must be shared, and this one is so awesome! It's White Collar. As a matter of fact yesterday I proded the net for some pieces and found a few quite... ummm... so, cannon makes Neal the uke? Interesting. ^_^ Not like I oppose, oh dear no. It's just interesting that from... 15 stories I found basically none of them let dear Mr. Caffrey take any role other than the passive one. Could it be due to his anklet? Could it be due to his charm? Could it be due to the fact that he's basically pussy whipped by Kate? Be it as it may, I guess I'll keep... ummm... researching the phenomenon, looking for all other possible scenarios to the case. Another thing I noticed, Hell, the way they play Agent Burke makes you look again at the plain, kitten gentle, slightly goofy, won't-kill-a-fly, clueless FBI agent. The phenomenon here is much like the Snape phenomenon: he's not supposed to be much, just some plain, flat, graceless spot on the wall, the "annoyment center", but fanfickers pick 'em up from the dust their creators leave them and push 'em up, make them into breathtaking gods. When it comes to the point where you can't decide between Caffrey and Burke, and find yourself oddly leaning towards Burke a bit more, that's the grand, the unstopable, the all transforming, all taking, all possessing power of fanfickers.