INTERFACIAL POETRY

This blogger realizes that he is a short man. Well, average. Because her breast were at eye level I did not realize at first that her face glowed with a self-satisfied dullness, vacuity, and ugliness of spirit, though what came out of her mouth for several minutes grated the ears and hurt the soul.

She was a tall woman, with high heels.

And breasts.


No, I did not interface with the mammaries. Nor, actually, with the woman herself. I am extraordinarily fond of the opposite gender, but faced with certain obstacles my social urges take a hindseat.
I do not interface well with dingos.


Conversations yesterday covered the following, in no particular order:

Fermenting cigar tobacco, Monty Python, Nice, a gentleman with a rich inner life (imaginary wife, fifteen year-old daughter, and career as a jet-fighter pilot / brain surgeon / podiatrist / ex-marine), Cuba, meat balls, The Wellhausen Hypothesis, Anglo-Saxon verse, Tuna, what is chip-dip good for, vanilla, Donald Trump, somebody's son (Wesley), Houses of Ill Repute (great name for a band, btw), blinking lights, Port wine, poor students and the cheapest pipe tobacco, rabbinic beards, credit cards that wives do not know about, Ecuadorian wrapper (Connecticut seed broadleaf, grown in mist-shrouded valleys), iambic pentameter, caesuras ("cesuur" in Dutch, zijnde een rust na een lange versregel, meestens aangegeven door een puntkomma achteraan), usages of the semicolon, metal alloys like paktong (白銅) and nickel silver, cheese, hummus, boogers, ashtrays, trousers, computers, and type faces.

Remarkably, breasts were not discussed at all.

This may have been an oversight.


I feel reasonably certain that I could have imparted subtlety and intellectual vigour to a conversation about breasts, but unfortunately the subject did not come up even once, and other than registering that a particular person was endowed with them, I did not think about breasts at all yesterday.

In the grand scheme of things, breasts are relatively minor.

They have their place and most men approve of them.

But past the teenage years they fade.

They're nice, though.

Breasts.



UNNECESSARY AFTERWORD

Cigar leaf for the pipe needs to be steamed ("cooked") to mellow it out. It is best to use well-aged tobacco, with a large admixture of wrapper, as long filler may be too heavy even after processing. The first light will be slightly rough, verging on sharpness, but it will soon settle into an earthy resinous smoke with an undertone of sweetness. The tobacco should render down to a pale grey ash of medium grit, and whatever you smoke in that pipe next will initially have a faint cheroot-like ghosting.
It can be very rewarding.


Breasts come in a variety of hues and dimensions, largely within a fairly narrow set of parameters and specifications. Their ambient temperature renders them warm to the touch.

The nicer the personality, the more favourably they may be received.

I should like to discuss them at some point.




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