Into each life some Richard Armitage must fall

So, tonight’s Wednesday of the first week of registration and I’ve had it. This is a night when I would normally retire to The Best Bar on the Planet (which I have in fact done, and am drinking Kulmbacher Reichlbräu Eisbock – Bayrisch Gefrornes — essentially the principle is that they let the beer freeze in order to take some ice off of it and thus increase the alcohol content — really tasty, slightly intense stuff, though not sure if I like the Kulmbacher or the Aventinus better, but I’ve been to Kulmbach, so) and flip through pictures of Richard Armitage — which I have also done. My favorite bartender is being very considerate and is reading the signs of “Serv doesn’t want to talk.” All in all a successful evening if I didn’t have to drink three beers to get here. Although beer prevents homicide, it also kills the ambition.

The initial story that founded this blog — that Richard Armitage made my life in January and February of 2010 possible, by taking it over — is just as true now. I just cannot stop looking at him and it’s something that I don’t really understand.

This is what I do — I have the “desktop” window open, and I can arrow back and forward between everything on that level. So I flip through the pictures, pausing at the ones that make me the happiest. The caps from the latest Hobbit film have been mesmerizing. So much action Armitage. So much long hair. So many moods!

Mesmerizing Armitage. I get lost in the shape of his hips, the angle of his smirk, the grain of his stubble, the jut of his jaw, the angle of his head. Every image calls to mind a performance. Eventually I decide on something to watch and I enter it in the harddrive search and when I find it, I pull it up. I look for the gesture that catches my attention, I watch through it, I back up and watch it again. And again. I retreat into my fantasies, Richard Armitage at a Halloween party, Richard Armitage at work, Richard Armitage private, Richard Armitage in bed.

Slowly my shoulders relax and my jaw unclenches. It’s not just euphoria or dopamine, although that’s a piece of it. I think that Armitage really serves as a reminder of creativity when mine feels far away. That was the point of the muse — that he made me want to want things, he reminded me to desire — and even flipping through those pictures methodically, like the ritual involved in venerating a saint — revives to me my desire on days when there has been no emotional space to want anything except quiet.

This feels lazy; I should be thinking about him, I should be planting that desire firmly in my solar plexus and writing straight from there. The quasi-sexual thrill should beget words, not just a haze. But for a long time, that haze has kept me going. The question is just: how to turn haze into fire?

I feel like I’ve forgotten that lately.

~ by Servetus on November 5, 2015.