Friday, May 22, 2009

Sex has a Color, Alex

A painter was working all the day long in his workshop. He lived on an island (of variable size) near the Equator. He thought this would help him balance things. He thought it would help him balance the right and left hemispheres of his brain (the right side had always been subtly heavier and sometimes he would drift in that direction if he was running really fast) and to balance things on his head on the way home from the market and to balance his work and fuck. His wife was a hat designer. She tried to help him with running by designing him a hat that was heavier on the left side than on the right. The hat looked like this:
Or like this:

And came in a pink hat box like this:

The painter was now able to run in a straight line. He thanked his wife for the considerate gift and they enjoyed a delicious island dinner and some island sex.

But this had happened a long time ago. It happened when they were happy and the painter was successful. Now they were poor and ate frail, impoverished rats.

"I have to find The Most Beautiful Color," was the pervading thought the painter had, "to save my wife and ensure she will continue designing hats for people with inefficiently headshapes."

And so it was that the painter spent the entire winter of the Equator (a delicious time to be outside) in his workshop mixing paints. He mixed every color that was possible except for the one he was looking for. Then one day his wife stopped him and said "Painter, it is time for us to fulfill our Sex Need." And they had some more of their familiar island sex. When the painter's Michelangelo had finished painting the roof of his wife's Sistine Vagina in Biblical images, he fell into a deep and fast sleep. He dreamed of Sex.

When the painter awoke, he went back into his workshop and made the last color. While he was mixing it he felt a subtle feeling, as though he had been swimming deep underwater and had swam into a Vaginafish. When the color was finished he knew it was the color he had seen in his dream. He knew it was Sex.

He called his wife. "Wife!" She came and saw the color. Then they sold the color to someone who payed them a lot of money for it and they retired to a new island (which they had constructed on top of the old one) and ate plump, aristocratic rats.

The color experienced a number of adventures over the next few centuries but eventually came to rest in the Soviet Union Paint University's Chromatic Library. The color is notable for one thing more than anything else: in regards to it, objective and subjective qualities are reversed. Thus, the color has an exact, measurable and quantifiable emotional effect on any optical device that perceives it (living or otherwise), but the wavelengths of light it reflects and absorbs are unique to everyone who takes that measurement. The emotional effect Sex produces is somewhere between nostalgia, envy, and wispiness. It was blue to me.

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