Porn.

In the middle of the multi-orgasmic task of cleaning my house (oh don't you wish you were me right now?) I took a break to look at some yarn.

I haven't been knitting enough lately. And yet when I look at the picture above (yeah it's handspun doesn't THAT just make ya gag with envy) I think, sometimes a ball of yarn or a piece of writing or a room with an unmade bed is a beautiful thing. Just as it is. There's no fixing it or making it into something else. I could knit that stuff up there into some really great socks that would be technically perfect (I'm definitely a type A knitter), but would they be more beautiful or complete than the yarn itself? Except that I would have added a layer to their artistry, sure, but I could do that hanging the skein from a bulletin board, too.



Maybe looking at a beautiful painting, even with naked people in it, is enough sometimes. You don't have to turn that Picasso into a porn movie, take nakedness or yarn or housework to the ultimate "finished" level every single time, because that would just ruin it, you know what I mean?