Welcome to another year's beginning at wonderful downtown Coma. Big news: We are still in operation. Twenty
seventeen and the site is still live. Wow. Well, we still own the space.
The move to mobile is progressing, and it is a big step. Admin will be the first. The change will enable everyone
to work outside the office -- from anywhere, really -- and communication is a non-issue.
For the new year there is a minor change of the date format heading each entry and nothing else. We are fairly
slow at the moment as things move around within the backend of the site structure. The current mood within the
office is representative of the flow of thought as well as the uncertain nature of our future.
read ( words)
"She sat there on the stool, facing away from us, and the manner in which her jeans, hips and waist were displayed
sent us into a tailspin. She wore somewhat low-rise jeans, acid washed, and the waist seemed to be nonexistent.
There was no waistband or belt loops, meaning the top edge of the jeans was smooth and thin. This provided an
incredibly smooth transition between her very narrow waist and the beautiful curves which led to her thighs. The
appearance of such radii without belt loops or compound material was fantastic. She had upper thigh compression due
to being in a seated position with her back slightly arched, and this provided a stark contrast to her exposed
midsection. The overall picture was that of an exaggerated hourglass. She was an incredible picture of the most
fascinating ratio. The compound nature of her upper torso, shoulder width, and miniature waist appeared as the
French curve of drafting class from so many years ago. Gorgeous, to put it mildly.
Every now and again she would unquiet her frame as perched in the center of the room and move toward the bar, and
during those short periods our mind went haywire. Her height accented all of the radii below and was accentuated
by a slender neck and framed by the flowing mane of a model. She carried the ratio of God -- a relationship of
numbers we do not know but have sought out for years. Just as in the long past, she appeared on a pedestal upon
which we would again soon ram our miserable head. There is no other way to live.
Her curves were impossible to avoid yet we did our best not to fall while in the room that night. We must always
maintain some semblance of composure around others -- certainly we must maintain while near the example.
The curves she displayed due to her position were the stuff of dreams -- our dreams -- and the resulting
imaginative mental illustration which rears its ugly head every single fucking time. The study of images can only
go so far, and one day soon the need for more -- the need to connect with private lives -- will become too much to
bear. We are close now, and the hip-to-waist ratio in question was and is the driving force behind everything. The
development environment is no longer enough. And as much as the editor has become our savior and friend there
is no way of comparing such to life. We still sit here for days on end, writing, pondering, whatever... Not
enough.
The Raven was there in front of us. Now she is gone, and there is no one else.
Of course we do realize that She was part of the catalyst for this current situation. She provided us with
personal insight and assistance we never expected. The emotional aspects of that relationship were as tender as
they could be savage. Whilst between those two states, well, we held each other up (such as it was). Due to her
physical appearance and willingness to allow any type of exploration, we became slightly out of balance with
regard to others. Her huge heart did not help, either. She let us in, showed understanding for our distorted
obsession, and maintained a consistently supportive stance regardless of what others might have thought. Now, we
go through the motions of life and some manner of living, and when those occasional sightings pop up, we become
crippled for a time. Once in a great while, though, the feeling does not leave quickly and we are left here in
front of the infernal machinery to attempt a catharsis of sorts. This is difficult to put it mildly.
The beautiful examples will never end, the need will never leave us, and the editor and staff will sit here
awaiting our commands. And the essays will never become more pleasant. Of course, we do explore other matters from
time to time, however that is only filler for the grand adventure of attempting to describe what we see and have
seen. There is just no easy path.
As others moved around the room, we remained in our position and attempted to gather as much mathematical
information as possible (knowing the experience would lead to these words), although she sat there oblivious. The
numbers began to inject themselves into our head and the resulting feelings forced the drop. The only upside to
the entire situation and evening is the fact that she will never know of the incredibly displayed proportions she
provided.
As she stood awaiting an order of coffee, the goddess appeared in discomfort somehow, and tentative near others.
No one in front or behind seemed to notice the unquestionably rare form among so many common people. The woman
remained still, and even from a distance we could see that she was unreal head to heels. Blonde wavy locks
surrounded her beautiful face and provided a silky beginning to what was below. She was extremely slender, yet with
the cut lines all over. Knees slightly apart, upper thighs showing Her dimensions, and a nonexistent midsection,
above which rested a pair of breasts which separated her from any other such thinness. The sight of her was
absolutely staggering to say the least, and we almost stumbled in passing.
Her breasts were vastly out of proportion to the remainder of her body, and they stood out beautifully from her
waist and stomach. They completely took over her midsection by creating shade below. Her tank top allowed bra
straps to be seen upon her shoulders, and the type of bra appeared to be unlined and seamlessly displayed fullness
which is very uncommon pushed outside such a slender woman. They appeared very heavy (and likely uncomfortable on
her upper back), very round and large enough to push both toward her front as well as to each side. From the rear,
this image is unbelievable and remains one of the most desired pictures of all -- the upper torso tapering down to
a tiny waist yet holding the roundness out past each side. Her upper body was unique, defined by a distinct lack
of fat, and pushed the boundaries of all we have studied throughout the past ten years. Naturally, the sight of
her nearly destroyed us. We needed to know, still need to know, and that lack of information has become crippling
at times. Still, we gazed at her form while we could. Those enormous breasts set her outside the norm by such a
margin...
... That the drop began. The woman in question had no idea of the frequent fallout due to Her loss last year, and
in no way could she. The Raven also displayed a large chest which was disproportionate to her slender body and
though the similarity ended there, stark memories took us over quickly and to this moment they remain. For months
now we have railed on about sighting the cut lines from time to time and within this sordid society, but now
the feelings are beginning to change. The obsession has become much more dire for our survival. The moments and
sightings have become a catalyst of sorts, and one which we cannot avoid. We are sent in an unmanageable direction
and end up forced into a choice -- one which questions living. We have been in said position since the cut lines
in the coffee line. Things are more than bad. Now, and on the eve of venturing into the forest for some
much-needed escape and relaxation, the possibility of more lines and radii in the cold means we must remain stable.
Historically, this has not been the case and the traumatic nature of being among such dimensionality and beauty
has sent us reeling in dangerous directions.
The woman in the coffee line was yet another example of how the numbers (which we do not know, still) can be pushed
in a specific way, yet still she appears extremely attractive to the eye. The distorted nature of her measurements
has become the basis for study like nothing else on earth, and yet we sit here and analyze until losing our minds.
Fuck.
Five feet seven inches of vertical space taken up by nothing less than a goddess defined by numbers, the likes of
which we can only imagine. Again, fuck.
Throughout all of time society has placed emphasis upon anything exaggerated, and the female chest is toward the
top of a long list. Unusual? No. Simply put, the breasts are a symbol of the female form placed out there for all
to see. And see, we do. Had some point in history not put a sudden stop to women baring their chest in public
(which is fine for males, and fuck our perceptions), we are certain the sexuality of breasts would not be the
issue it is today. Spoken to the point, these two varying parts of the female form do not represent the woman
carrying them, nor do they define any other aspect of a human being. They are there for a reason. Despite this,
and due to our backward and conceited society, they remain as one of the most discussed and impossible-to-ignore
aspects of human sexuality. They can be unbelievably gorgeous in their form and position, and as such have become
part of the struggle, difficulty, and ongoing obsession brought on by Her.
Though it was in passing, we could see that she was quiet and kept to herself. As related to our previous thoughts,
we remained at a distance and discreet. Causing her discomfort was undesirable and likely a situation she had been
put into due to her form. From our standpoint, the feeling of being under scrutiny may have been alien, however
she may have experienced a past filled with the worst type of attention. Yes, we study, gaze, and attempt to
describe attractiveness in great detail, but neither that fact nor our sordid desire will ever be license for
intruding into another life. As such, we do our best to remain at a distance and quiet. Gazing at such a work of
art is compelling beyond belief.
Spoken clearly and to the point, ours is a savage environment. We sit and ponder the things within this life, and
despite the open range of words at times, the end result fails. She stood there, we walked by, and now the fallout
commences. Said difficulty continues and will continue until the end of us (however not soon enough). We have
stated these words in the past and at length, but no matter, of course, because there is no end to anything. What
we see is a slow decay and decline into a pit from which there is no upward angle. The continuation of feeling and
falling is becoming too much for us to bear. We see no outlet, nor do we see any rise. There is only decay... The
decay of everything moral and ethical. Despite the unending beauty which occasionally moves within our view, we
cannot see a positive end nor any discerning from the downward thrust into fire."