Miranda here, with my report on the Vicky book. I will give it
to Miss Featherington tonight, but wanted to show you all first, in case
I missed anything that you might catch and then I could correct my report
before that librarian reads it. You all will help me, won't you?
I know you will 'cuz you're all such swell pettes.
So, lots of bad things happen to them, but everything is all right in the end, with true love happening in all the right places to all the right people. But the really important thing is that one hundred years after Olive Goldsmith wrote about the Primroses, her book was made into a Victorian play, with great costumes, I'm sure. And the play's name was Olivia, just like the movie that was shown at the Odeon last spring. I can't tell you much about the movie 'cept that there were pretty costumes and all the girls fell in love with all the other girls. I mean brunettes fell in love with blondes and the other way around too, of course. But it was a swell night at the moving pictures, I can tell you that, especially since we each got to eat two choc ices so they wouldn't melt, and we were all quite willing to do our bit for the Empire.
Girls, do you think I should spell out the word "except" instead of just using 'cept?
Well, here she is, girls, behold the formidable Miss Featherington herself! It seems that after three champagne cocktails and a bit of dignified dancing, Miss Featherington removed her suit jacket and relaxed a bit: underneath she was wearing this gorgeous sleeveless silk shantung blouse with delicate beadwork round the collar. Miss Featherington's long, almost black hair is done up in high Kadorie style and her dark eyes are so forgivingly soft that we should feel quite weak-kneed ourselves were they directed at us. Is this the face of an implacable martinette, a stern disciplinarienne? We suspect that Miranda might be exaggerating just the slightest smidge; perhaps she does not want the Library to become as popular as the Aphrodite Cocktail Bar. Can't say we blame her!
For me (although they were only the minorest of characters) they were the most important thing in the film. I adored them all along, and the moment when they were briefly separated was the most magical moment in the photoplay. It was charming that their unison was an affectation and not an affliction, and wonderful beyond words that they made every moment of life the Theatre for their delightful Act.
Shouldn't we all do that - make of life a gorgeous, glamorous Theatre? Isn't "life-Theatre" the very soul of Aristasia?
With a heart overflowing with love and delight,
I am your,
We do know how you new pettes feel. It is difficult to dissociate blondeness from hair-colour at first. The present writer is so blonde in character that at first she wondered about golden wigs and hair-colouring, so worried was she by what some one was sweet enough to call my "Dark, Exotic Looks", pigmentally about the opposite of blonde. But light hair really does not suit my colouring at all. However, I soon realised that a blonde is a blonde whatever the colour of her hair, and if she is as blonde a blonde as I am, she cannot possible hide it. If I pretend to be a brunette, girls just laugh kindly and (if they are brunettes) pinch me to prove I'm not. "There," they say, "What a blonde squeak!"
I'm looking for an Angel
To sing my love-song to
But until the day that one comes along
I'll sing my song to you.
For every little fault that you have,
Say, I've got three or four.
Those little human faults you do have
Make me love you more and more.
You may not be an Angel,
But still, I'm sure you'll do
And until the day that one comes along
I'll string along with you.
Oh, darlings! I am melting!
My second reason for writing is more serious. (Please feel free to exclude this from the bar conversation if you think it inappropriate.) From my understanding of Aristasia, there are Blondes And Brunettes, the distinctions based in nature and personality rather than physical appearances. Though I have tried to reconcile my thinking to this outlook it refuses to give way and I continue to feel as if something were missing; a void which inevitably takes the shape of a Redhead. I have tried to carve up my ideal Redhead into the shape of a fiery Brunette or mischievous Blonde, but to no avail. Something intrinsic always seems to be lost in the process. Please help. I love Elektraspace, yet it feels as if I'm partially blind; I can see red and blue but not yellow, so I can't make all the colours. Are you absolutely sure this duality is a true reflection of the real world? Any response would help. Thanks for listening,
This is a touch complicated, so hold on tight. First of all we must understand that there are two Aristasias - 1) the pure, ideal Aristasia in which men have never existed and 2) the Aristasia we create on earth. This latter is called Aristasia-in-Telluria.
Now, in the ideal Aristasia hair-colour is a secondary sexual characteristic. Blondes are born with light hair and brunettes with dark hair (actually some brunettes are born with light hair, but it darkens during early childhood). Despite the amusing modula of Strangers in Paradise entitled "Red-Headed Love", it is not really true that in the ideal Aristasia red hair denotes ambisexuality. Actually both blondes or brunettes may have a distinctly red tint to their hair, but they are still unmistakably blonde or brunette.
Now, in Aristasia-in-Telluria it is quite different. Hair colour is not a secondary sexual characteristic. A blonde may have dark hair, light hair or red hair and it makes no difference at all to her sex. A brunette may have platinum hair without being any less brunette. The present writer is, in fact, a raven-tressed blonde.
Don't worry if this feels a little strange at first. You'll get used to it - we all do.
Flora and Nora are as inseparable as Siamese twins, so a girl does not date Flora or Nora, but Flora and Nora, which can be rather an expensive proposition, particularly as the both have very hearty appetites. Aside from the extra expense, it is almost like dating one girl. No one has yet quite figured out how to dance with them, though if you take them to the movies, they will let you sit between them, a hand in each of yours, which they will squeeze at the very same moments in the film, with identical pressure and duration, accompanied by identical squeals. They even sob in unison at the sad parts. The other girls are always looking for a pair of brunette twins to set them up with - that might be the only way to separate them. Do you know of any?
I'm so glad I found you. For years I thought I was the only one (other than my husband) who tried to live life as it is intended. Clearly defined ideas and roles. I have been fortunate enough to have not gotten too lost in the changing times. For instance, in our family, I am definitely NOT the one who wears the pants.
I've taken to opportunity to back read the comments posted here to attempt to get the feel of the group. I have found it to be both most interesting and informative. I have also printed out the welcome message and traveller's Guide. Until I have had a chance to read and absorb the information, I have decided not to try and use some of the unfamiliar terms (to me anyway).
I am happy to say that my husband fully supports my feminine outlook and never argues over the costs involved. Since we live in a VERY large city, he even helps me shop. Often, he discovers items which seem to be overlooked by the pit (am I using this right?) inhabitants. This has included a specialty store which carries girdles (with stocking tabs) and a major department store which actually has garter belts for everyday wear (Not just the "Anniversary or Birthday" junk). Since I have the ability to wear "Real Clothes" to my office, these are extremely welcome. And, I know my hubby appreciates them as well.
In closing, just let me add a comment to Angela as to my opinion of how one wears her garter belt. Panties on the outside is much more convenient for practical and aesthetic reasons.
I am looking forward to further exploring Femmeworld and have written for access into the Aphrodite area. I can hardly wait.
Until next time,
But that's neither here nor there. What is, is that Miss Barbara insists everything be just so at her parties: you know, invitations done in that gorgeous copperplate hand of hers, hors d'oeuvres right out of the most up-to-date Fannie Farmer cookbook, only real clothes, real music, real dancing, real party games. And so forth. So Miss Barbara asked me to bring my Kadorian Speed Graphic camera to her parties. You know, the 4-by-5 press camera that all Trentish and Kadorie newspaper photographerettes use? So I took at least ten plates, that's twenty photos, and the pictures are just back from the lab! There is a great one of the little blonde McFadden twins, Flora and Nora, trying to act Very Grown Up, and another of the Three Bongo Girls in the dressing room engrossed their own particular transformation into storybook Kadorian blondes, one of Miss Featherington looking rather un-librarian-like (is this a face that launched impositions of hundreds of lines?), one of Miss Barbara... Well, why go on? I'll just show them to you!
[Due to sunspots or something, we were unable to show you Leslie's stunning photos today - Elektraspace diffies - but we will try to post one each day from now on until you have all seen the whole photo album! All we could manage is a photo of Leslie looking over the album and having a giggle.]
Angela and I spoke after the party about how she felt wearing new clothes and trying on a new persona. After she told me that coming to the party was the best thing she ever did, I encouraged her to write down her feelings about it for you pettes here. She hadn't told me the bit about feeling waves of naughtiness, though, and that was the part of her story I found the most interesting.
I think I know just the sensation she means, and for me it is the pleasure of defiance coupled with a sultry sensuality that comes from expressing my innermost femininity all of the time. The greatest irony, though, is that when we put on our girdles and stockings, and when we don our hat and gloves, we are about the least naughty pettes in the world! Still, we are disobeying Daddy Octopus, aren't we, so perhaps that is where those feelings of being naughty come from.
Which puts me in mind of something Susan B. Anthony once said. Yes, she was playing on the wrong team, but this little thing she said was still spot-on I believe. She said that resistance to tyranny is obedience to God. And it is true, isn't it? Resist the Octopus and you are obeying Dea. Be the fluffy feminine girl you already are on the inside, the innocent little thing outlawed in the Pit, and you are resisting its tyranny and giving your obedience to the Light.
All my naughty, but in the right way, love,
I was just sitting here thinking about bells. Yes, bells. Stop to think a minute about bells and you'll realize that they are everywhere in the Free World: church bells, school bells, ringing triangles calling ranch hands to chow, bells on their toes, The Miracle of the Bells, The Bells of St. Mary's, The Three Bells, Serenade of the Bells, The Liberty Bell, and so on.
Now, I don't have the foggiest idea why bells are everywhere in the Real World, and nowhere in the Pit, but, may I try to be terribly clever and guess? My guess is that bells have an important metaphysical meaning, and that though the Real World was not aware of that meaning, it was still rooted enough in Tradition to use bells as symbols. Am I right, fair sagette? Or am I just hitting a wrong note?
But of course you are right. As right as ninepence! The sound of a bell is traditionally the audial equivalent to the rays of the Sun. The sound links us together, even as does the thread of the Solar Spirit Herself. Bells call us to be together, whether at learning or at worship, or at the simple daily ceremony of dining together at table (note how this ceremony too is under attack in the Pit). In the Old World, bells were always mounted on police cars, fire engines and ambulances, and it is significant that these were replaced first by blaring klaxons and then by wholly unnatural electronic bleeps devoid of any possible human significance and symptomatic of the ethos of the Pit, at once inhuman and clownish.
On our ordinators at the Embassy we have recorded the sound of a bell and installed it into the system, so that the machines ring at us in a civilised manner (rather like real typewriters) rather than bleep.
Every aspect of Pit anti-culture is designed to poison our souls, and the attack on the golden or silvery ring of bells which has linked human beings together from time immemorial - their replacement by cold, dead alien electronic noises - is all part of the same pattern.
Well, I thought I was going to reveal a great secret, but then one of the New Girls, Angela, went and spilled the beans, let the cat out of the bag, stole my thunder! Well, by Dea, I'll tell you the secret just the same, as if Angela hadn't even uttered a peep. So here's the secret, Darlings, straight from Norma's own maggie, McCall's. This is the actual picture and copy from an up-to-date Kadorian ad:
Anybody can have a better figure! Anybody can look better, feel better, wear clothes better, get around better, do bigger and better things, all by placing the body under the slimming, trimming, soothing, smoothing influence of a girdle or panty-girdle, which nowadays come in light-as-air, pleasant-to-wear, elastic yarn fabrics ... they stay up at the top, down at the bottom without pinching, binding or twisting ... they're as flexible as your young bones ... and they're at most stores!
"But, but..." you New Girls will say, "We cannot find such things where we live, so why do you show them to us at all? You will only make us envious of our Kadorian sisters." Ah, but Darlings, don't overlook the miracle of Fleeming, which, as Miss Barbara and Mrs. de Culver have pointed out on numerous occasions, spirits Real things across the Iron Curtain to us here in Aristasia-in-Telluria.
I have shown you a true Kadorian ad, and now I shall tell you a true story about Fleeming. I live in an isolated part of Pit-america where fleeming may be good for up-to-date bulldozers, blowtorches and pipe wrenches, but there is precious little in the way of Real feminine clothing to be had - there is hardly anything from Infra-Quirinelle, even. Moreover, since I am a very tiny pette, only five feet one inch tall, it is hard to find clothing of any kind that fits me, even bongo clothing.
But, by the good fortune of visiting this very Aphrodite Cocktail Bar every night for six months, I met a kind pette who lives in that part of Pit-america where there is a Mother Lode, so to speak, of up-to-date feminine fashions. And guess what! This wonderful Aphrodite Cocktail Bar patronette took down my measurements over Elektraspace, went "custom-fleeming" for me, and mailed me the most adorable up-to-date fashions which fitted me perfectly! Best of all was a baby-blue, six-gartered Kadorie girdle, - the very same hue as the one Angela found in the Changing Room, (what a quincie!), which I told you all about last summer right here in the Cocktail Bar [See Archives 32-35], when four ounces of elasticized yarn transformed me from Brenda, brunette career girl, to Blanche, Kadorian houseblonde.
So I can vouch that sweet little Angela is telling the holy truth: clothes make the woman! Put on these garments and the same will happen to you, I promise! But I was so newly a blonde at the time, and so blondishly shy, that I dared not show you my picture, taken just after the Fleeming package arrived, showing me pulling on new brand-new Real stockings. But now, after seeing Angela's rather, um, steamy account and her lovely self-portrait, my picture seems really quite tame and modest, because all you can really see of my new six-gartered girdle is one satin garter tab! >Tee hee.< So here it is. If it helps just a single one of you switch to Real fashions, it will have been worth it!
BLANCHE, KADORIAN HOUSEBLONDE
But darlings, if you would like such a garment right away in your exact size. Pop to this delightful girdle emporium.
I know a very up-to-date Kadorie song that begins without a verse
at all. In fact, the first lines are bragging about that very fact. You
might not have heard this song yet, because our wireless just began playing
it regularly last week (it's that up to date)! We get real good
reception from Kadoria, y' know. Songs from Vintesse come in a bit scratchy,
but Kadorie songs are as clear as if they were coming directly from our
very own Quirrie station, just down the street! Well, anyway, here is the
song, and I hope you'll like it. I know you will. Who wouldn't?
There is no verse
to this song
'cause I don't want to wait
a moment too long to say that
I'd love to get you
on a slow boat to China
all to myself alone.
Get you and keep you
in my arms evermore.
Leave all your lovers,
leave them on a far away shore.
Out on the briny
With that moon big and shiny,
[Instrumental] I'd love to get you
on a slow boat to China
all to myself alone.
A twist in the rudder
and a rip in the sail,
drifting and dreaming,
Throw the compass over the rail.
Out on the ocean,
far from all the commotion,
melting your heart of stone.
I'd love to get you
on a slow boat to China,
all to myself,
(with nobody else, yes,)
all to myself alone.
Some one has described Aristasia as "one long conversation". Well, Aphrodite is rather like that. If you want to catch up on the conversation so far, the Archive is the place to do it.
And here are LOTS of delightful girly places to go
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