Nope, I see very little chance of getting any sleep right now. I did doze off a while back, but woke up 45 minutes later, fully awake, and there’s nothing for it. I’m listening to very good music written by a good friend, who is some kind of genius composer, and can write incredibly brilliant songs in a matter of minutes, without any effort. I wish you could listen to it, because the lyrics are a very simple, direct message that could have been destroyed by the wrong tune, but my friend enveloped it in beautiful notes in… what… less than two hours, and what’s left is something that keeps playing in my head.
The song is about love, of course. What else is worth writing and singing about, except giantesses and tiny men and people that find themselves changing in size? I don’t know that there is anything else, except a good sandwich. And buildings. I love buildings. I love climbing them inside and out. I love heights. I suffer from no vertigo… imagine a giantess afraid of heights? There’s a story there, and I’m sure someone’s written it… I can’t remember who, but it was someone important.
When I was less giant, about 75 feet in height, my dad would put me next to him in his truck, and would take me to work with him. I had to wear a helmet that was far too big for my already gigantic head, and while he carried me, he’d supervise work that had been done and continued to be done on a building or homes or whatever was being constructed. I can’t remember his words, but I do recall the tone of command in his voice. I’d struggle to remove that ridiculously large hat from my head, and he’d tell me to keep it on. I remember the smell of metal and cement and tiles; the scent of steel coming from the building’s skeleton; the crunch of debris under his shoes as he walked. And I loved it. I knew, even at that pre-verbal age, that something important was happening: a building was being born.
So imagine my shock when I entered the giantess community, and witnessed my beloved buildings (any of them, really – even the ugly ones are pretty) being abused and tormented in ways too terrible to relate here. But you know what I’m talking about. Every time I encountered one of those images I’d close my eyes and whisper a promise. If I ever grow hundreds of feet, or thousands of feet or miles or universes, I will make it my mission to “discourage” any giantesses from assaulting buildings in that manner. And by discouraging, I mean the kind that is immediate, and terminal. It’s the only way to get it to stop, since talking and blogging about it does very little to forward my cause.
Everyone seems to disagree, but buildings are not for sexy times. Can you picture it? All the gargoyles and sharp corners, and the radio antenna? And all the cracking glass? No, no, no! Those sorts of materials are things that don’t belong inside very delicate, tender tissue. What belongs in there? I’m sure that depends on the giantess, and I’m certainly not going to discuss such crass topics here, but I’m sure a building does not go there. That’s simply not how I raised myself. Shit. These disagreeable thoughts are killing my buzz. I’ll be right back.
(A minute later…)
There. Much better. All I’m saying is, if you have to watch a sweet, tender-fleshed giantess go at something giant, then peel and polish her a tree, for chrissake! So easy nowadays. Look, sure, I can’t possibly claim I’ve never arranged myself fetchingly against the facade of a building in order to get some flirting done. There have even been some times I might have accidentally shaved a few feet off a building with a wayward elbow or knee because I was distracted, but that’s always some little guy’s fault, and never mine. And there was that one time, a very long time ago, I…
As you were.
P.S. Also, did you realize the… shit. The collage shadows are all wrong. Oh, hell.