T. came over last night and we watched The Pillow Book (which is way less fucked up than some of Peter Greenway’s other films, let me tell you). Afterwards, we came up with a plan to draw on me as a scene at the next play party — which is next weekend. Yum. Must go buy washable markers and paint/brushes.

There’s a definite prohibition against taking pictures at play parties, b/c — hello to the invasion of privacy. Nobody wants to turn up on the internet in nothing but collar and cuffs. (Or, actually, some people probably *do*, but it’s still an invasion of privacy issue.) I think, though, that as long as the person(s) in the pictures are aware they’re being photographed, and consent, it’s acceptable.

My point being, *I* am not going to be able to see what’s drawn on my back, and I really want someone to take a picture of it. I think if I clear it with a DM first, and maybe even go in another room to take the pictures, it’ll be okay. Man, I hope so.

T. asked me last night *what* I wanted him to draw/write. I don’t know, actually. I guess I really *do* want to be a blank canvas. After all, the canvas doesn’t dictate what gets painted on it. Sometimes it’s crying clowns, sometimes it’s water lilies.

I’d prefer no unicorns, though.