[18:44 pst 02/06/2017 CE]

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.

The Ratio of God and the Coffee Line

 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."