"How can it be I can taste you now?"
SAMMY'S SWEETER THAN SODA
In other words: pure pulchritude. And this song is just perfect. And I'm stumbling over words. And pictures are far better in these kind of situations anyway. Unabashed adoration.
Dean has the striking looks - instantly arresting; the exquisite bone structure, the obscenely full lips, the finely sculptured jaw and cheekbones... sculptural is certainly the word. He would've been the muse/slave boy of a Master artist if he'd been born in any century but this one.
Yes, he has bow legs, and that super short haircut makes his ears seem more prominent than they otherwise might, but without these imperfections he might, almost, frighteningly, be... perfect? It's the slips of that meister-sculpture's hand that make him so endearing though - he'd be too painful to look at otherwise: already my breath catches at strange moments, and I'm struck by a crippling inadequacy in the face of such beauty. My god, doesn't that sound ridiculous? I refuse to take it back though. He's sometimes beautiful in a way that... transcends humanity, so you (meaning, I) gasp at the spectacle of his captivating pulchritude: truly captive, the awed savage trembling in fear before the majesty of a god.
Sam, on the other hand, well, it's easy to suppose that he'd be completely overshadowed by the Adonisian big brother of his and, initially he is, and yet... he has a curiously gently covert mesmerising quality.
Sam, he reels you in - his voice drops into a euphonic sonorous bass rumble that sounds something like faith, suggesting and inspiring infinite compassion; his arms open wide, he's so quietly effervescent in his entreaties for you to just trust yourself to his gentle embrace. Gentle is clearly a word that comes up a lot when I think about Sam - and he is, he's so huge, but he's possessed of a real grace (physically and psychically) that despite the fact that it looks like he would bleed tears for you (for Dean, rather) to ease your way in anything, absolutely anything, like he'd devote himself unto you unto death (literally) if it meant he could make you happy, and he's so big, and so strong, and he's in perfect turmoil inside - by which I mean, he has so much compassionate love and mercy swirling in a vortex inside his soul - that it has to leak out in those glistening, puppy eyes of his; his quivering lip, his trembling hand - these aren't signs of weakness, oh no, this is something so strong a physical form isn't enough to contain it. Sammy, Full of Grace.
And so, like Nancy, you could believe (because everything is pointing that way) that he's a satanic serial killer, and yet, and yet, he's just so perfectly charming, even in chains, especially in chains, that the sweet little Red walks happily, with a tremulous, euphoric smile on her face, right into the jaws of the wolf *snap* O! I'd happily be devoured any day.
AND ALL OF THAT LOVE, ALL OF THAT LOVE & MERCY, ALL OF THAT PURE DEVOTION, ALL OF IT, ALL OF IT, IS FOR DEAN.
All of it is for Dean; because of Dean. Sam IS because of Dean.
I'm sorry if it's heretical, I'm sorry if it offends you, but I truly cannot see any other possible reading for them, for this show, for their relationship now. (Besides, Google totally agrees with me on this - do a search for Dean Winchester and it will ask you if you're sure you didn't mean Sam Winchester? Or perhaps Jared Padalecki? Sam Winchester offers up similar results for Jensen Ackles.)
So, in a word, or four rather (actually, make it five. Or even seven): My God, how I adore my show...
In other words: pure pulchritude. And this song is just perfect. And I'm stumbling over words. And pictures are far better in these kind of situations anyway. Unabashed adoration.
Dean has the striking looks - instantly arresting; the exquisite bone structure, the obscenely full lips, the finely sculptured jaw and cheekbones... sculptural is certainly the word. He would've been the muse/slave boy of a Master artist if he'd been born in any century but this one.
Yes, he has bow legs, and that super short haircut makes his ears seem more prominent than they otherwise might, but without these imperfections he might, almost, frighteningly, be... perfect? It's the slips of that meister-sculpture's hand that make him so endearing though - he'd be too painful to look at otherwise: already my breath catches at strange moments, and I'm struck by a crippling inadequacy in the face of such beauty. My god, doesn't that sound ridiculous? I refuse to take it back though. He's sometimes beautiful in a way that... transcends humanity, so you (meaning, I) gasp at the spectacle of his captivating pulchritude: truly captive, the awed savage trembling in fear before the majesty of a god.
Sam, on the other hand, well, it's easy to suppose that he'd be completely overshadowed by the Adonisian big brother of his and, initially he is, and yet... he has a curiously gently covert mesmerising quality.
Sam, he reels you in - his voice drops into a euphonic sonorous bass rumble that sounds something like faith, suggesting and inspiring infinite compassion; his arms open wide, he's so quietly effervescent in his entreaties for you to just trust yourself to his gentle embrace. Gentle is clearly a word that comes up a lot when I think about Sam - and he is, he's so huge, but he's possessed of a real grace (physically and psychically) that despite the fact that it looks like he would bleed tears for you (for Dean, rather) to ease your way in anything, absolutely anything, like he'd devote himself unto you unto death (literally) if it meant he could make you happy, and he's so big, and so strong, and he's in perfect turmoil inside - by which I mean, he has so much compassionate love and mercy swirling in a vortex inside his soul - that it has to leak out in those glistening, puppy eyes of his; his quivering lip, his trembling hand - these aren't signs of weakness, oh no, this is something so strong a physical form isn't enough to contain it. Sammy, Full of Grace.
And so, like Nancy, you could believe (because everything is pointing that way) that he's a satanic serial killer, and yet, and yet, he's just so perfectly charming, even in chains, especially in chains, that the sweet little Red walks happily, with a tremulous, euphoric smile on her face, right into the jaws of the wolf *snap* O! I'd happily be devoured any day.
AND ALL OF THAT LOVE, ALL OF THAT LOVE & MERCY, ALL OF THAT PURE DEVOTION, ALL OF IT, ALL OF IT, IS FOR DEAN.
All of it is for Dean; because of Dean. Sam IS because of Dean.
I'm sorry if it's heretical, I'm sorry if it offends you, but I truly cannot see any other possible reading for them, for this show, for their relationship now. (Besides, Google totally agrees with me on this - do a search for Dean Winchester and it will ask you if you're sure you didn't mean Sam Winchester? Or perhaps Jared Padalecki? Sam Winchester offers up similar results for Jensen Ackles.)
So, in a word, or four rather (actually, make it five. Or even seven): My God, how I adore my show...