H-E was an Amazon.

H-E was an Amazon. Intellectually and physically.

What, you may ask, is an Amazon, intellectually.

I’m not sure, yet I am not going to edit it out. I believe there is such a thing as an intellectual Amazon. I can work out what it is.

“Spam” is what I mean when I question why we care about some things and not others.

H-E is a beautiful woman, gorgeous, a model, attractive, highly desirable– for her looks, for her appearance.

When you get down to it, what is really loved is her shapely, long legs.

I say “loved”– I would think gorgeous, attractive, highly desirable, and so forth, add up to, or go to ground, or some other technical, mathesis, or methesis, or crackesis– “love”.

This is about determining what Amazonian women are intellectually. Did I say I loved you?

H-E struts about on her pencil sticks, her lickety splits, her old trombone, fee fi fiddle fee foe, fe fi from from from from. She has a good head on her shoulders, about fifty yards above her minstrelsy legs, doing the fandango, the hump and jump, the tap dance, going round the bend, beauty blend, come see me do my thing– or buy the magazine.

The photojournalism, the quick quipp, the zip of a file, a rile of the Nile, a woman waist deep, or a little below the knees, or a squeeze of the thigh, the lunge of Time-Life, the lunge expunge, the lung unhung,

Through all of this, and it was fun for H-E, she loved it– but she couldn’t do harm. Her image, for all the fun and exciting escapades in which she was photographed, did harm. Being a model, for all the fun and excitement, and glory, and excessive remuneration, wasn’t what the Buddhists called “right livelihood”.

Amazon intellectuality knew so, cared so, and would act so.