the crime comes last of all

an exercise in blurring the truth.

Thursday, May 27, 2004

like avril, but sad. . .

There's a bitter chuckle in the hollow of her stomach. The music of pain.

She was doing great, chipper and all that - maybe a little sleepy - and then some Caroline Dawn Johnson on the radio and she's in a funk. In love with a close friend and all that.

Bugger.

Wednesday, May 19, 2004

just like you'll never get rid of your shadow. . .

Fuck. She rolls it around in her brain, swirls it round her tongue before it slides past her lips. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Not vituperatively (a vituperative diatribe, she read that somewhere, photographic memory for forty-dollar words), but like a cold shower - crisp. Clean. Not a word that Good Girls use.

Mmm, she can't even keep a straight face saying that inside her head. Of course she's not a Good Girl. She never was, if Good Girls wear pink and smile prettily and kiss boys that buy them dinner. Still, just because she's not Good doesn't mean she's Bad. She cusses like a farmhand and doesn't like wearing pretty clothes, but she's not Bad. She tries hard at school, flosses. . .she's a Nice Lady at the very least.

And Lady makes her feel swanky, like she should be sipping a martini in her mink stole with scandalous red lipstick that comes off on the rim of the glass. And that definitely makes her think of fuck, purred slow and sweet like late evening jazz.


She dreamed last night. It's inspired her latest fantasy, which is to kiss away shiny, sticky Lancome gloss that smells just like it did when she borrowed it that one time. In her dream, there was a castle and lip gloss and warm, slippery girltongue sliding in to play with hers.

Rat Pack - Me and my Shadow

Sunday, May 16, 2004

that there's comedy.

To misquote an anonymous Russian art critic:
 
". . .liberal ideas and the natural sciences lead young men to murder and young women to prostitution. . ."

Thursday, May 06, 2004

flames are hot. beer is cold.

She's really glad she didn't grow up in the 70s. Markers that are only visible under blacklight freak her the hell out.



Evil probably drinks Diet Pepsi, in teeny weeny cans. She almost walked out of a job interview on principle, because of the evil. Staying and being interviewed almost feels like selling out, she's already started thinking of ways to compensate for that little bit of evil by going out of her way to do trivial bits of self-affirming "good." Whatever. It could have been wearing black leather, then she would have known it was evil.

Saturday, May 01, 2004

can anybody find me. . .

She knows, after seeing that movie, (Ella Enchanted, for those playing the home game) that someday her princess in shining silver go-go boots will sweep her off her feet.

And there will be a wacky, choreographed celebratory dance number.


Queen - Somebody to Love