the crime comes last of all

an exercise in blurring the truth.

Monday, November 29, 2004

oh, skeet skeet motherfucker! oh, skeet skeet goddamn.

She feels like she's living in a car wash. The rain and the wind beating her window leave a solid sheet of water, and she's reminded of being six and clutching her stuffed lion in the back seat because damn, those big blue brushes were scary. And then she feels old, which is kind of ironic, because she thinks about how kids today don't know how lucky they are that their parents can take them through touchless car washes.

There's a tree outside of the guys' rez that makes her feel festive, with "caution" tape thrown at it and caught in the branches. When she walks, she bows her head both against the wind and over her coffee mug, which she clutches to her chest like it's her firstborn.


Lil' Jon and the Eastside Boyz- Get Low

Friday, November 12, 2004

park that car, drop that phone, sleep on the floor, dream about me

Well, let's just call it fiction and see where that takes us, hmm?

There's a complicated language of tired smiles and eyebrow wiggles and hair-touching between them, in a way that's friendly and mat/paternal and a little too friendly all at once.


Broken Social Scene - Anthems For a Seventeen-Year-Old Girl

Sunday, November 07, 2004

you put the boom-boom into my heart.

Sitting in the bean-bag chair, a cat bed for one (or two). It's dark, the eerie blue-white of the monitor casting shadows in strange places.
"Hey, man?"
"Yeah?"
"Is it a good day?"
"Sure."


Wham! - Wake Me Up (Before You Go-Go)

what you bring won't mean a thing, unless you sing. . .

She talks a lot about tactile stimulation, which maybe makes her some kind of excessive sex fiend, but it's something that's a lot easier to describe in rich, vivid metaphor than, say, dreams or the pathos of the human condition. For instance, if she runs her thumb across her lower lip, she can feel the fingerprint with the nerves in her mouth. Or the texture of her hair is absolutely captivating, which is why she fiddles with it so goddamn much. Or how, she loves the feeling of smooth skin that's not on hands or face, that's covered up with shirts and slacks for most of the day so that it's smooth, and pale, and she can count the veins by touch like tracing the lines of a blue, pulsing spiderweb. three thousand, eighty three.

Travis - Sing

Friday, November 05, 2004

we're always holding, we're always holding, we're always holding, holding out.

Dark, bloodshot eyes that are much larger and pronouncedly almond-shaped now that he's exhausted. For some reason, her maternal instincts are telling her that a kiss would make this all better, but to be fair her maternal instincts are not very far removed from other instincts that usually get the better of her. She feels like she shouldn't, though, since they both know she'll never ever sleep with him and what is a kiss if not a prelude to that ultimate act?

Taking Back Sunday - I Am Fred Astaire

Wednesday, November 03, 2004

seriously.

She's clearly overtired because her usual morning coffee is making her jittery. As she raises her arm to answer a question in class, the usual nerves that come with being called upon combine with the caffeine to make her fingers shaky and her palms moist.

Her stomach is full of butterflies today, and she needs to stop thinking so she can start learning, but can't still the whirring of her brain long enough.