the crime comes last of all

an exercise in blurring the truth.

Wednesday, March 30, 2005

hurry hard

A busybody-looking brunette, definitely stupid, and a leggy blonde with overplucked eyebrows, probably stupid, talking at a club. The camera switches focus to the space between their bodies, we see a skinny guitar player, all emo and elbows singing into the mic.

Monday, March 28, 2005

buy me a shiny, new machine that runs on lies and gasoline

I'm pretty, short and sly, and my shoes I've walked a hole through, pink and black - and it's blue outside, in the dark 'cause it's night and. . .tradition. In the Titanic graveyard my favourite monkey puzzle tree sits patiently, with a hole in its trunk for squirrels to play. I'm late for class in this town, caught between the ghetto and the old-folks home. There's a Christmas wreath up three months late in a freshly painted green-and-gold house, and next door it smells of weed with bedsheets for curtains.

Weakerthans - Reconstruction Site

Friday, March 25, 2005

my ribs that show through t-shirts and these shoes I got for free.

"I can't get the angle right," and suddenly there's a foot by her shoulder. Not exactly what she meant, but. . .damn.

Weakerthans- Aside

Sunday, March 20, 2005

and my stomach is sick, and it's all in my head, but she's touching his chest, now.

Her heart skips a beat and her belly hurts, whenever you're near and sometimes when you're not. Don't worry, it turned out to be appendicitis. She tumbles down, down.

Saturday, March 19, 2005

tilt ya head back. . .bring it back up slow.

Her pants are always too loose, the sweater I borrowed smells like potpourri.

Acoustic concerts in living rooms turning popsicle sticks into woodchips. Pink high heels pressed against her thigh across the table, even if it's cliche. Dean Martin songs and James Brown covers, butterflies and other things that make her insides hum.

Nelly ft. Christina Aguilera - Tilt Ya Head Back

Thursday, March 17, 2005

everything looks perfect from far away

Girls are stupid, and boys are stupid, and at this trendy wishes-it-was-twentysomething establishment that's really only frequented by fortysomethings, you want to kiss her and run your fingers all over her belly and bite her neck a little.

Postal Service - Such Great Heights

Tuesday, March 15, 2005

somebody makes me feel athletic and cool.

Six girls, wearing pink shirts in various degrees of niceness, from the Ralph Lauren polo in the middle to the Sears tank top on the far left. Five heads are bottle-blonde with dark roots and gelled curls, one mouse-brown and straight, walking in slow motion. Camera pans down to their shoes, then up to ass level while they walk by in their grey cotton sweatpans. Dal on three, McGill on two, paw-prints on the other.

A villain who wears a cape and carries a pocket protector, who shoots lasers out of a calculator and whose arrogance is cartoonish instead of offensive. He definitely gets thwarted at every turn, and probably doesn't understand why nobody comes to visit his giant cliffside space ship, even if they're invited.