the crime comes last of all

an exercise in blurring the truth.

Sunday, August 21, 2005

pretty girls, engineers, and tungsten

There has never been any magic for her in natural phenomena. Note the distinction - natural processes, biological events, can hold her in their thrall for hours, sometimes days, and leave lasting imprints on her view of the world.

Things like light, sound, physics, have just never interested her. It's not that the mechanics are too difficult, and when it's explained to her she understands, but they fill her with disinterest such that they fly out the opposite ear the second she grasps them. The hard sciences - hard as in rocks, hard as in cold and nonliving - all deal with things she's always taken for granted. Taking things apart, taking creatures apart and seeing how they work is fascinating, and the way in which the kingdom of biology has crafted its subjects is almost magical.

But the fact that light travels in waves, or the virtually indescribable complexities of forces like electricity and magnetism that allow the world to work, they're just cold facts, and their lifelessness fails to interest her.

Friday, August 05, 2005

you had a bad day.

Found it. It's rough, He's clearly a Harry Stu and there are some offhand references to romance and women that give her pangs of awkwardness - sympathy embarrassment, if you will - but there's some good moments. Not that she can judge. But she thought of doing it more than a year ago, and she didn't make the mistake of telling people to look.

The whirr of a helicopter flying by so close it feels like her hair will catch on the landing gear, the short blast of air as it passes overhead.

"If you look, you'll see places where the lesbianism has been excised." An old phrase, returned by an actress who's just learned a new word.

Monday, August 01, 2005

sing a sad song, just to turn it around

There's a woman on the bus - drag-queen Madonna - and she smells like cotton candy which at 8 in the morning makes it difficult to keep breakfast down. She stares at me surreptitiously at the bus stop, as if to say "no makeup? honey, you may as well just buy twenty cats now, 'cause you're dying alone."

I wonder where she works, since she takes the bus downtown. It seems so unlikely she'd be taken seriously in an office. Maybe she's a manicurist, or she works in a hair salon. Perhaps she manages the Le Chateau, she seems the kind of person who'll always be in high school.

There was a dream, and in it there was a girl, and they just slept, and it was beautiful. If she were an animagus, she'd probably be a goose. Downy-white, with mottled brown on her head and wings.


Daniel Powter - Bad Day