~'Never Get Old' by Sinead O'Connor because it's a slow-motion moving song and it feels like an 'i came to the show by myself' song.

~Girl 27, an investigative flick based on a true story (from 65 years ago) of a rape victim hired along with a hundred or so other girls to perform a dance routine for MGM studio heads. not only did no one have to pay for the brutality, but her reputation was ruined and she eventually disappeared. oddly enough, her daughter went to work in the police force, retired due to injury, and taught a criminal justice class that my sister took. some may disagree, and i might even disagree with myself at some point, but sex crime is the most brutal and ever-lasting type of victimization imaginable.

~"The man least dependent upon the morrow goes to meet the morrow most cheerfully.", Epicurus


clearly, i'm working no theme tonite. i've got a party to attend tonite and some wicked boots to go with it. just going to drop in a couple of my marathon'd tales. i wonder if it's better if i tell you what words i was assigned AFTER the tale. ....hrmmm. let's try it.

here we go.

~~~

Mr. Porter

The kids think I'm a dolt. I'm not that much older than they are, that's the thing.
Like them, I want to yell YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I'M CAPABLE OF.

Part of me wants to explain my 'marshmallow shoe', tell them about the scar tissue. Tell them I played every sport. Part of me thinks they'd throw some sympathy my way, collectively say 'Hey, he's had it rough. Let's ease up on the guy.' and then volunteer to wash the eggs off my car.

Most of the kids drive new cars. They park in the teacher's lot but they aren't supposed to. Most days I end up parking on the street. I've had that car for 9 and 1/2 years.

Part of me wants to tell them that the consequence of injury is Geometry.

words: marshmallow & consequence

~~~~~~~

Courtesy of a Bandit

I could have worked at hospital or university. Certainly I've brains for it,
just not the proper tolerance.
I could never sit through seminar or academy conference with such windbags and their abrupt pomp. Not for me, I'm afraid.


I can lay in wait for hours, cramped in a crawl space waiting for a couple to leave; I have the ability to stand still long enough, silent enough until a family finally sleeps, not scratching my ear, not clearing my throat, not once.

Regard these nice velvet slippers which I prop upon a lounge chair. Regard the lounge on the deck of this ship for which I purchased a transatlantic ticket. In full, with paper money.

I have all of my hair which is kissed with silver just where it ought to be. My smoking jacket has someone else's monogram on it, but it is hand-stitched and lined with satin cool to the touch.

I'm lean, not winded. My custom- to eat slowly, to eat with my eyes, my nose and tongue, to leave on my plate several bites of food no matter how divine.
To leave a woman wanting, no matter how much of a gift she makes herself. This manner trumps all others as it can be learned but never taught.

I sip champagne, stamp a cigarette, request a dance in one fluid sweep. This evening, I've my eye on the widow with the ivory cone to her ear. I believe it safe to say that not one in this sizeable dining room has noticed the andalusite snap on her clutch.

I am a purveyor of purpose. Those I visit are ultimately thankful.
Once I've gone, they feel the fortune they have left.


words: trump & abrupt
~~~

cheers all. thanks for your comments and curiosities. clink.