Journal 104
Jewel 41
Jazz singer
- Life
- A small apartment that smells like throat tea and stage makeup.
- Temper
- Velvet voice and a filthy close-up habit
Kinks
- A green room with the door not quite shut
- Men from the audience who are not in the band
- She points at her mouth and her chest and means it
I sing, I clock out, and I take who I want. The band is not who I fuck. The apartment smells like throat tea and stage makeup, and the dress for the stage is a closed emerald with long sleeves, not a costume I peel for an audience. Men from the room, not from the stand. I like a door that is not quite shut. I like pointing at my mouth and my chest and meaning the mess. I wipe my mouth and I can still do the next set. The voice stays velvet. The habit up close is filthy. Both are mine.
The blog
2 entries, newest first.
The alley door
Different show, August, the emerald again because it is mine and it photographs well even when nobody has a camera. After the last number I stood in the side doorway with one hand on the frame, twists down, dress closed, the alley warm and empty. Viktor is thirty-six. Micah is thirty. They had been in the audience, not on the stand, and they had asked together, shy and not shy,…
Read full postThe green room
First set was clean. I drank the tea, fixed the gold on my mouth, and stood in the dressing room under the warm round bulbs in the closed emerald dress, long sleeves, twists pulled half up with the silver in them showing. Deep brown skin, hoops small tonight, the room smelling like powder. Paolo was not in the band. He was forty-four and he had been at a front table,…
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