Friday
December 23, 2005
SGN.org
Volume 33
Issue 51
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Wednesday, May 22, 2013
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Lipstick and Lust |
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| Ho ho ho, and all of that folderol, and a new sci-fi jazz up this Lipstick and Lust | ||
| By Rajkhet Dirzhud-Rashid
- SGN A&E Writer
It's as if The Goddess herself went crazy with her own glitter powder and dusted all of the leaves, patches of grass and just about everything else near where I live. In fact, walking home the other night from The Cuff's Full Moon Party (where yours truly did her gig as tarot reader) I had memories of my days in Chicago. Twenty degrees and frost is definitely not 80 below zero, but, there's no wind chill factor raking through me, and no wind called 'The Hawk', making my teeth chatter. Still, honey, it's bundlin' up weather, and am I ever glad to have an ever expanding supply of lipgloss and lip balm (can't wait until the 'lip ganache' from Anthropologie, which smells like chocolate is in my hot little hands!) to keep my lips soft and kissable. Now, if only I had a redhead to kiss! In the mean time, here are a couple of new things I highly recommend trying to keep your skin soft and touchable. First, I am in love with Dolce and Gabbana's pour homme eau de cologne, and my little sample of Salavatore Ferragamo men's fragrance. They're both fresh and clean smelling, with a hint of floral that's not too 'femmy' and they make me feel like the butch top I am. So does Hanae Mori's pour homme scent, which is great for dressing up, or just making an ordinary day special. Heck, I may never return to perfume again! And, the sample of Fahrenheit I wore the other day (I think I mentioned this one in my last column), got this very hot little chickie to smile at me and give me the 'come hither' with her smile. Hmmm, hmm, hmm! I also swear by Yves Rocher's 'Wrinkle Reducer' day, which keeps people thinking I'm 30, not the 49 and a half I really am, and that, as Martha would say, is a good thing. And yes, I'm totally loving the Urban Decay glitter powders from Sephora (which you must try if you're going out on the town this holiday season!). My fave's the 'Pina Colada', which smells good and gives one that little bit of zip on the eye bones and lids that look so sexy in the dark, party lighting. And, darlings, if you haven't finished your X-Mas shopping (hey, at this point, shorthand for 'Christ MAS' is everything good, no?) I have a few recommendations that will perk you up, and you won't even have to travel downtown. How good is that? First, if you're on Capitol Hill, and near the SGN, do, do, do go by The Tea Suite (1605 12th Ave, Seattle), which is located right at the front door of the building housing the SGN offices and pick up one of the lovely gift boxes Naima's put together for those tea lovers on your list. Or, you can pick out one of the many delicious teas, and put together your own gift package, with some incense, which you can also pick up there. A couple of tea lights and there you are, the perfect gift in the right color and the right size. Every time they enjoy a hot cup of tea on a cold evening, they'll think fondly of you! Or you could take a little journey off the Hill, and check out all of the ethnic books, calendars, ornaments and jewelry at Carol's Esscentuals which is located on 23rd and Union, right near the post office. Hey, the last time I was there shopping for some friends' gifts, there were Christmas cookies, so, have a little cheer while you're choosing that unique gift. So, go out there, and get something really good for your dear ones this year! Ah, and I have a little gift for all of my faithful readers - all 10 of you. The kick off, Christmas installment of 'Prayerland', the new sci-fi/fantasy story that'll be filling this space for as long as the characters want me to create them. Hey, I'm just the writer, and they do the directing. So, enjoy this prelude to 'Prayerland': I thought it would take longer, fall apart slower, or something like an uprising would stop the torpor the mainies went through back in the eights, but I guess Goddess wasn't listening to my desperate pleas, or the hopped up promises of the 'heads or slows either. Nope, no one seemed to be listening and whether it was Mount St. Helen's blowing her head off, global warming, or the terrorist attack The Moron (we all started calling him that so much so that whatever name he had before just got lost) expected doesn't matter. What does matter is that the whole world just imploded and went to shit in shopping car. The gangs took over the housing projects, and those who could, who had what little currency was still worth anything built The Fortresses of Light, barricaded themselves in and forgot the ones who had to survive in the decaying buildings of the 'jects, on the fringes of just about every modern city. And that's how I became 'the sheriff', again. Yeah, yeah, I know what you're thinking, this one's all gone on the 'death', or into the Angelic Stream or some crap like that, her believin' she lived before and shit. But hey, I got memories, I know, hell, sometimes I can taste the dust, smell the gunpowder, feel the dick I used to have way back then, when the world was about cowboys and saloon girls and me and Rose were an item. Anyway, now I just look out for my own, the folks that jump at the sounds of night closing in, stuff they know is happening just outside their windows, but aren't strong enough to face or do anything about. Folks like the Kaygers down the hall from me, living on what he can make from letting the 'slows' and the 'heads' occasionally use his place to 'find the peace', and hand outs from some churches who took over after all of the other funding just dried up like beans in the sun. She's preggers, due any day now and I make sure she gets at least a scant amount of good stuff by once in a while breaking my own code of 'sheriff honesty' and 'liberating' some fruit and veg, or a bottle of vits from the one decent store on the other side of town, where the 'Puplics' live. You remember them, the ones who brought this all down on our heads, by being too greedy and stupid to see where their dollars to the war back in the eights, and the nines, and so on, would get them. See, the war never ended, and that's one of the things that ended it all, and made it so I'm walking down the street, with puloined goods, not feeling a shred of guilt, watching a few old birds sharing fire, barrel and stick kind in some alleys on my way. I'm on my way to see her, my lady, the lady, the only thing that can twist my gut sideways and who I truly believe I've loved passionately for five lives now, or maybe seven, who's counting. All I know is I'm actually whistling some old tune, maybe opera, when a sound in one of the alleys puts me on guard. And I see her, all bones and matted hair, and that raggedy punk look that means she's one of the 'heads', and I can smell the dope-sickness as she runs past me, smell the fresh blood, see the fear, the sorrow and hopelessness in those faded blue eyes. 'Hey, hey, goddamit, hey&.' She just keeps on running, or more hobbling away and that sound again and I know, I know what's in the alley, wrapped in something she cobbled together after she stopped long enough to be almost human. 'Here, here, come to mommy little one&' A face, dirty as the girl's and much healthier looking under that dirt, looks up at me and my heart just breaks into glass shards. 'She's gone kid, sorry, but hey, it's Yule, so why don't I just&' Movement to the left and the right and I gently put the kid down, and he, she, hell I haven't had time to check yet, starts hollering like mad. 'Not today jacks, I'm not in the mood, it's Yule, ya know&' And they're moving fast, like rangy dogs, bottles in their hands, and me in their way to this night's high. But I'm faster, meaner and in no mood to negotiate. One lands a solid punch to my head with the empty bottle, and pain sings, but anger sings louder. It's over in three heartbeats and I don't even realize I've killed the slugger until I raise my hands and see blood dripping, his blood, and see his throat and face bleeding. The other one takes a step and I kick him hard in the jewels, follow that with a few hard punches to his face, keep on hitting him, until he too is on the alley ground and his blood is also on my hands and my hands are so sore I just want to cry, but I don't, I pick up the kid, and take him home to Jelly, my girl, the one I rescued from her pimp too long ago. 'Oh, wow, what happened, and who is&' She stands there in panties, a pink, lacy thing that I just love her in, her nipples showing through like sweet fruit. 'I found us a kid, 'ain't that mofo&' She takes the kid, we all wash-water's occasional these days, so when you use it, you have to make it worth something, wash, drink, cook, all at one time. You never know if there's going to be a shortage again, or something will fuck up the already fucked up plumbing in this hole. Then we sit by candlelight, all in a pile, skin touching, warm and eating the food I got from one of the banks earlier and we share fire, puffing on the sticks, letting the burn in our throats and lungs lull us into thinking good thoughts. We here sirens, here the tinny voice of what's left of 'The Law' outside, some guy pleading, gunshots, shouts, things breaking and when the kid's finally asleep, we touch and love like wolves. 'Yeah, that's it, that's it, I'm so close, hmmm&' Her mouth is like air, like the moon, like banquets we will never have because there are no stamps, no cards that can buy us what we need anymore, and what there is occasionally. 'Merry Yule honey, honey, honey, and let's hope it's a better year&' I grind against her, going for touchdown, slick with sweat and she's pulling my 'locks, digging into my scalp beneath my 'naps and I'm kissing her like her tongue is fire and I'm freezing to death. We cum like a hundred riots and then we sleep, the kid between us, happy family, happy here, with no heat, no money and not sure about tomorrow, not hearing more sirens, more screams, more gunshots and someone banging on a door, somewhere in our building and once again, I dream, of a place I call 'prayerland', where the animals have evolved and live in peace and there's plenty to eat, fresh air, clean water and we live in the country with horses, chickens and our cats that we don't have yet. Yeah, 'prayerland' we'll go there, she and I and the kid, one day. So, there you are, Christmas in the year 2019, not pretty, but hey, what'd you expect, Hallmark? Have a great holiday and tune in two weeks from now for more of 'Prayerland'. And by all means e-mail me your thoughts and wishes, but can the spam, as I'm so bored with that. E-mail me at ijanaral@yahoo.com. Buhbye now! |
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