"It's hard to say 'Oh well, Ok.'" - Elliott fucking Smith
So, it's really difficult to write about things like the studio, and the band, and the boy, and the cats, and spending 8 bucks on a Ukrops salad and putting the wrong kind of dressing on it when your eyes are dry and bloodshot, and you've got a hideous headache from crying, and the cigarette in your hand won't stop shaking, so I'm not. Instead I'm going to write about the time that I thought I was going to be arrested for murder.
I was 8. We lived by this little creek -- a small offshoot/inlet/whatever of the James River. I was tinkering around in the dirt under the overpass (Rt 1/Brook Rd), and happened upon a switchblade covered with blood. I dropped it upon touching it, and was about to leave in horror, until I realized that my fingerprints were now on the aforementioned weapon of mysterious destruction. A wave of terror swept through my body. Yes, at 8 years old, I believed this switcheblade would be recovered eventually, and that I, Tryst, would be tried and convicted of murder. So, I did what any illogical human being would do in the frantic light of false circumstantial evidence pointed at oneself. I picked it back up, and took it to one of my 19 area "forts", and buried it about four fucking feet underground. This, of course, required the use of my father's shovel, which I James-Bondishly acquired on a sprint through our backyard. All the while I was digging, I was looking around with my unfairly guilty conscience to make sure there were no passersby in the Brook Run Woods. I remember wondering if the hole was deep enough, even though it had to have been as deep as I was high. I was 8. Anyway, several years later, upon acquiring a liscense to operate a motor vehicle at the lush age of 16 from the blessed dept of motor vehicles (ie, Satan), I decided to go back to Fort #11 and see if I could dig up this prehistoric blood-soaked switchblade. Alas, I couldn't find it. But maybe someday, someone will, and I will be hauled off to jail for the rest of my miserable days. I wonder if they let you start bands in jail and gig in the mess hall on occassion. Hrmmm....
Also:
1. Lime Shrimp Ramen = the best bargain in the world.
2. I don't understand why I wasn't blessed with those two little dents in the lower back like every other girl on the planet.
3. There is no place in Richmond to lay out naked without being seen. Damnit.
Addendum:
1. because some people have souls.
2. You're the liar, as proven repeatedly. He very much DID say that, right before he told everyone at the table he was going to dump you.
3. I know you read the whole damn thing. I'm not stupid.
So, it's really difficult to write about things like the studio, and the band, and the boy, and the cats, and spending 8 bucks on a Ukrops salad and putting the wrong kind of dressing on it when your eyes are dry and bloodshot, and you've got a hideous headache from crying, and the cigarette in your hand won't stop shaking, so I'm not. Instead I'm going to write about the time that I thought I was going to be arrested for murder.
I was 8. We lived by this little creek -- a small offshoot/inlet/whatever of the James River. I was tinkering around in the dirt under the overpass (Rt 1/Brook Rd), and happened upon a switchblade covered with blood. I dropped it upon touching it, and was about to leave in horror, until I realized that my fingerprints were now on the aforementioned weapon of mysterious destruction. A wave of terror swept through my body. Yes, at 8 years old, I believed this switcheblade would be recovered eventually, and that I, Tryst, would be tried and convicted of murder. So, I did what any illogical human being would do in the frantic light of false circumstantial evidence pointed at oneself. I picked it back up, and took it to one of my 19 area "forts", and buried it about four fucking feet underground. This, of course, required the use of my father's shovel, which I James-Bondishly acquired on a sprint through our backyard. All the while I was digging, I was looking around with my unfairly guilty conscience to make sure there were no passersby in the Brook Run Woods. I remember wondering if the hole was deep enough, even though it had to have been as deep as I was high. I was 8. Anyway, several years later, upon acquiring a liscense to operate a motor vehicle at the lush age of 16 from the blessed dept of motor vehicles (ie, Satan), I decided to go back to Fort #11 and see if I could dig up this prehistoric blood-soaked switchblade. Alas, I couldn't find it. But maybe someday, someone will, and I will be hauled off to jail for the rest of my miserable days. I wonder if they let you start bands in jail and gig in the mess hall on occassion. Hrmmm....
Also:
1. Lime Shrimp Ramen = the best bargain in the world.
2. I don't understand why I wasn't blessed with those two little dents in the lower back like every other girl on the planet.
3. There is no place in Richmond to lay out naked without being seen. Damnit.
Addendum:
1. because some people have souls.
2. You're the liar, as proven repeatedly. He very much DID say that, right before he told everyone at the table he was going to dump you.
3. I know you read the whole damn thing. I'm not stupid.
VIEW 25 of 36 COMMENTS
wait, i just realized you may have meant the Vintage vintage Ministry as in Halloween and such. eh, no. doesn't do much to get me feeling like i want to hurt myself in a good way.
so when's our wedding? will you wear fishnets?
-pb
cheer up, pretty lady
i'm always here for ya.
-K