MANIFESTO
Inspiration: Wall Street conquistadors, madchen
in uniform cubicles. Legions of anorexic, rainy day
Holly Golightlys sing along, their eyes wet with
glycerine tears. They gush and slump over cell
phones, desperately seeking agents.
Meanwhile, in
some forgotton corner of Silicone Alley, poor Cat
is nothing but a stiff -- drowned and forgotten,
all matted fur and tiny bone. His implant titties
explode
just as Rigor Mortis arrives in a hearse-drawn
carriage.
My song gently weeps yet defies aging!
I
flip the lid on Pandora's box. "Hurrah!" a
thousand
voices cry.
Women of power and intrigue emerge,
dazed, their velvet eyes blinking. Like so many
nubile Playmates, they spreadsheet across my
mousepad.
We swap stories. Then, strange noises from the
shelves above. I look up.
Dusty old
leather-bound
books move precariously, tip over, and fall open
at my
feet. A sudden rustle of taffeta as ever so many
great literary heroines climb out from their
pages.
Pale and impatient, they nervously pace up and
down in
narrow muddy boots -- require of us a song.
How
can I
sing Queen Alice's song in a strange Wonderland?
Estella, "bred and educated to be loved"
schoolgirls
through an abridged version of Great
Expectations.
The Marquise of O -- wants to know, "If Balthus
painted me when I was sleeping, would you all
forgive
me for that?"
Sadly, Emma Bovery is all too
"happy to
wear a winding sheet" in exchange for a novel
life.
Just in the nick of time, The Blue Fairy arrives
and
delicately performs rhinoplasty on Pinocchio.
Suddenly . . . smoke, mirrors and magic! I sing
of
thee too, Jeannie with the Lurex hair. All
present
cross arms, nod, smile and exclaim "Stair
Master!"
Eschewing the lamp, we coltishly toss our
ponytail
extensions and kick off the traces.
(For a more formal biography, click here).
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