Most Fashionable Reader! Zelda has dragged herself out of The Treacherous Abyss and has pulled herself to her feet to, well, face her demons head-on by writing about some form of some sort of journey into hell. Zelda is not one to rub salt in her wounds, Dear Reader, but she does have a fondness for rubbing alcohol.
James Joyce! Zelda has missed you so! Also Ulysses! Zelda cannot wait to go farther with you! Maybe even third base! And Vivienne! Zelda has missed you more! Zelda has missed you most!
The video below is something that has made Zelda feel better lately. It is a sweet little song — Zelda had forgotten about it until she heard it whilst getting her hair styled last week. Zelda feels the lyrics would have been a tad more cohesive, however, had Anna Nalick written it when she was a little older. Ah, well.
“My God! It’s so beautiful when the boy! Smiles!”
The writing on the wall
Fade past the unglazed mug, the shampoo commercial, the Still Life with Waterfall. Fingers blunt with cold. The sound of an old film. Aspirin tablets, chicken salad sandwiches. Extension cords round the room like lions. The smell of the weak, the descent of their last end –
Well, not really, for Zelda must admit that she had a bout of Unfashionibility and was unable to finish her piece for the day. She has an excuse: just as she was beginning her piece, she received a phone call from a cousin she had not seen in three years. This cousin was driving through town, and Zelda opted to visit with him instead of writing.
But! Zelda still wishes to post, because Zelda wishes to comment on Vivienne’s Springsteen statement in Vivienne’s most recent entry. Zelda wishes to comment, for Zelda WHOLEHEARTEDLY CONCURS. Springsteen sucks. Period. Zelda was highly incensed when Springsteen covered “Jesse James” on We Shall Overcome in 2006, because that was a folk song that The Pogues had covered on Rum, Sodomy, and the Lash way back in 1985.
Sadly, Zelda could find no fan video for The Pogues’ “Jesse James” on YouTube. So, instead of posting a video of Bruce Springsteen singing “Jesse James,” because, well, that would SUCK, Zelda is going to post a video of Cher singing “Just Like Jesse James,” for Zelda thinks Cher’s song is better than Springsteen’s version of “Jesse James.”
And, by the way: be forewarned. This will not be the last time Zelda mentions The Pogues.
O readers, o lovers, o comrades in Fashion! Forgive Viv for her most unfortunate Significant Lapse into the Land of Unfashion. I apologize greatly. Circumstances mitigated. Plus, there is this sad fact: whereas Zelda’s always Fashionable life of Fashion becomes even more Fashionable, it seems, during the months of our Blog Projects, Vivienne’s life tends to dissipate into … Well, boredom and busy-ness and routine. To whit: the most Significantly Interesting thing that occurred yesterday was that I was awakened by Manfred Mann Earth Band’s “Blinded by the Light.” You, gentle reader, perhaps have noticed that I termed this event as “Interesting” rather than “Fashionable.” That is because there is, perhaps, nothing less Fashionable than this song. However, this song can be termed as “Interesting” for a number of reasons. First, because I hate it so, and because it was the first song I heard, it played continously in my mind throughout the rest of the day, so that I was kept from pure concentration on Very Important Things by my concentration on just how much said song sucks, and in how many ways its suckage occurs. Secondly, this song may be considered “Interesting” due to my interpretation of the lyrics: whereas the Google claims that the lyrics are “cut loose like a deuce another runner in the night,” I claim that the lyrics are, in fact, “cut loose like a douchbag in the middle of the night,” which is ultimately more Interesting for obvious reasons. Thirdly, this song may be considered a Song of Interest (though not a Song of Fashion, and most certainly not a Fashionable Song of Fashion) because it appears that Bruce Springsteen is the author of said song, and that said song is, in fact, Springsteen’s only number one hit as a song writer, two facts which confirm what will probably be the most controversial statement ever said on this blog: Bruce Springsteen sucks. There. I said it, and I meant it. Bruce Springsteen wouldn’t know Fashion if it slapped him with a gloved hand on that face.
Please view this Complete Absence of Fashion as proof.
And now, dear friends, after that shocking but very true statement, I turn to our Ulysses-inspired writing exercise for the day, created Most Fashionably by the Most Fashionable Zelda: to describe a process, as inspired by the classroom scene in part two of Ulysses. This, and the first part of Ulysses, dedicated largely to shaving, has led me to think a great deal about how often a man‘s shaving process has been described in literature, whereas a woman‘s shaving process hasn’t. I will certainly ruminate on this in future Poemlogues, perhaps giving Helpful Tips to the Chillbumped, but, in the meantime, this.
This the blade wavelike, tiding the leg cast shadowed and downed, unnacceptable and needing acceptance. This the twin bladed blade of your hope, this the twinned blade of your hope and invitation, and the hand slipped under the tablecloth under the table under the skirt under the slip, this the twinned blade to prepare for what you’ve prepared for so many years, modeled with plasticdoll with bestfriend with basement lampshaded and carpet unrolled, Coke bottle unCoked and spinning and your hope then as always to land on the good one, to land on the good one you asked to the party you asked to the basement you asked for when you laid the rose scarf over the lampshade to rosesun it, show your skin as you wished your skin to be seen not poxmarked and pimplemarred but rosesunned the shimmer of movie and glow. This the blade you will wield legwise showerwet, this the blade you will lead down the legline so often unstraight, so often slipping and scraping and these the scars you’ll call warwounds, this the bloodcollector slid between tiles that slid your feet to slipping, the blade to slipping, the hope to slipping yearward with hairfall and drain caught, this the eyeskin dropping, this the body you can no longer name.
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Posted by zeldafitzgerald 
Well, not really, for Zelda must admit that she had a bout of Unfashionibility and was unable to finish her piece for the day. She has an excuse: just as she was beginning her piece, she received a phone call from a cousin she had not seen in three years. This cousin was driving through town, and Zelda opted to visit with him instead of writing.
