Thursday, October 10, 2013


I remember the good things mother has done for me through the clothes she wore when she did them.

We stopped talking to each other when it happened but she never compromised with her sense of style. She would silently roam around the house like the shadow of a ghost but always wrapped in sweeping air light chiffon dresses, her paralytic blood red lips an open wound against the translucency of her ivory skin.

A month passed, I hadn't heard her talk until she loudly defended him at a night time garden party somewhere in Silver Lake. When Suzy Menkes called Versace a parody of itself it hurt me because I remember mother when her voice echoed through the darkness. The silk embroidered Medusa jacket she wore, 5 inch snake skin heels that helped elevate her far above the rest of them.

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