Menu Switch

Small Virtue and “Gimme Some” A+ Bliss

By Thylias Moss From Issue No. 3

+  My butt sticks out just the right way for those attracted to that at Dream Baby Tienda, I am not and never have been a ballet dancer, full figure, six figures: chest next to waist next to hip, I expect my killer to grab me from behind after following me for a little while with just binoculars, the T-(ienda) in Dream Baby’s like back of a giant red-hot neon chair built for somebody’s equally hot celebrity status, Tee-Tee-teetering, then on foot, he follows me, rubbing the palms –self-massage– that are about to do the grabbing, also experiences what is experienced when lips are licked, when lips are basted with saliva as more and more juices exceptional gravies, life is all gravy from here, Dream Baby Time, no clocks in here, moments ticked off by pulses, gray pulses and folds like old petticoats at the junction of every promise produced, there are no objections, I take on the pose of each mannequin, gimme some, mimic, become what is exemplary, the joy of running into something stepping out of showcase, minor miracle, if someone looking has a camera, all this is being captured, documented, you never know when just having a phone might make you responsible for gathering legal evidence, always prepared to catch berries in the act of ripening, didn’t used to be possible, Bluetooth it to the world almost instantly, there’s practically nothing left that can’t be held in the hands, gimme some, and if my corneas are transplanted quickly, if someone immediately gets my eyes, I might see footage on the news in the recovery room, I might see it in Dream Baby’s with a headline over it, I hope that I become more recognizable in my living form before I reach a different audience in my crime scene close-ups, if a true-crime movie is made about me –and if my killer is as good as he can be, it will be– I hope I get to play the corpse, my chances —gimme some chances— might increase if the footage of the crime scene is good enough for widescreen and high[er]—all the way to the highest definition, soon that will be routine, and then supplanted by what becomes better, right now the routine part of this is the murder, so on my phone I record my last requests, I text message them to myself, to my blog-site and as soon as I get home, if I live that long, I’ll write it on paper because that’s not obsolete yet, cover all bases, covers rock, including the semi-professional filming of my crime scene, I mean for the instructor of film studies and visual culture at the community college to have the class document the crime scene for their projects, maybe host a competition, How to Get Away with Murder, Annalise, this documentation this Dream Baby, I hereby submit in fulfillment of my master’s degree, for I am mastering dying right now, a killing in progress



again and again, send in the troops, we are all students of this, how to die, how to be killed, how to be murdered to save someone else. yes; I am saving you Annalise, the A bested by the A+, I want to be the source of some big chances for more than my killer, something on the A+ film-student’s film makes the difference in solving a case getting cold, frigid out there, Frigid Stepford Wives coven coveting the kill, sleepwalking to it, as to, well, surrender well, exemplary killer card tricks bait and switch this instinct that is what the + is, I don’t want only reenactment relied upon when my death becomes award-winning footage, viewer discretion advised, when it is bootlegged and pirated, studied, the mindsets of killer and victim, I want to be my killer’s first kill, genesis of his kill ethic, his exquisite and unmatched MO. I want to be first choice for his first kill, I want him to learn with me, educational, many people donate their dead bodies to medical students who need to practice a first cut, but most don’t do much in consideration of how they become a cadaver, not this much, but not a legal taboo, growing up, we never talked about available options for how we might die, my family generally ignored options, or everything we did would have been different, I might not even have been born, I’m so glad I was, look where I am, look what I’m contemplating outside Dream Baby Tienda, who could guess the seriousness, the magnitude, who anticipated this, what Neanderthal had a vision, who before Cain, there are so many ways to die, gimme just one, and no way to explore enough of them to choose by comparison, except that there is now a virtual tour of your death, your own uploaded image put into a game that still has its best chances underground, handheld unit so small it practically disappears in your hand, subcutaneous versions also, available for testing, but there’s a cost, as there is for everything, could fail this test and be left with devouring circuits under your skin, can take it anywhere, play it anytime, basic version on your phone, you really do get hit by a simple graphic interface bus, really can distract yourself from your toothache in the waiting room, alternative lifestyles keep expanding, especially the ones incubating underground, because they are roots, because from roots come growth, I’m leaving most of the imagination to the killer who gets to figure out how he wants to go about it, he’s been refining his recurring dream about it, a deeper and deeper dream, practically a thrill of rudimntary hypnosis, each level of the game, it explodes, my heart, my heart looks peeled, edges folded back, a crater on the moon, one’s already named for it: Bliss – also named for a British royal astronomer, who dreamed of seeing clearly, too, so also has a distant partnership with my killer still dream-seeing all of the act clearly plugging in different faces, the fantasy can be any woman, the reality just one that crystallizes when he sees me and realizes how real the woman is that he can kill, at the same time killing himself as just a dreamer, that’s the reason his path crosses mine, I’m the one who makes his impulse irresistible, because mine is just as irresistible, irrepressible, after having a chance to live fully, I want to die fully, I deserve it, I hope my blood is all over him as if I’m marking territory, I make him kill me



just by being who I am where I am: in control of his situation, he cannot stop himself from killing once he sees me and I prove ideal, I don’t mind being a statistic, everyone is a statistic, census, taxes, IP address, only a few become prominent statistics, I won’t live to know my fame, but not living can make fame more lasting, untimely death has more impact than death after long illness, not that it should, sudden death has teeth in it, juicy details spill into my sweetest Blackberry, gimme some, I sit on the concrete ledge by the dress shop, making myself an easy target, hoping that what’s recorded on this device about my wishes will be legally binding, Blackberry itself archived in a permanent collection, it becomes the basis of a legal decision, an amendment, a referendum, heartbeat of a new judiciary, my body will be cut up by the killer and the researchers, I won’t need a coffin, no corpse needs a coffin, survivors do who consider it small virtue to be respectful of the dead, I don’t know how small virtue can get, I don’t think I will know in this lifetime=

About Thylias Moss More From Issue No. 3