sangrefrio

2. Waltz

4. Wonder

Ever wonder how it got to this point, how we’ve come so far only to head off in different directions?
 

Come one, come all, to see Amanda Palmer and Brian Viglione perform as the Dresden Dolls—a vaudeville couple, the only wonder of its kind! A comedy duo, the Tramp and his little lady—they do acrobatics and play music too! And if you’re ever lonely…you know where to go.

Presenting Modern Moonlight just as advertised: starring Amanda Palmer and Brian Viglione as the Dresden Dolls...drum roll please, the one-hit wonder signature act of Coin-Operated Boy, and see we take requests too, our rendition of el Tango de Roxanne…

(Why Brian, where else did you think I could go, I had to make money somehow, and Mandy never really went to Med School, you know that.)

Oh yes, Amanda, you’re a real wonder. A true talent to the streets of Boston. And while I make a fool of myself onstage, you work between shifts for your alcoholic friends. One job isn’t enough, the vaudeville acts and the circus tours, a fool’s dreams aren’t enough to feed us both. And then when I come home it’s condoms on the bedroom dresser, a wide display of conquests from the night before.  Good ol’ chap Brian has to take it all, never says a thing because he’s so understanding. You don’t feel like talking and damned if I do. A dusty suffocating kind of silence while I slump in a chair to read the paper, trying hard to ignore; rouge and stenciled brows and all, the strong scent of roses that you don’t even like, dowsed over the subtle comforts of jasmine. It’s like I don’t even know you. At times like these, it’s even worse than the quarrels. Just one irritated word to instigate a fight over something stupid like not hanging a shirt over the line, or leaving it out in the rain.
 

7. Waste/Wasteland

10. Weddings

11. Birthday

“It’s my birthday, my pathetic birthday, “ I rasp, echoes in the vacant corner of the room mocking me in whispered tones; just another day I have to deal with on my own, another unshared holiday. Tonight, I say, it’s just me and the minibar. Me and my bootlegged gin. I give a sordid grin, recognizing that it being my birthday doesn’t make things any easier. It makes it harder, in fact, because there won’t be any wilting daisies cut from your mother’s lawn, no rowdy song to piss off the neighbors, or my specialty: crusty burnt cake to blow a candle in before chucking it in the trash.

 [And Brian says it couldn’t be so bad because he’s apt to eat anything, though a half-hidden frown reveals even he wouldn’t eat it, but he appreciates the token effort. We’d start to make a new one, me putting back on a burned apron playing little housewife. He chooses a floral smock before the flour flies high and his black sleeves are covered in powder. He laughs at the white fleck on my nose. He cracks an egg on the table and transfers the yolk between shells ever so skillfully before setting it in the bowel. He starts to juggle the eggs before I say stop and he grins at me sheepishly. He keeps horsing around in the kitchen until I kick him out. The timer’s set we lie in wait before he plays a tune on the piano and we waltz to some imaginary song in our heads, but we aren’t quite serious until we exchange kisses sin the living room. All sense of time is lost in the meager celebrations, with Brian as the entertainer. Funny stories about street performances, musical inspirations. Silly feats, a bow, he procures a teddy chocolate lollipop for the “mademoiselle.” The cake turns out to be just about the same disaster as the first one, but neither of us cares. We head out on a stroll to the park, I wait on a park bench while he makes balloon sales, where he gives me the leftover balloons (3). They’re kind of the oddball ones, but it’s the best gift I could have thought of, the best way to spend a birthday.]

14. Burning

Her hands fumble for the matchbook, scraping the match and flicking it against the rough sandpaper feel, a wish for the matchgirl; in haste her fingers become inexperienced, wavering and nearly letting the flame burn to the tip of her fingers. A blue halo engulfs copper heat, flickering and enthralling in its short lived existence. But there came a point where petty wishes became nothing but charred fingers and cigarettes. The match was tossed aside, stamped out with the heel of her mary jane, wish forgotten. This next one she held steady, lighting it to a cigarette, inhaling and letting it out with an aloof air. She sat against the cold concrete steps, leaning back against the brick wall.

 

18. Balloon

Those were the days: a suited man in a painted face working the streets, with all the charm of a Buster Keaton, shifting between handstands, miming, drumming performances. Another time she caught him stooping down, eagerly displaying his abilities to a little girl, tweaking a balloon, wide-eyed as he breathed life into it, twisting the squeaking latex into a dog. One day after a street performance Amanda bought all the balloons she could muster to set them free to the mercy of a pale blue sky, lifted and directed at faltering heights until they twisted away behind the trees. “Where do you think they’ll go?” “Maybe they’re off to see the world, to places we’ve never been.” “Australia,” she said. “No, Monmarte, Paris!” he said in a phony French accent. She couldn’t help but laugh at his timid humor.

 [“Think you’ll ever stop being a balloon seller?” “Someday, when they recognize my talent…” “Maybe we can start an act together, become one of those vaudeville hits getting nighttime performances at a cozy saloon. You know, something nice and small, playing music that really matters to people who really care.” “We’ll take over the world,” he added leerily.]

*I’ll be honest, when I first wrote this I saw it as Amanda hearing Brian during a small performance and asking him to play with her in the basement or something. From there they started the band. Then I decided to actually check and saw that it was Brian who approached her, not the other way around. Still otherwise I had it pretty close. And yes, it is sad that I’m finding out these things post facto, or after the fact. I should have tried finding stuff out about DD/writing about them while they were still in business. I was listening to them at the time after. Still, I have my hopes DD will get back together and I see them live and all this will seem relevant.

 24.Quarrel

30. Just.

The moonlit serenade, he’s wearing a suit, and my heels are digging into the sand, a cumbersome venture at best, but we laugh it all off and race down the beach, tired with a smile still on our faces and catching our breaths.

*shortened version of my alpha take on moon