[Trying out an idea to run microfiction to go with some of the daily sketches... This is the first attempt. Not quite sure if it works as well as it played out in my head, but I'm looking at these flash fiction pieces as sketches themselves. Enjoy!]
Another kiss is all you need
It
was the winter of ’86 when Robert Palmer’s “Addicted to Love” came into our
lives. It was a catchy tune, but mostly it was an iconic video that sprang a
fashion trend whereas every club girl could pass as a super model, and all it
took was a little black dress, pumps, and the reddest lips you could paste on
(gloss optional, in my opinion).
Azzedine Alaïa
became aspirational. The whole video was like a fantasy/dream sequence in the
minds of girls and young women from their teens into their thirties—and it the
video has had remarkable staying power.
It could be argued that Robert Palmer touched on the human condition
of the young at heart. Addicted to love is a lovely way
to describe that need to be perpetually thunderstruck . And while the video’s
imagery may toy with sensuality, the more romantic among us may have taken the
words in a more poetic sense.
You
can't be saved
Oblivion is all you crave
Oblivion is all you crave
Personally,
the words did not mean much to me. I liked the easy beat. I loved the fashion!
It defined a good portion of my closet for the 80s and several decades beyond
it. Granted, there were other style icons that influenced my look during the Greed
Decade: from Madonna to Cindy Lauper, from Debbie Harry to Boy George to Prince,
and from Tina Turner to David Bowie. It was more a look than a statement, but
it spoke to our fluidity and the desperate need we all had to be edgy.
Somehow
we’d graduated from the Me Generation to wanting to be different like everybody
else and our own personal, living magazine cover (whether Vogue or GQ depended on
whether it was a week day or the weekend).
Punk,
sexpot, and ingénue all in one! That was my twenties in a nutshell. And I did
spend a good portion of it falling in and out of love. Not too many
heartbreaks, I just fell out of love and moved on to the next adventure.
I
prided myself on the fact that I was pretty neutral about the process. I did
not invite much drama into my life, especially not involving love. Love, to me,
was as stylized as my hair and my look down to my toes. I knew I was superficial, but I was okay with that.
Then
I met and got involved with Axel, a German expat that rocked my world to the
core. He liked to point out that I craved him as some of our peers craved
cocaine, but I waved off his words, and laughed it off. I tried to dismiss it,
but he hit on the same theme Robert Palmer was singing about, in almost the
very same words…
Whoa,
you like to think that you're immune to the stuff, oh yeah
It's closer to the truth to say you can't get enough
You know you're gonna have to face it, you're addicted to love
It's closer to the truth to say you can't get enough
You know you're gonna have to face it, you're addicted to love
Was
he right? Perhaps. I dismissed it nevertheless. In my mind, I was with him for
a lot of reasons—none of them love related. But I did like the idea of building
a fantasy love life with him. It made no difference after he caught himself in
the middle of a sudden heart attack that struck him down in a matter of
minutes. I knew I would miss him and I paid my respects at his funeral. I mean,
I didn’t give condolences to his wife… That would have been fucking rude! But I
did wear my Robert Palmer Girl outfit to the funeral.
Might as well face it, you're addicted to love
Might as well face it, you're addicted to love
Might as well face it, you're addicted to love
Might as well face it, you're addicted to love
Might as well face it, you're addicted to love
Might as well face it, you're addicted to love
Might as well face it, you're addicted to love
Might as well face it, you're addicted to love
Might as well face it, you're addicted to love
