Lustr* (1996)

by: , September 12, 2018

© Kim Longinotto/Second Run Ltd.

Everyone made Ghost fun of her, like she was horny

for dead Patrick Swayze. Um no. So not what was going on

& also so like five years ago. Not even with Keanu (as if

she didn’t have enough Zen surfer psychos in her life

thanks Cetys). But the pottery mockery was choric

and it narked her. It was lame. Just because she wanted

more from life than Britpop gossip & the word

‘snogging’. Oh she cd New Ladette with the best of ‘em,

Neptune had trained her in cider & fags & swearing

she was lairy like the wolf. She was combat pants that

(Neptune :: Derry) had actually seen combat.

She was rabid with Elastica fandom, moshing beery &

tanktopped to Skunk Anansie. Deep as I am I’m no-one’s

fool & so ceramics class continued and anyway there was

this one Sky, whose hair fell halfway to the floor & the

teacher was always saying “Sky, put that up before

it catches on the wheel and krrrchk” or “Don’t be

such a Duncan, Sky.” Not Goodhew, although

Sky said, “Vivid, yeah, like the wheel shaving my head but

she means Isadora.” Blank. Sky brought her a book.

She was learning so much. “You be Patrick,” said Sky,

showing her how to use the wheel. So Kurt wore a dress

& so did Evan Dando (Athena had seen him at Reading) &

but this was so beyond even Donovan Leitch from

Nancy Boy & her favourite new film & she couldn’t decide:

was she 100% Fairuza or a little Ione Skye [sigh] either way

she’d never dress up like Fairuza & trespass that space

b/c Sky was Sky. Sky threw perfect pots and told her, traditionally,

potters were women; showed her pictures of Jūmon ware,

the oldest pots ever found, and of baked tablets from Sumer,

the oldest writing, burnt into history. Sky’s pots were incised

with pictograms and hieroglyphs, signs used since childhood

in diary after diary. Sky had a place at Chelsea & they rarely

took applied arts & Athena said SkySkySky it’s all you ever

bloody talk about Sky gave you tarot Sky lent you Trust

on video Sky said your pot was like totally Minoan.

What a loser.

Sky’s not —

Duh. But you are, M. It’s. Called. F-l-i-r-t-i-n-g. Someone wants

           to get with you and you’re all I would nevah. Is it because

           she’s a girl because please it’s the 90s. Girls who do girls

           who do boys like they’re girls.


Always should be someone you really. Yeah. Medusa can’t believe

she’s hearing this from A – let’s never talk about it – thena. It would be

so funny if it wasn’t tragic, and v.v. & another thing. “I never said

Sky was a girl.” Athena wants to be unfazed. “Presume much?”

Medusa slams down the phone, wishing it felt like a win. But/and/then/so

Sky calls and says turn on BBC2 there’s this documentary. LAME.

They are so lame together, with their glaze charts, their Hal

Hartley obsession bc this small town is so like his small town &

she wd totally fall from a statue into Sky’s arms & it’s so perfect

that Sofia listens to ‘Japanese to English’. Here it’s Suiyoubi, school

night, watching TV down the phone. A documentary, yeah,

about cool young things in Tokyo. onnabe, they say to each other,

girls who do girls like boys: perfect gentlemen at Club New Marilyn & Medusa

says how she envies their brush cuts as much as their tuxes

& Sky says                      because it’s the end & Gaish is crying

and they’re crying & after the dawnswept credits Sky says

      Come over you’re different too right like boygirl different

which is so the first time & theirs is, too, hers, later that night

& she does go totally Gas Food Lodging Fairuza

for the witching hour & Sky gets it of course bc Allison Anders

is their darling & Women Call the Shots, yeah, & when I grow up

I’m going to be a filmmaker says Sky like the title of this other doc


which makes total sense to M except she says You’re more cat than ox

& Sky says don’t underestimate my Taurus rising & bullhorns her

onto the bed. Under a ceiling sky of stars

      – beautiful faces cut five-pointed

      from magazines & limned in silver;

      here are the constellations, says Sky,

      starting (of course) with the Heathers –

they are collage, bricolage, montage, fingers incising Linear B

into each others’ skin – for the mistress of the labyrinth, honey –

a new language this mystery. It is not just not-like those times

with Neptune, that once she can’t even think of with Athena,

but a positive of itself. Embossed. Raised. Work with slip & glaze

& Sky says OK

      sex yes is the glaze? You’re a pot, a perfect fired pot & sex is

      the glaze. Not necessary, nuuuh but not just decorative. Smore


lustrous, she thinks. Lustre lust lusciously lightheaded with desire &

(yeah OK hunger: no food at home for weeks, she & Cetys in a cold war

      standoff over art school (Neptune), rent (gone off with some troll), Medusa’s room

      (junkie paying off her hits in), Medusa’s hair (cunt cunt cunt un),

      her general Skin-inspired attire (spoken the ‘cos you stopped), attitude

      (putting out well I’m done), habits (putting out for you, pay your own way

      young lady, and that means poncey art school and next month’s

      phone bill as well)

weed. Longed for. Washing clean. Oh holy lustral! They page

the dictionary, lustrative       drawing them between lust

& lustre, making breakfast in the haphazard (mmm my mum’s elsewhere)

kitchen. Toast, marmite, tea, toast, wordswordswords. Sex made Sky descriptive,

Medusa hungry. Now that they’d been naked no more secret codes. Here’s

My Gender Workbook, here’s photos by Del/la Grace Volcano. Split/whole,

non-linear-fuckin-A. They had cliché sex in the kitchen, lights on,

turned on by books. LAMAZING. So seeing was definitely different

than feeling and shit time for class seriously she had to borrow Sky’s

most Courtney babydoll & so My Own Private Idaho jacket for the ride

into class & she’s standing by the gates w/ bike throb still between

her thighs & “Total Swayze” says A, linking arms to walk her in. “Who?”

“Yr biker boy. Sky, right?” “Not my boyfriend.” “Oh. Just a one-night

shag. ‘Bout time you had a boytoy.” A squeezes her like it’s her birthday,

like she’s given her a present & for a longhot second M thinks can’t you

just be jealous? but what’s strong is PRESUME MUCH the shine of it

& she’s “Not a one-night shag. Also: not a boy.” “But you said – ”

Not a thing. Art history passes in silence bar M’s belly rumbles. “Wanna

come over for tea?” A knows. M knows A knows. A knows etc. No.

She’s mooched their fridge three times this week & “Sok.” Halfway

home a bike roars up, Sky (of course) & holds out a Tesco bag. “Wanna

(brioche) be (mini-rolls) the (jaffa) girl (iced ring biscuits) with (tunnocks)

the (fairy) most (double chocolate chip fudge) cake?” They watch Shinjuku

Boys off the video, again again, and stuff themselves with each other.

Crumbfucked, they take a shower. Buy a toothbrush at the petrol station,

and cereal and pot noodles. So this is love. The room spins around

M as she falls into cleanfed sleep. Arms around. Beingpatrick. All that wet

wet shine.


Shinjuku Boys is available on DVD from Second Run.

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