#jolie laide

[bitter69uk]

“Rumpled, tattered, unkempt, hirsute, Smith defies the rules of femininity. Soulful, haggard and emaciated yet raffish, swaggering and seductive, she is mad saint, ephebe, dandy and troubadour, a complex woman alone and outward bound for culture war.” Camille Paglia on Patti Smith.

Born on this day: fierce high priestess of punk poetry, beatnik earth mother, shamanistic visionary, musician, playwright, role model, personification of jolie laide androgyny and the woman Salvador Dali once likened to “a gothic crow” – Patti Smith (Patricia Lee Smith, 30 December 1946). No one asked, but my favourite Patti Smith song is "Pissing in a River” (followed by “Dancing Barefoot”). Pictured: portrait by Lynn Goldsmith.

[lagrenouillere]

[razorsadness]

The past couple weeks have been pretty intense, emotionally. Good, bad, weird, all three, but intense all ‘round.

The Monday before last, E. shared a post of J.L.’s on Facebook & I had to go thru the thing I’ve gone thru so many times already: Do I tell her he abused me & risk her disbelief & the loss of our friendship? Or do I say nothing & just feel super super gross forever & probably lose the friendship anyway because I’ll feel too uncomfortable hanging out with her while knowing she’s friendly with him? I decided to tell her, and ultimately she responded the way I’d hoped she would, but I was up half the night feeling nauseous & panicky. This is like the fourth or fifth time I’ve had to go through this re: J.L. Which, I guess, is not shocking; he’s a well-known guy in the Milwaukee DIY/arts scene. So yeah, not shocking, but it still sucks that I have to keep going thru this.

In the wee hours of that Monday night/Tuesday morning, just before I finally fell asleep, was the blood moon/eclipse. & when I woke a few hours later I was bleeding. That day was the midterm elections & I wanted to make a joke about I’ve got your red wave right here or something. Speaking of—boy, am I glad that the promised red wave did not happen.

That day, and for a few days after, I went thru a bout of mania the likes of which I haven’t seen in a while. There’s still a part of me that wants to fall back into the old self-destructive tendencies. Y’know, they get manic & wanna get stupid drunk about it, or fuck a stranger about it, & they get a little ornery that they can’t. But it is fortunate that, these days, I can sometimes harness my manic energy in more positive ways. I used this bout to get a bunch of housecleaning done, & work on my novella, & then... I was listening to Endless Possibility, the tribute to Jack Terricloth, & there were all these clips of him talking, & in one of them he said: It’s hard to live in the past, it’s hard to live in the future—we live absolutely in the moment. Now is the only time. Do not ever wait. The only answer is yes. & hearing that spurred me into beginning to put the finishing touches on the revised & updated edition of What We Talk About When We Talk About Punk.

Saturday the 12th we celebrated D.’s 11th birthday. His actual birthday was the 13th, but we decided to celebrate with my parents that night, at my mom’s studio, so we could watch the holiday parade. My mom saw my new haircut for the first time. She’d seen me a couple times already since I cut it, but I’d hidden it with a scarf or hat because I knew she’d make a comment & I wasn’t ready to deal with that yet. Sure enough, when she saw it, she visibly winced, then said: “Oh, Jess, really? I keep thinking you’ll grow out of doing that kind of thing.” My response was: “I keep thinking you’ll get used to me doing this kind of thing.” Then she said: “I mean, it’s your hair, you can do whatever you want, but you look so pretty with normal hair.” I just shrugged, cuz we’ve had this ‘discussion’ (& other, similar ones) approximately 5000 times in the past 28 years & she doesn’t get that I’m not trying to be pretty. I mean, yes, I like to feel pretty sometimes, but a. I certainly don’t want to be pretty in a conventional way, and b. overall, I am not going for pretty. I’m going for jolie-laide. I don’t want to be merely pretty, I want to be hot & a little intimidating.

I don’t know. She & I have been having some problems lately, in general, & they’re all the same troublesome dynamic we’ve always had. I love her but sometimes her comments & passive-aggressiveness just exhaust me.

The next day, between cooking, reading, & playing with the kiddos, I had several moments of professional jealousy/envy. I got really down about the trajectory of my career vs. other people’s careers & felt too sad about it to work on my novella that day (though I did work on a prose poem about why I wasn’t working on my novella).

But, the very next evening, I attended Library of America’s (virtual) lecture & Q&A with Todd Tietchen & Jean-Christophe Cloutier, the editor & translator, respectively, of LOA’s book The Unknown Kerouac. It helped me get past feeling sorry for myself. For many reasons, not the least of which was their mention of Jack writing: I hope it’s true that a man can die, and not only live in others, but give them life. Which in turn made me think of Sarah Manguso’s essay about the true purpose of being a serious writer: If people read your work and, as a result, choose life, then you are doing your job. It made my envy of others’ successes seem petty, made me remember— My purpose is not to receive accolades, my purpose is to write & to get my work out there so that the people who need it can find it, & it can give them life.

So, after the Q&A ended, I got back to work on my memory project. (Kerouac considered his entire oeuvre a memory project, a la Proust, & I see myself/my work in that same lineage.)

Thursday, I went to the Racine Art Museum with my mom. We did that last year near her birthday, too, and it was so nice that it has become our new tradition. I always love going to RAM; I feel so blessed that we have such a great art museum in this mid-sized midwest town. The new exhibits that have been added since I went there back in August are phenomenal. & the zodiac-themed virtual community art show my piece is part of? They had an iPad mounted on the wall, scrolling thru all the pieces in the show, & it was really fucking cool to see mine there. I know it was only on a small screen, but still. To see my art in a real fucking art museum? Kinda mind-blowing.

In other news:

Some of my nearest & dearest have been going thru some health scares. (Thankfully, I now know for sure that one of them was just that—a scare.) Little C. has been relentlessly moody, & I guess I’ve been pretty moody, too. I’ve been horny a lot & also sad a lot.

I’ve got a new crush. I know nothing can, or will, ever come of it, but I don’t mind so much. Crush energy, much like mania, is something I’ve learned to harness in more positive ways, most of the time. I don’t need to pursue my crush, I don’t need to pine, I can make them my muse & channel the energy into writing & art. & I’ve been deep in nostalgia—what else is new—longing for a hundred thousand people, places, moments from my past. Currently, I’m missing the winter I worked in a flower shop in Chicago, & the winter I ice skated once a week in downtown Milwaukee. But, at least nostalgia is another energy I can channel into art. My whole life is a memory project.

[sharpmemorial]

[marlini]

that striking girl keeps sitting opposite me in the seminar... must she continue to torment me with her profile

[clipstone]

Jolie Laide

Jolie Laide Pinot Gris Sonoma, USA 2022 Pinot Gris

Jolie Laide translates to unconventionally beautiful and their wines are exactly that.

In this Pinot Gris, the grapes are picked early and foot trodden before short maceration. Fermentation takes place with native yeasts and the naturally high acid in the fruit sourced from sustainable growers allows for very little SO2 to be added.

A pink hue with a touch of spice, it is highly perfumed. On the palate it has a chalky texture with fresh acidity.

Tasting notes: bergamot, peach, tarragon, orange blossom

Pairing: spicy food, cured meats, pork

[beginningspod]

It's time for Beginnings, the podcast where writer and performer Andy Beckerman talks to the comedians, writers, filmmakers and musicians he admires about their earliest creative experiences and the numerous ways in which a creative life can unfold.

On today's episode, I talk to musician Nina Nastasia. Originally from Los Angeles, CA, Nina began writing songs in 1993 but initially had no real ambitions to be a professional musician. She ended up recording many of those songs with Steve Albini, and they became her debut album Dogs, which was released in 2000. Albini sent the record to John Peel, who championed it on his radio show, and Nina began to garner both fans and acclaim. Since then, she's recorded and released seven albums on labels like Touch and Go and Fat Cat Records, and her latest project, Jolie Laide, is a collaboration with musician Jeff MacLeod, and their self-titled debut album was just released on Oscar St. Records!

I'm on Twitter here and you can get the show with:

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[papirouge]

Binge watched the first 2 seasons of The Bear and I can't believe I find that chinless Snoopy's yellow bird friend looking ass funny faced White man hot

[chocolatepot]

bestie it was the most streamed show on the web for weeks

[bitter69uk]

“Some singers belt and some singers murmur, but Serge Gainsbourg taught the world the value of heavy breathing. An icon of French debauchery in the ‘60s, the late Gainsbourg devoted a noble career to lounge lizard glitz. He couldn’t really sing, but he could both huff and puff and he cast a spell over pop music … Vive le sleaze.” / From the May 1997 issue of Details magazine / In Memoriam: Serge Gainsbourg (né Lucien Ginsburg, 2 April 1928 – 2 March 1991), the raffish and dissipated dirty mouth (and dirty mind) of Gallic popular culture, died on this day. Pictured: French pop’s Marquis de Sade as the world’s least likely cowboy.

[dozydawn]

Eleanor Parker attends the Golden Globes, 1970.

[porciaenjoyer]

my terribly ambivalent nature. my malcontent demeanour

[hoyatype]

hot people do not care about cable management. and the hot people who do need to recenter themselves and use their allure for the greater good

[tommydarlings]

I’ll take care of you | c.l

pairing: charles leclerc x reader

warnings: none :)

w/c: 0.7k

summary: You didn’t knew that men could be so gentle and careful with women after they’ve had sex, at least not before you me the sweet Ferrari driver charles leclerc.

check this out: my masterlist <3 // my ko-fi to support me! <3 // my PayPal to support me! <3 // my Patreon to become a member! <3 (get access to +20 works) // Save a Life carrd made by me! <3

“That was… amazing.” You mumbled quietly, breathing still a bit uneven. The Ferrari driver chuckled, brushing his hair out of his face before he sat up, back now facing you.

Your legs were still shaking a bit, hair messy and a tiny bit sweaty, completely sprawled out over the soft cushions.

You turned your head and looked over to Charles, watching him standing up after putting his boxers and sweatpants on.

While he was in the bathroom, you slowly stood up and grabbed your clothes, collecting them all in your hands before you put them on the bed.

Right when you wanted to put your thong back on, you heard your one night stand entering the room again.

“Hey, why are you up? Get back into bed, mon amour.” He told you, hands already getting a hold of your hips since your legs were still shaking. You turned around and looked at the monaguesque, not understood why you should do that.

You furrowed your brows, “Shouldn’t I leave?”

He shook his head, “I mean, if you want to leave, then you can leave but not before I didn’t take care of you.” He said.

“You-”

“No discussion ma jolie, please lay down again.” Charles quietly demanded in a kindhearted tone.

You gulped and laid down onto the soft and probably rather expensive sheets again, looking up at him with a confused gaze.

Charles quickly noticed your facial expression, “Why do you look so confused mon amour?” Body already towering over you, hands spreading your shaking legs before he grabbed a wet washcloth.

You stared down at the washcloth, not understanding why he got that in his hand.

“For what do you need a wet washcloth?” He tilted his head as he heard your question, smile slowly forming on his lips.

“And why are you smiling now?”

After hearing that, his smile fell, facial expression now looking like he’s… disappointed? Why should he be disappointed?

Now it was your turn to tilt your head, basically asking him why he looks at you with those sad and slightly angry eyes.

Charles quickly went to work and cleaned your slightly sticky body with the small washcloth, being very careful while doing so.

After a few seconds of silence between the two of you, he spoke up,

“So that’s why you wanted to leave.” He mumbled, hands now putting your thong back on and then caressing your leg. “Not because you wanted, because you felt like you had to, right?” The Ferrari driver asked you, eyes now focused on your face.

You only furrowed your brows before you sat up, eyes not leaving his, “Well, I-I thought that you d-didn’t wanted to h-have me here anymore since y-you’ve already-” you briefly took a deep breath,

“used me.” You finished your statement in a quiet tone before you broke the eye contact between him and you.

Charles shook his head as you gulped, quickly coming closer to you.

“What? Used you? Do you mean as in… used your body?” He asked you, obviously not believing that you would actually think of something like that but on the other hand he also didn’t know how you’ve been treated in the past by… men.

You bit your lip while the monaguesque reached out to pull your barely covered body onto his almost naked lap, thumbs caressing your slightly cold thighs.

You nodded and his eyes immediately widened, “No má cherie, god no! Oh mon dieu.” Oh my god.

Charles eyes suddenly grew softer and softer by every comfortably second that went by, his hands gently glided up and down your thighs but didn’t went to high. He looked at you before he leaned forward and lovingly kissed your forehead,

“I don’t know that these disgusting men in the past did to you or said to you, but I am not like them, okay? I promise ma joulie.” Lips still lingering on your shivering skin,

“I’ll treat you like you deserved to be treated. With respect, kindness, tenderness and most importantly… love.” Charles whispered in a very gently tone before you put your arms around his shoulders, pulling him even closer.

“Okay… thank you.” You quietly answered as you intertwined your fingers with his soft hair.

He sighed, “No need to thank me, baby.”

[csainz5]

Mine || Charles Leclerc #16

pairing: charles leclerc x girlfriend!reader

summary: in which seeing people ship you with other drivers fuels the possessiveness in charles.

author notes: can u tell ive been obsessed with culpa mia. also this is my first charles fic (!!!) i made sm tweaks to the original req im so sorry 😭 deff been in a slump recently bc exams but 🙏 no beta read!! this one is still raw asf lol

req: yes/no.

wc: 1.2k words

————

the air as the weekend approached was filled with an adrenaline of its own. drivers loitering on the paddock, a camera shoved up each one of their faces. most of them were making videos for their teams social media, while others were giving interviews. silly banter & playful hazing surrounded the place as the free practices neared. as calm and laid back as the environment was, a new buzz had taken over the virtual world. it seemed like the redbull fans had taken on a new intrest in a the friendship you and max shared, suspecting it could be more than just friends. you’re shocked as you read through the articles, what could possibly make it seem like you were both in any sense more than just friends? max was like the brother you never had, and you, the sister he had always hoped of having. as much as the articles were delusional, you didnt really care that much about them, i mean why would you be afraid when there’s nothing youre scared of being open to the public? okay, maybe not everything. not the time when you were so drunk you demanded every guy on the paddock to quote “settle it with me on the ring”, not the time when you were the culprit behind the hilarious azerbaijan mix up where you stole the champagne on the podium and replaced it with an empty one, and definitely not the fact that you’re already taken, by a person known to all on the paddock.

—

The morning of the race was always an exhilarating one no matter which team youre driving for, or which team you’re rooting for. the passion, the dedication and the confidence in the each and every drivers persona was enough to fill you in the same mindset. though youve always been a redbull fan, which, i mean is definitely not even surprising considering you probably frequent their garage more than some of their own engineers, youve always held an admiration for all the drivers. even you knew how dominant the redbull cars were, so seeing the rest of the drivers still catch up with less resources filled your heart with pride. you look up at the fan’s waiting impatiently for the race to start with a smile on your face. this, will never get boring, you think.

Lord Percival 👑

can’t find you anywhere near here, don’t tell me you’re ditching me today yet again 😔

a chuckle escapes your lips.

You

i wouldve come over but you’re all the way across rn 😭 i’ll definitely be waiting for you after the race tho.

Lord Percival 👑

wow. way to betray me over text babe

You

okay drama queen 😒

Lord Percival 👑

guess you rubbed off on me then mon jolie

You

ill make it up to you, i always do.

just before you press send, you notice the drivers had already left for their respective interviews. whats the point in sending it now anyways, you decide.

—

the dark looms over the sky as celebrations near. the smell of alcohol, weed and god knows fucking what become all too familiar to you at this point. you reach the party alongside max, which considering he’s your best friend was not out of the ordinary for you, but little did you know, it didn’t help the ongoing rumours one bit. the familiar stench of reporters clogs your mind. what the hell were the doing here? and more importantly why were all of them suddenly taking an intrest in your friendship with max? question after question is thrown at you which makes you realise youve had enough of this. you reach for your phone.

You

screw this party

wanna meet up at our usual spot?

Lord Percival 👑

im always down 🙏

—

you could never get sick of this. the same ride, the same atmosphere, the exact same playlist playing over and over again, the curves of the road as you drive through. because you know, at the end of this journey would be the same thing you look forward to, every time. so you get into you car, and drive the same drive to the same spot, once again. at a pillar reading out “623” you stop by the ferrari you know all too well.

there he was. i could never get used to seeing him like this, you think, dressed up in formals but looking formal in no way whatsoever. shriveled hair, buttons unbuttoned, jewellery he knows how to style in just the right way. his crazed eyes of emerald, gazing into you with an intensity that makes your nerves shiver.

“took you long enough to come here” he says, holding you waist. “it was a longer drive than usual” “is that so?” he says, stepping aside you to rest against his ferrari, right beside you. folding his arms, he continues, pulling a cigarette out of his blazer, “want one?” “please, today was a bitch” “i could say the same for me, really” he reaches towards you, lighting your cigarette. “races in monaco are my favourite” he says, looking up at the sky. “yeah, id imagine so. nothing beats home” “yeah, it’s great to be home and all, but theres also something in monaco that beats the thrill any race could give me” he steps forwards, hands placed beside either sides of you.

he pulls the cigarette from your lips, taking in a puff himself. he brings his lips to your ear, “or rather, theres someone in monaco, who beats the thrill any race could give me” he whispers, blowing the smoke away. he flicks the cigarette aside and steps on it, as he lifts your face up, meeting your eyes with his own. “someone who sighs right when i kiss her here,” he goes on to place a chaste kiss on your mole, right on your neck by your jawline. and like a story repeated enough times, you sigh. “someone who arches her back when i pull her hair slightly like this,” he gently tugs your hair, making a makeshift ponytail and like a telltale, you arch your back, the satisfaction of being right sprawled across charles’s face.

“but of all, the one thing that makes me come back to this place again and again, is knowing that—“ he lifts your hips up, making you wrap your legs around him. “you’re mine.” the second he says that, its like all the dots connected in your head. you never thought charles would be jealous of the rumours, given how he was the one who didn’t want your relationship to be public. “charles, are you jealous?” you ask. “so what if i am?” “well, i for one wouldnt want my boyfriend to be feeling like that anymore” “what do you mean?” you pull out your phone from your clutch, “kiss me” “wait what are you doing?” “i said, kiss me” you say, pulling him in by his jaw. “im conf-“ you kiss him, shutting him up. as he closes his eyes he finds himself to not be able to help himself from drowning into you, well atleast until a flash brings him out of his trance. “im going to post it.” “you don’t have to, you know” “but i want to. i want everyone to know how much you mean to me charles. you’re my favourite person and i would hate to see you be jealous”

——

“i can’t believe you actually did it, jolie” “its the least i could do” you say, pecking his cheek. “but ive gotta say, i definitely wouldnt mind seeing this shade of you more often” “you haven’t seen the end of me yet, mon ange”