Jacqueline Doyle
Lady Lazarus

Photo by John Oughton. Detail - click for full image.

That was one pissed-off chick, you know what I'm saying? Sure you do. We've all been there, ready to eat men like air. Whirling in circles, spitting menace, lightning bolts shooting from extended fingertips as we point, "You! Yeah, you!" He's not going to fuck with you no more, they're not going to fuck with you no more. No matter what, nothing, nobody's keeping you down. You're coming back! You're going to stomp that son-of-a-bitch, you're going to haunt his ass. And maybe you put your head in the oven thinking that too. Take that, Herr Enemy. You're the original comeback kid, hell yeah, nine lives and counting, and this time's no different, except this time it's different, and you're not coming back, unless words count, and of course they do. Let me tell you, dying's not an art. It's what you make of it. The words. Each time someone repeats your bad luck charm you're back, the same woman resurrected, red hair swirling and crackling like flames. You turn and burn. Beware, beware. You said it girl, but you didn't listen. 'Cause you were that pissed off.