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Grace Jones tried her best to intimidate the reflection she now saw in the mirror. It was her own visage, of course, as that is what mirrors do. Reflect. And Jones had trouble accepting that she could not create a dominant/submissive relationship out of sheer will, as she had so often done throughout her days as prolific triple-threat: singer, actress, maneater.
The deeper meaning here, perhaps, is that Grace Jones did not want to reflect. Did not want to reflect on her past accomplishments, and her more recent failings. As a pervasive cultural influence. As an ueberfrau. As the antidote to compliance bandied about as women's lib.
As she now posed before the mirror in a diminished back lat spread, she began to notice the tattered edges of her frock - the very same frock that Bombaata, off-camera, had torn from her body pre-throe.
Grace Jones snapped herself out of this reverie and returned to the present. She did not enjoy the causal daydream. She did, however, enjoy her plunder, as she released her latest suitor, long dead from strangulation, from between her vintage thighs. He had fancied himself a sort of post-modern Zorin, replete with wealth and succulent entreaties. She had now rendered him motionless.
Date Written: October 06, 2004
Average Vote: 4