nxnexistent-blog-blog-blog-blog - Tumblr blog

[nxnexistent-blog-blog-blog-blog]

[nxnexistent-blog-blog-blog-blog]

“When it feels scary to jump, that is exactly when you jump, otherwise you end up staying in the same place your whole life, and that I can’t do.”

A Most Violent Year (2014)

[nxnexistent-blog-blog-blog-blog]

Jessica Chastain in The Debt (2010)

[nxnexistent-blog-blog-blog-blog]

Interrogation came second-nature to her. The way that the man in the chair shifted, the single line of sweat running down his pulse, the way his eyes fluttered. Every criminal thought that they were Judas, the next true master of deception. Women on the force liked to use their charm. Some of them would sit on the table, hike up their skirt a little, where heels that would make their legs look as if they trailed on and on forever. Men liked to yell, spit in faces, use the same cheap sarcasm that one can find in any detective show on the air. Any criminal that came to terms with charges in the state of Louisiana, found themselves going through the same thing. Areas of the state that distanced themselves about three hours away, would all call the same police station with the same request. "Is Detective Rust Cohle available?" A cigarette would strike with the light clink of a silver lighter against light red hair. Sleeves of a button-down black shirt would be rolled up to her elbows, and her stance would be daunting. A sneer would cross her lips as her left hand tossed the lighter in the air, making circles around the room. Her shirt would hang off of her collarbones as if it wore her, instead of her wearing it. Once she made two circles around the room in complete silence, scratching the bridge of her nose to get a stronger whiff of her cigarette, long and lanky fingers would sit on the back of the chair next to the perpetrator, so as to sit down. Blank, blue eyes would focus their attention to the body next to her, her elbow resting on the table as her cigarette-free hand would hold her head up by its temple. "You were just honorin' God, weren't 'ya?" It was always the same story. Everyone believed in something that stood to be an absolute falsification of the world around them. People feel better about themselves when they think that they'll get a reward in the end, that someone's looking out for them. Religion was the biggest scam of all, all conducted for the sake of money, telling yourself lies to get through the day, that you really deserve your chance to get your share of heroin. God put this all here for me, right? Because I'm so fucking important. "No one's 'gonna be holdin' you accountable for just worshippin' God. That's like puttin' a law on the bible, ain't it? If you told yourself that it was what you wanted to do...then what you did, must truly be in your destiny." No one ever answered to that one. Eyes always stared down at their hands, to which she would take a moment to let more smoke roll in the back of her throat, exhaling through her nose with the same blank, weary expression on her face. Before she'd exhale another sigh, she'd committ to her knack of putting her cigarette in between her teeth, where it'd sit. Fingers curled forward to sit underneath the woman's chin, holding it in her hand as her blue eyes would scan over her greasy blonde hair, odd tattoos only making the woman look more wicked. Leaning forward only slightly, but enough to get her chair to make a sound, her smooth Texan voice would fill the room again. "You see, those screams from your children were all for you, they were thankin' you for liberating them of this world..." her voice dropped right here, her tone shifting to a much more serious one, leveling her eyes with whoever was in her grip, "...because this world is a cruel one. God told you to hold those toddlers under the water, to wear those scratches on your forearms as a sign of religious freedom. One day, those scratches are 'gonna turn into scars, the ultimate gift that you'll receive for truly doin' God's work for him." She could always feel someone shaking their head behind the glass by the end of it all, just as she was always sure that someone was saying, "Jesus fucking christ..." or, "Oh lord..." whenever the assailant would start crying and scribbling down their confession with shaky hands. Rust would stand and leave the room just as it was, shutting the door lightly behind her as she openly smoked her cigarette, reaching into her purse to pull her flask that was constantly filled with her favorite kind of bourbon. Heels would click on the pavement outside of the police department where she'd tip her head back as she openly drank alcohol in public, a law that she felt didn't apply to her. Not a single soul would pay attention to Rachel Cohle.

[nxnexistent-blog-blog-blog-blog]

Rolling the cigar in between her fingers as the ash trickled down onto the surface of the table where her forearms were resting, she paid no mind as she used the index finger of her occupied hand to lightly scratch the outer curve of her eye along the bridge of her symmetrical nose. Her rosy cheeks were tear-stained, flushed with the specific shade of pink that she only received in turn when she drank too many beers in one sitting. The bones of her arms could be seen as she shifted them a little bit, her heels and toes working together to kick off the stained black stilettos that she'd been wearing all day, walking from door to door to question those who gave her no answers. Weary eyes scanned the newspaper beneath the cigar's ashes as her left hand moved behind her to pull a rather large flask out from her maroon purse that hung on the back of her chair. The red-haired woman tipped her head back so as to let the whiskey roll down the back of her throat and burn the insides of her mouth, smacking it down on the table once she'd ingested every single drop.

[nxnexistent-blog-blog-blog-blog]

Do you enjoy listening to music?

“I only find it necessary in the morning, when I contemplate my moment in the garden. My very own crucifixion...”

[nxnexistent-blog-blog-blog-blog]

Favorite brand of alcohol, tobacco, and firearms?

“Jack’s always kept me sane, Camel’s always made me happy, and Smith & Wesson have always been ‘ma best friends.”

[nxnexistent-blog-blog-blog-blog]

Bongos

“ ‘The hell does that have to do with anything?”

[nxnexistent-blog-blog-blog-blog]

What was your name again? Rose?

“Name’s Rachel Cohle. Got transferred out from southern Texas. Worked in narcotics for 4 years.”

[nxnexistent-blog-blog-blog-blog]

How did you sleep last night?

“It’s hard to sleep when all you do is dream.”

[nxnexistent-blog-blog-blog-blog]

Is your scientific name Iron Oxide?

“The last person who said that to me was someone who thought he was a wise guy.”

[nxnexistent-blog-blog-blog-blog]

Jessica Chastain for M Le Monde