Stuff in place. Arrangements made. Details finessed. Back story established. The art of the liar would be beautiful to behold, if only someone other than me could witness it.  If no one hears the tree fall in the forest, does it make a noise?

All the meticulous detail, the attention that goes into creating plausibility.  The art is in building the edifice upon real foundations.  Put enough real bricks in the wall so that the eye is not drawn to the gaps. It scares me how easily I do this.  I tell people I'm a terrible liar, but it isn't true.  Scarlett once told me we all lie and she was right. The lies are in what we withhold more than what we offer up; sins of ommission more than commission.  Being economical with the truth.  That's the liar's craft.

But my muse for this Tate style installation is worth it.  Sometimes that's not the case, but this time it is. I know. I know for sure. She sent me some very erotic texts yesterday at the most inappropriate time...which made them even better.  50 hours left and then I shall lay eyes upon her for the first time.  Add some minutes and I shall lay hands upon her.  Add some more and we shall lay down together.

There are some small details left to finalise. Little touches. And then it shall happen. And the last on the left will be occupied and all heaven shall break loose. 

Our allotted time approaches.  Bardot and me.  Soon the wait will be over.  And then?