Body and Bone by LS Hawker

Loops ’ cover art as the featured image, added tags, and posted it a day early. Good for her.
    Nessa navigated to the front page of her blog to read the latest comments. Most were nice, some were thoughtful, funny, interesting. But there were also the odd nasty, profane, personal, ugly comments from trolls. And then there were the Beatles Avengers, who could never let go of her apathy toward the all-­time greatest band the universe had ever known. When she felt like punishing herself, she read these brilliant, witty ripostes like You’re writting sucx . This served a three-­fold, evil purpose—­it stirred up angry feelings, put a sword through her already aching heart, and made her feel superior all at the same time. Today’s gem: Your mind is so small, you probably like Norman Rockwell.
    That made her laugh. She did like Norman Rockwell. Fuck ’em.
    After Daltrey went down, Nessa and Isabeau watched a movie in the living room, a romantic comedy, which didn’t help distract Nessa because of its utterly predictable storyline. Isabeau went up to her new room about ten minutes after the movie ended, and Nessa followed her upstairs to check on Daltrey, who was sleeping peacefully, then washed her face and put on her pajamas before returning to the living room. She made herself a cup of green tea, got out her vapor pen, and opened her laptop, ready to do her inventory.
    But first she refreshed her blog and saw the Basinski post already had several comments below it.
    Awesome! Next time I have +7 hours to sit still and think about collapsing buildings I will know what to listen to.
    Posted by Anonymous | June 7 7:38 P M
    Beatles rule
    Posted by Anonymous | June 7 7:46 P M
    Profiting off of the worst day in American history FTW
    Posted by Studtman | June 7 7:55 P M
    7:55 go back to sleep DAWG
    Posted by Anonymous | June 7 7:59 P M
    Great records! I love this stuff. BUT, if want music for sitting around thinking about “collapsing buildings” as 7:38 suggested, I would obviously be playing Einstürzende Neubauten.
    Posted by Anonymous | June 7 8:02 P M
    remember the days when ­people actually wrote songs instead of hitting three notes on the “strings” setting of a synthesizer and then repeating it for 11 minutes?
    Posted by LIghtning! | June 7 8:02 PM
    This was the type of comment she felt duty-­bound to respond to.
    So it didn’t strike you . . . that’s fine. But for me, TDL is the very definition of art. It provokes a response. It disturbs, it delights, it wears brand-­new neural pathways in your brain, and redistributes the chemicals. It changes you. TDL changed me, and for that I thank William Basinski.
    Some of the comments on her blog were so brainy and well-­reasoned she wondered if Marlon wrote them, like the Einstürzende Neubauten comment (which, she learned, was a German industrial band—­thank you, Interwebz). But she didn’t dare ask, because she didn’t want to sound like a self-­obsessed me-­monkey, as if he spent all his time pondering her brilliant words and thinking of pithy comments to add.
    One more comment appeared:
    What you need is another good raping.
    Posted by DeadJohnDonati | June 7 8:37 PM
    Nessa choked on her tea, which sent her into a violent coughing fit.
    She heard a door click open upstairs.
    â€œYou okay down there, boss?” Isabeau called.
    Nessa continued coughing, and Isabeau appeared in the doorway, then charged into the room when she caught a glimpse of Nessa’s face. “What is it?”
    Nessa turned her laptop toward Isabeau and pointed.
    â€œWhat is—­oh, my gosh,” Isabeau said, her hand over her mouth. “What kind of sick asshole would do that? I mean, that is just beyond the pale.”
    The commenter’s handle scrolled through Nessa’s brain like a Times Square news ticker marquee: DeadJohnDonatiDeadJohnDonatiDeadJohnDonati.
    â€œTOS