postcards from the edge of the rebel alliance
You are not my father. But I am not Luke Skywalker, nor was meant to be. Am an attendant fool – no, worse: a woman. Your daughter, Princess Leia. Princess of nothing. Princess of high heels and long hair curled into earmuffs, and tranquillizers, cocaine, and booze.
All Princesses of Nothing have secrets. They sent me to you as a spy, after all. Me, the leader of the Rebels – and yet I was dispensable. I expected it, don’t worry. It’s the same old story: I take the risks, I have my stomach pumped, I am the compliant body. I am sticky honey in a trap, in a metal bikini, with stupid hair.
You think I am weak. You can crush me under your boot. But I have watched you. I can see behind your black mask, your five wives, your rock and roll. The Force is strong with me.
