Monday, August 5, 2013

Inside And Outside

Re-post from last year at this time with recently released photos:

The news, what little there is, that is to say that there is nothing actually new, is as depressing as always. It was 50 years ago today, that Sargent Yiddish taught the band to play...their tune. And it has played on the silver screen since. Norma Jean Mortenson made the leap to the eternal on this day, half a century ago. Well, we all know she was pushed, but that doesn't matter now. I guess I remember it as the very first first-hand(or left hand) experience I had with 'our-way-or-the-eternal-highway', brought to me by those folks that gave me the six-million laughs. In a way...looking back at her last jew-jerks-off-behind-a-camera photo money-shot shoot, I kinda feel sorry for her. Kinda. There she was...age taking away her value for the tribe, and drunk on their champagne for the last time. And naked as the day she was born into sacrifice. Kinda. Not really a martyr. Martyrs fight with their last breath. She gave all her breath to her killers the day she wandered into Tinseltown. Oh well. They come, they go. And ♫"nobody knows the trouble I seen"♫. That is to say, nobody understands exactly how much you owe to the tribe when you sign on the dotted line. Because nobody but you has to pay the final bill.


So martyrdom it ain't. I won't waste my pixels or your reading time telling you what a great person this lovable whore was. But she was loveable to left-handed boys(and a few girls, I'm sure). She was the picture of effected innocence turned bad. The girl-next-door who didn't actually live next door...but ran away and joined the circus. And she was a whore of the first order. But all things being equal, she was loveable at least because she was us. We that surrendered to temptation of the serpent. We that would go through that door that led nowhere. Nowhere but the eternal. So not a martyr per se, but an example. The Eve that bit the apple for all of us.
I'll buy that.
I'll heed that warning.
I'll avoid all serpent-offerings from 1962 on.

But to be a whore in the upper echelon as she was, you have to have something the serpent can use. Human beauty will do when tribal members are...well...serpents without such physical allure. For the allure is all, isn't it? The honey to trap. The honey never knows it is the trap. The honey never knows. And she was a honey.
There were many honeys before...and multitudes of them after. All biting the apple. I am no believer in ancient texts of begatting-boogaloo...but that lesson is there for all to profit from.

For most of us, there is an inside and an outside life. One we live inside our own walls of work and home. And one we read and hear about from the serpent. You can't bite the apple and chew it at home. It is a contagious disease with which the snake poisons. Like its genetically modified life in general, it will infect all that it comes in contact with. So the inside becomes the outside. And vice versa. Until all is poison. We are approaching that time.
Critical mass. The point that Saint Norma showed us, without even knowing she was showing us.

So mourn her today. Mourn her stupidity. Mourn her simple-minded calculation. Mourn her vanity. Mourn all she was and we are. Remember although you don't remember. Inside and outside.

7 comments:

Anaughty Mouser said...

Finely written and balanced Tim. Lots of points about Norma to be digested. I read she had a Borderline Personality Disorder which would dovetail into her promiscuous activities you have indicated. I also like and feel sorry for her. She was used, abused and eschewed by the tribe.

But hey, she didn't know any better - she was ill.

Salut Marilyn!

rubbell said...

I may not have read everything you wrote but this is tops.

Timster said...

Mouser - Thanks. Seems like no one out here marked her death anniversary...

Timster said...

Rubbell - Don't despair. Even I haven't read all of it. But thanks!

Frank Fredenburg said...

Timster I thought it was 1962 that she died. I should probably say murdered. It looks like she was. President Kennedy was assassinated the following year.

Timster said...

Frank - Good eye. Yeah, this editor in blogspot sucks. I had typed that this was a re-post from last year and it clipped it off the bottom. It took the original text(which I had mistakenly typed 1963)but not the extra that I added at the bottom. Finally got the date to change. I'm working on the disclaimer. I'll try putting at the top. Thanks for the heads-up. And thanks for reading!

Anonymous said...

Damn, Timster. This is one of your best pieces! Encore! Classic.

Anton LaVey, High Priest of the Manson Family CIA Psyop sideshow and one of Marilyn's many MK Ultra handlers, used to drop her name constantly as one of his former consorts.

If Marilyn had survived the '60s, she would've been cast as a real time version of Mia Farrow's character in "Rosemary's Baby" or she would've been a stand in for a Sharon Tate granny-porno-reality-teevee snuff film in Laurel Canyon. She realized all too late what she signed up for, so she died young and left a beautiful corpse as an immortal cautionary tale for the rest of us. I swear that some mad scientist somewhere must have cloned her. Kate Upton (the Illuminati's all naturally curvy, naturally blonde 19 year old sex kitten du jour) has been blessed/cursed with her eerily gorgeous face, so I suspect that The Tribe are settin' fit to have a do-over with her 21st centtury doppleganger. Miss Upton appears to have the same vulnerable countenance as Miss Monroe, but I suspect that it's just a mirage. I saw an article about Kate Upton where she discussed the reason why she had a cross tattooed on the inside of her wrist, because one of her handlers on a modeling shoot chided her for wearing a crucifix necklace given to her by her mother, then had the chutzpah to remove it from her! So maybe there's some hope that Kate knows at the prime of her life what Marilyn learned at the end of hers. News at 11......

The young male staff at the morgue where Marilyn was toe-tagged are rumored to have taken from her posthumously what they would never be granted while she still had breath. There must be a rotting celluloid reel of the sordid scene in someone's safety deposit box, to be used as needed as leverage against some Shabbas Goy who won't be a 'team player' for The Tribe, Inc..You know that there's some (sch)mucky muck casting couch shot caller somewhere who has been granted lifetime rights to a necrophiliac circle jerk with the freshest warm casualties in exchange for the privilege.In Kenneth Anger's Hollywood Babylon it's not who you know, it's who you blow, right?

It's all coming back to me now, so thank you, Miss Monroe, and thank you Tim for this killer re-post.