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.