|
By Misti Date: 2004 Jul 27 Comment on this Work [[2004.07.27.14.19.4511]] |
|
Dear Sylvia Plath, I want to put my head in an oven, too. You were educated and brilliant and wrote poems that mattered. That did not matter. The pain was the most real thing and you embraced it like a lover. I am not so educated and I am not brilliant and I write poems that matter to a few. That does not matter to me. My pain is the most real thing and I embrace it like a lover, the most faithful lover I have ever known. I would like to take a bunch of pills and put my head in a gas oven. That is the only way to kill the witch that sings her candycoated lies inside my haunted head. But I won't do it. I will live. Every second is bloated with eternity and I am crawling like a wounded animal, curled up in the fetal position, bawling to God. Walking back to the five year old me and taking her by the hand and walking her with patience and deep love down the sunlit road, ignoring the shadows. Trying to ignore the shadows. Dear Charles Bukowski, You were a lonely, ugly, sexy pervert. I read your poems to my lover on the balcony of my studio apartment in Albuquerque, New Mexico. The day I decided to leave my lover I tried to give him a book of your poems that I had ordered for him from amazon.com. He would not accept the gift. He could not read about love and how often it went wrong for you. It went wrong for him too many times, too. He's a Leo like you. Love has gone wrong for me too many times, too. Me and my Leo lover thought we finally had it right with each other. There will be no other lovers for me. I am through, finally. I can hear you laughing. You asshole. Love killed you. Love will not kill me. Dear Bob Dylan, You aren't dead. You're alive. I don't know all of your songs. I don't know most of your songs. An old friend of mine told me I needed to invest in "Blood on the Tracks" so I did. Before that I only knew a handful of your songs. Now I have listened to "Blood on the Tracks" approximately five hundred times. My favorite songs are "Idiot Wind," "Tangled Up In Blue," "You're A Big Girl Now," "You're Gonna Make Me Lonesome When You Go" and "Simple Twist Of Fate." I also like "Just Like A Woman" but it hurts me to listen to that song now because it's too true, it's too me. I've also listened to "Highway 61 Revisited" and the cd that has Suze on the cover. I have your greatest hits. I want to buy "Blonde on Blonde" next. I bought a biography about you and the documentary in which you mocked the journalist from Time magazine. I met a guy at T-Mobile in Albuquerque, New Mexico who worked as a roadie for a number of years. You put your cigarette out in his eggs. He thinks you're an asshole. But he has "Blood on the Tracks," too, and he listens to it while doing shit work for T-Mobile. You've had a lot of women and I don't know why. I'll never meet you and be able to separate the man from the myth. This is just to say thank you for your honesty and your genius. Your songs help me get through it. Dear Nancy Spungen, Sid Vicious loved you to death. I've never known a love that intense. I almost envy you. And that is fucked up beyond belief. Dear Kurt Cobain, I had a crush on you there for awhile. Then I knew that as a couple we wouldn't work out. I don't think we would have clicked. We were too much alike. I can't play the guitar, though. But thank you for "Something in the Way" and "Drain You" and "About a Girl" and all the rest. Thank you for dying for me and for our generation. You're in a much better place now. Anyplace apart from Courtney Love is a better place. Some people think she had you murdered. I think you blew your brains out because you could not deal with the fame and the pressure of being married to a materialistic, crazed bitch. I think you were weak and beautiful and fragile and too sensitive to live in this world. I think you were naked. All those layers of clothes were not enough to keep you warm and protect you from the angst you knew so well. Dear Ava Gardner, Wasn't Frank Sinatra the best lover you ever had? Wasn't he hot enough for you? Why did you mess around with all those bullfighters in Spain? You had the best and you let it go. I'm getting older and I think I know the answer. This is just to say that I think you are the most beautiful actress to ever light up the silver screen. You could do whatever the fuck you wanted to do. You flat out rocked. Dear John Lennon, I've mourned your death many times over. Doesn't make much sense. I was a kid when you died. I listened to my mom's "Just Like Starting Over" 45 over and over again. I've loved the Beatles since my uncle gave me his "Magical Mystery Tour" album when I was five years old. My uncle is dead now, too. He reminded me of you in many ways. He was a Libra, too. Everyone loved Greg. His funeral was packed. Largest funeral I've ever attended. He lit up a room. He had a balls to the wall no bullshit attitude. Like you. He was irreverent. He could be cruel. His words cut me to my core more than once. I adored him. I'm an Aquarian, like Yoko. My birthday is actually the day before hers. I married a man whose birthday is the day before yours. I actually took that into consideration when I decided to marry the man, which shows you how crazy I truly am. All my life I've said,"I want what John and Yoko had. Nothing less will satisfy me." You clung to Yoko. She finally threw your ass out and told you to get it together. Even while separated you communicated often, as air signs do. You knew it was only a matter of time before you were together again. Then you were together and it was better than it had ever been before. You had each other and you had Sean. A crazed loner destroyed all that when he killed you outside your home. You have been mourned by many people many times over. And I'm not the only one who yearns for what you and Yoko shared. Many people dream of having a love that big and bold and true. Thank you for sharing that love with a cynical, mocking world. Thank you for displaying it, for being proud of it, for fighting for it. That means more to me than all of your songs combined. |