Thursday, October 27, 2016

Early self-abusive deaths of Elvis Presley, Michael Jackson, and, yes, Pete Burns are depressing as hell: These men had a confluence of what most of us plebes wish for and dream of -- good looks, fame, wealth, creative ability. But it all meant nothing to them.

If life means nothing to those blessed, what are the rest of us to think?

(I'll add Sylvia Plath -- whose birthday is today, October 27-- to this list. In 1963, when she killed herself at age 30, she wasn't sexy or rich or famous, but she was brilliant and had had a noted scholastic and literary career and a meaningful love in Ted Hughes. All of which, apparently, meant nothing to her.)

Interesting to me what an individual chooses to live for, or not live for.

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