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?
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.