Death and the girl iv

colleague and employees: Randy Taraborrelli, Elisabeth Veit, Roland Barthes and others.

Jackie should appear in a Chanel costume, I think (but you have to have very good reasons if you do it differently!). You could also use this last photo in Central Park (with Maurice Tempelsman) as a role model to take on the bench, trench coat, wig (because hair went out through chemo), sunglasses and Hermès headscarf.

In any case, it should work hard. I imagine that their whole dead, the children, well, the embryo and the two dead babies are not so heavy, but the dead men, Jack, Bobby, Telis (?? Ari ??), that makes a pretty nice weight what. so, how can I say, these dead people should drag them behind like tug of war. Or a Volga boatman. I can’t make it easier for you. At least the blood on the pink costume doesn’t weigh too heavily, and a whole piece of Jack’s skull is missing anyway. The actress should drag the (connected?) Dead behind her with difficulty and therefore become more and more breathless when she speaks, gasp until she has to end the monologue at some point because she can no longer. Depending on your condition and daily condition, it will be earlier and then later. And then the monologue is out and out.

But you will certainly do something completely different.

So I mark myself like my waist, which I don’t emphasize. I wear unstressed clover >Happy Birthday, Mr. President, something happened! It flies, it flies out, definitely, although curvy and earthy, fleshy the hips, the breasts, the shoulders, already at the limit of loss of shape, just sewn into the dress, but basically: not to hold, but without really hold to be able to hold without that which gives it the form. So a person who urgently needs clothes, even more urgently than I, who is after all clothing! Will inevitably and quickly fly away. Marilyn. The hair doesn’t come out alive, I can see that. In the violent breeze that always arises when one strives for a new social value, it was torn away, flew up and away, forever. Marilyn. You are at the first natural birth, I mean the birth of the natural, yes of nature itself, and then it is gone so quickly. You can look at nature for hours, but if it is broken – away with it! Can not do anything. In me you can rather see the birth of the artificial, which hides nature so cleverly that nature soon disappeared as well, and with it life as if the two had never been something natural. You see, the effect is the same whether art or nature are born. They spoil if you touch them, if you wipe your fingers on them. Always stay away! Nature and art often rise from their places at astonishing speed, and since we have brought them out of balance, here, on their Vip swing, one up, then the other down, and vice versa, so you are on this swing it always itself that falls roughly to the ground. Don’t be a celebrity, be honest. While it could enrich your life, if you were one of them, it is better to stick to your thoughts. At least you don’t see them, but you need them, they can’t exist without you! We vips already. If nature goes, life goes too, I said it already, because they are both one, if not always in agreement with each other, for example, these breasts should now really decide whether they want to be united with the associated hips or not. And then the face and the legs should also fit in, that’s a bit demanding, but we rich people can ask that of us. We can ask everything of us, because we already have it. Yes, the artificial does not have to hide its artificiality, it can be as it is. But when nature comes into play, even though it plays constantly, if not artfully, poor Marilyn, then it gets serious! When the game comes, it will be dead serious, believe me. In the University of Life you can get that and the degree of independence, the material, the meat underneath, locks itself out and desperately searches for the key, yes, that was the case with Marilyn. I have never locked myself in, and certainly not against the victory of artificiality. The poor woman threw the key out of the window as if it wasn’t enough to lose the key, so that it doesn’t come to. It wasn’t quite with itself. I decided what and who and where I wanted to be. Well. The meat succumbs, and it succumbs particularly quickly when it comes from the suburbs. The flesh is literally pouring out of the suburbs, it will meet us if we take a trip to the coast, but it always runs past us, the whole stream runs to the kiosk to buy pictures from us, even though we do standing right in front of them, in flesh and blood, but no, we never stand where the crowd is. Well, the meat doesn’t always come along unscathed, but mostly. Who is interested in it, besides other meat? It mostly misses us and unfortunately has to quickly recognize its limits if it no longer goes into the pants from last year. My limit is made of ball and wool, and it stays there. Marilyn’s limit was her flesh. The poorest. The light flees us, it flies us away. It was the light. She was the fugitive that’s gone when it’s still there. Sensations are instilled in him, but that’s just for fun. They don’t understand that, these women. The owner of the free world says goodbye to them quickly: I really have in mind to harm you if you don’t stop. His little brother tells them that too, just a little later, of course, he only comes second. You only let him go second. But she doesn’t hear that anymore, Marilyn, because she is too hasty to have to hurt herself much faster. It awaits us with its falseness, the evil light, dabbed on canvas, for eternity, which is the most fleeting of all, because it does not have a beginning or an end, nor is it more fleeting than the light that throws people on the canvas and starve to death there, no wonder that something is contagious and my husband wanted to imitate it: starve on the outstretched arm, and if we wanted to take something from this tray it wasn’t one. It was gone. Everything we put on it immediately falls into nothing. Can you see it. Marilyn was one of them. You reach for it, there is nothing. Only this hair has resisted, I can’t get it out of my head, I can’t get it on my head. Yes, the effect is exactly the same for me. You can’t reach for me either, I’m not meat, I’m his cover, I’m the dress! My silhouette never changes. I am unchangeable. And the less you can do it, the grasping, the clearer I am there, but there is no light with me. I sent it away. In the whole flash of lightning, without any privacy, I am completely private, being completely public, and one thing does not take anything away from the other. I can have a black widow’s edge, I can be all black and throw a veil over my face, I can be freshly fallen snow next to Pablo Casals or Isaac Stern, I can shake my head and open my eyes in amazement, my favorite pose, me can breathe softly and chirp like a first grader on the first question of her life, where the bed of Abraham Lincoln came to, because I want to put it right here, I had been doing this for a long time, but despite everything: nothing is taken away from me. My husband can die, my brother-in-law can die, twenty thousand, a hundred thousand other people can die in the jungle? Yes, in the jungle as well, I don’t care where, who cares, in any case nothing is taken away from me because I have locked everything in my clothes and myself. I am and am not. I’m such a vampire too. I am dead, but I am will never die. The wishes of the people, yes, even those of me, weighed around me, I am the ship on these waves, but everything is locked up and sewn in. Real wool. Real want! A high degree of material independence, no, not yet, that much later. Wanting to be simple, yes, just wanting to be, and also wanting to be kept, is not possible. Must tell Marilyn. She just wants to be kept, she’s just waiting for it. She is waiting for a nice owner. That will not do. You cannot want to lose yourself so that someone else can pick you up and keep you. All that follows is phone calls, whining fear, phone calls, shaking limbs, phone calls, inserting the suppository, phone calls and taking various prohibited substances. Well, Jack and I did that for years, decades, but it didn’t hurt us. Very much ingested and very little returned. That’s how you do it. Fortunately, Dr. Jacobson remained silent at the trial. I had summoned him, our carefree innkeeper, to keep silent about his menu to everyone except us, our regulars. Thank you, Doctor Jacobson, for sticking to it. Not like this Dr. Death that keeps talking about itself. But after all, death has to stir the advertising drum for itself, who else would take it voluntarily? Poor Marilyn, I can only say, she wanted to get back to life again, of all things with my Jack! And for that, she also left her workplace, the filming location, where things could no longer go forward, only in circles, simply leaving! She must have been crazy. Was fired, there is nothing. Discipline is everything, well, I have it, we all have it in this family. I am, how can I say: solid. I am my own piece of furniture. I survive differently because I am flesh and blood and at the same time not. I am made of and the dress, coat, casual look, mostly pants. I am clothes. I am various forms of clothing. Yes. You also need the light, you need it so that you can see me in my clothes and see the details of the clothes. Not so Marilyn. The light needs no details in its radiate wreath, sea star I greet you. No holy Mary there to help. It doesn’t help women. She likes men. Like all people. Me too. However, I stand on myself so that I look bigger, although I’m not exactly small, stand on me like a hungry vulture and tear pieces of meat out of me so that the crowd can see that I am also meat. They really believe that! No, they don’t believe it. Still: I delivered a good number, right? There is something that stays and I don’t know it. Somehow it irritates me like a chip under my skin, under my light striped beach sweater. But this time it is no use either. It is a terrible pain to express a feeling that everyone can see, believe me. Hi there? Anyone home? I tell you, Ethel concludes from me and my behavior, which does not include an invitation to her, which thoroughly annoys her, so Ethel says because of me, yes, because of me, and then to Joan: Do you have any idea under what pressure this girl now that she has just lost a child again? I tell you this girl is on medication or something. So that’s what she said, caressing me, comforting me, but I don’t see it at all, something like that and she said about me. But that’s always the others: not hell. You are something. Then nothing. Of course I’m done, no question. Nothing more to improve, nothing to worsen. We are all under pressure, no question, but I am not to be squeezed. You can push and push, nothing comes out, not even water. I’ll be alone, I’ll tell you the secret: never get together! I would like to go to myself to comfort myself, but there is nobody there. There’s not even hair like Marilyn’s. That went out long ago because of the damn cancer. Isn’t that weird. There’s not even any hair left that could go out. If I were a body, I would be surprised. I wave my hand in front of my face: Hello, someone at home? But I’m just looking at myself. Why shouldn’t I look at myself? The others do it too. No. Nobody at home. Not even my hair. Dear heaven, look at that! Not even my hair is at home. Completely uninhabitable! I am once again in the middle of a renovation. I’ve already chosen the draperies. They are so great that nobody will ask for my hair anymore. Yes. That’s how we do it. No question.

Death and the Maiden IV © 2002 Elfriede Jelinek

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