Diamonds are a girl’s best friend

Act of bomb shell

Something began with Mae West continuing to Jane Mansfield and Marilyn Monroe to whom many blond big breasted beautiful women in limelight are connected. The biggest role for Norma Jean Baker was Marilyn Monroe and it was not bad acting at all. Marilyn Monroe perfected celebrity performance live act. How could anybody say she was a bad actress? Stupidity, clumsiness, unaware flirting supposed weaknesses of female sex embodied as a childlike doll, inabilities, drunkenness, forgetting her lines and singing. Who is she like when she is like that, why do we tolerate her like that, let her do what she does and adore her, are endlessly interested in her still? Was she doing what she was told to do, to act nice and look beautiful, smile, wave, walk, be perky bubbly adorable magnet. If you are not smiling you are troubled and rumors get wings, there are pictures of you with wrinkles on your forehead, hand on your face, face looking sad, you distant and depressed-looking. Sad beauty is not fun. She is pathetic and it is time to find a new one who will entertain us with her moves and nonsense kind of puppuppiduu and I love you’s. Is she on medication, does she do drugs, why does she drink? What is her problem? How can someone so beautiful have such problems?
That she is a manipulating calculating bitch who knows what she is doing turns the thing of childish stupidity around and her more of a product of her own doing. She is like a victim but she does it herself. Nobody is forcing her to become the sex bomb other than herself but sex bombing is the way for her to be seen and get ahead in her career. She gets to be noticed. There is interest in her, she is wanted to be seen, perform, asked to TV-shows, interviewed. What is the interest in with whom she is having sex? Sex is what gets us to be interested in her and how she is sexual in front of us, what she is daring to do and behaving ways most of us wouldn’t dare in public. To look at someone who is daring is a turn on, exciting and fun, a riot kind of boost. She is crossing a limit, stepping over and looking what happens.
Then we do not know the whole story and we start inventing what is she like and why is she doing what she does, what is her motivation, what is her problem, is she talented at all, what does she have what others do not. She is using us for her benefit, isn’t she? Seduction of come look at me, look what I have got, would you like to touch and have a piece of me, dream of me, just look at me. Tragedy is when sex bomb cannot be anything else even though she would like to. We don’t want her as anyone else but as that posing body wearing a tight dress and smiling face which is eternally youthful white pure but dirty underneath. All is told but nothing is said. Something remains the same and is like a circle. White blond bleached retouched lifted up tightened squeezed into erased immortalized repeated over and over again. Is she in trouble, is she the trouble, what did she do, who does she think she is? She is nothing and everything, she is diminished and made big. What a contrast and battle to have. How is it possible to stay in that role, keep that pose, keep that white and that form of body?

Total nymph, researching abortions of Marilyn Monroe, chopping her into tiniest little pieces to know her.

My fascination, why such interest in her arise over and over again, to want to know her on level of cells, hair, gestures, partners, illnesses, miseries, lacks. Abuse and ill-treatment, which I see also is our constant desire to dig her archaeology, her vault, her blond, her mystery. What does she represent? What is the mystery is her ability to act herself, make herself the adorable wonder woman, joyous dream and a tragedy. The question is why one cannot be happy for what one has got? She is not happy because she is not her. She is not loved and followed for who she is but who she has created herself to be.

Marilyn

I met her in a pub. I went to three places before I found her. Beautiful in her blonde Marilyn hair, waving her hand enthusiastically behind men holding their drinks, and she was happily playing in the sea, splashing liquid joy all over, drinkable. But I didn’t want to drink. I wanted to sit there with her without hurry, without desire for anything else. I wanted to laugh with her, trust her sweetness. But a woman cannot sit in a pub like that. There is always a desire for something there, must be, why else would you be here, said a man who came to say something about my eyes. He wanted to look me deep in the eyes and rub my back. My Marilyn went for a smoke.

So, it’s a trap where you can be harassed the way, you are not harassed elsewhere, people were there to grab, to drown, to stare and do what they could not do elsewhere. Someone said, Christmas is a hard time. Fuck! Grab your pint! Whatever I thought, I became frustrated and angry. Marilyn why are you in this hole? I wanted to ask. M said knowingly, you only live once. Oh well, I loved to watch her put makeup on sitting next to her beer and the bartender smiling when she was looking for lipstick from her purse. I love when people here know me by my name , she said.