Saturday, December 3, 2011


Confession: I have a growing fascination with iconic beauty that is deeply tortured and tormented.

I never found myself drawn to the pictures which are so commonly seen around hollywood in forms of postcards or dorm room posters… it all screamed glitzy glamour with a lack of depth. Even as I watched her films, I was more entranced by her charm than the actual storyline.

Slowly, I discovered that I was undeniably intrigued by the persona she developed to enchant the film industry and the audiences as well; she was like the California wildfires that struck the mountains, which everybody stopped to admire, only to realize much later that there was much damage hidden by a breathtaking facade. The deeper I go into researching, the more I find myself staring at pictures of her...just wondering how that luminous smile could hide so much unhappiness and how her eyes could glow while bathing in melancholy. Perhaps that’s what keeps me hooked, seeing such beauty unravel in the greatest of breakdowns. Marilyn became a dream, losing grip on her reality, sinking in disappointment and letting her true self go unwillingly.

what loss.



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