An Announcement and a Confession
for release 02-07-07
Washington DC
I would like to use this issue of The Poet's Eye to make two important announcements, well let's call it a confession and an announcement. First the confession.
I am the actual biological father of Anna Nicole Smith's child. I'll never forget that night. I was impetuous I know, maybe you could even call me promiscuous but she was just so damned beautiful. I don't know why she was in West Virginia in the Fall of '05 and I don't know what brought her in to the Topsy Curvy Club on the outskirts of Charlestown, maybe she felt nostalgic for her old profession and wanted to see what the state of the art was these days for sleazy titty bars. She had come to the right place. The Topsy was the smelliest armpit in a state with a lot of armpits. That's why I was there.
I'm a writer after all. Writers love to visit places on the underbelly of life, we love the seamy and the picaresque. When she walked into the place with 'her people' (she never travels without 'her people') her perfume overcame the stink of sweat and beer and horny men and ancient cigarettes. The light seemed to change as well, she was a shimmering thing who caught the neon glow from the beer signs and turned it into something sublime.
Few women succeed at this, I mean succeed in being totally self-invented creatures, complete artifice, not of this world. We think of Mae West, Jean Harlow, Jayne Mansfield, Marilyn, Blondie, Princess Di, Madonna. And Anna Nicole Smith. It usually starts with the impossibly blonde hair. Only a goddess could have hair like that. This mystique is enhanced by the bewitching paradox of sexual confidence and emotional vulnerability. I don't know if it was Zeus or a good plastic surgeon who gave Anna Nicole that rack, and I don't care.
I've never met a truly beautiful woman who was not lonely. They are isolated by their beauty which can become a signal of unapproachability. Then there is something I call the 'fried chicken syndrome.' At some point a beautiful woman will feel like she is a plate of fried chicken at a truck-driver's picnic--getting grabbed at from every direction. This makes them shy and suspicious. And lonely.
Anna Nicole must have been in a lonely mood that night. I was sitting alone and probably looked like a pensive writer (or at least I was trying to.) She sent one of her people over to buy me a drink and invite me to her table. How could I refuse?
She was witty and effusive and I was my typical charming self. After her third drink, she began to talk more somberly and I began to listen. I think this is what endeared me to Anna Nicole, I listened. I listened like a reporter. Goddesses love it when you listen. She rewarded me that night for listening, and not just for listening, but listening To Her.
So, this week I am going to have my people file a Writ of Abracadabra to obtain custody of my daughter and her billion dollar inheritance. The money will come in handy. Especially because of
The Announcement.
Today Lightning Rod is setting up an exploratory committee to examine the possibility of a run for President of the United States. I've already set up an exploratory committee to find out just what the hell an exploratory committee is supposed to do, but I figure that I need one because all the other candidates seem to have them.
I know that in the last election Ralph Nader and I were accused of giving George Bush the victory. If this is true then it fits with my agenda. I figured it would take another four years for the American people to figure out just how stupid they have been. But the times they are a changin'---The Dixie Chicks won five Grammy's. It's a symbol. Americans are finally tumbling to the fact that they have been used and deceived. And they are not ready to make nice.
The Poet's Eye sees a bright day ahead for The Mad Dog Absurdist Party.
• What good is it being Marilyn Monroe? Why can't I just be an ordinary woman? A woman who can have a family ... I'd settle for just one baby. My own baby.
• I have too many fantasies to be a housewife.... I guess I am a fantasy.
• A career is wonderful thing, but you can't snuggle up to it on a cold night.
• Vote for Lightning Rod (ok, I made that one up)
---Marilyn Monroe
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