Thursday, June 29, 2017

The Rich Are Different



Last night, I finished watching "Grey Gardens."  I thought I had made it halfway through last evening before falling asleep, but I was wrong.  I woke up halfway through.  I'd only watched about fifteen minutes of it.

If I was haunted before. . . .

"The rich are different from you and me," Fitzgerald told Hemingway.  "Grey Gardens" speaks to that.  Hemingway's response should have been, it seems, "Yes, until they don't have money."  Poverty, perhaps, makes us all mad as hatters.

But Big and Little Edie, they were creatively mad, at least.  They are fascinating.

And once beautiful.

"The beautiful are different from you and me."


But to be both, to be rich and beautiful, is tremendously special and tremendously cruel.  Here's Big Edie.


And here is Little.  One can barely stand it.  I am endlessly fascinated, of course.  Even old and crazy as they were, those qualities brightly shown.

I am worn out with it, though.  I fell asleep too early and woke with madness foreseeing a horrible and pitiless future.

All one can do is endure, I guess.  As Beckett said, "I can't go on.  I'll go on."

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