'Til Death Does Us Part

View from Poet's Seat

The thing that really bothers me when I think of my own death is the usage of "she" by people describing me. I'm not worried about them saying bad things, it's just the thought of them talking about me like I'm the cat. They could be saying "She was a talented and beautiful woman" (not too shabby, aye?), but that past tense thing really bugs me. I just can't suppress the revulsion it makes me feel to know that's how it will be, because I do it regarding those that I have known to pass.

These death thoughts led me to recalling the legendary suicide of Sylvia Plath, a tale that slightly alters with each telling. Sometimes she sealed the door with tape, sometimes with wet cloths; sometimes she meant to do die, sometimes she didn't. Anyway, Plath's estranged husband spoke of her death as necessarily having to be over-dramatized by fans to fulfill some sort of Sylvia-delusion. He didn't say it like that, he was much more eloquent, also being a poet. When the wash was finally finished, the woman he had left Sylvia for also killed herself as well as their four-year-old child, and later, his and Sylvia's son committed suicide.

It seems that suicide used to be a rampantly over-romanticized way to die, or maybe it was just very casually used. I have a set of really horrible (you gotta read them) books, Hollywood Babylon & Hollywood Babylon 2, by Kenneth Anger, that portrays the suicidal deaths of many well known stars. The books are full of all kinds of Hollywood scandals, and the first one starts at the very beginning with silent films. There are many photos, some grisly, and both books are spell-binding. This set is one of my guilty pleasures. You'll kind of feel dirty when you're through perusing them.

One of the stories and photos that stick with me from the books is of actress Carole Landis, who was having an affair with actor Rex Harrison (Dr. Dolittle!) at the time of her death, ruled as suicide. In the photo she looks like she's kneeling down with an ear placed to the floor, wearing a pretty skirt and shoes that I wouldn't mind having. She doesn't look dead at all.

Now see how I'm talking about her? I don't want this to happen to me! So, when I die, please immediately forget me and never speak of me again, okay? Thanks! Whew! No photos, either, if you can help it.