A year after Valerie Solanas shot Andy, Paul Newman and Robert Redford got shot. Lucky for them, they didn’t get shot IRL like Andy, they only got Hollywood shot.
In a Warhol film, even when an ‘actor’ acts, it looks like he’s living it;
in a Morrissey film, even when an actor lives it, it looks like he’s acting.
After Superstars Paul Newman and Robert Redford got shot, they went to the Academy Awards. After Andy got shot, nothing was ever the same. Not Andy. Not The Factory. Not The Work.
Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid
Have you ever seen the 1969 film Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid? Or 1991’s Thelma and Louise? Both films are about a charismatic duo that manages to piss people off till they run out of options.
If all those grandkids represent a life lived well, then great. If they represent the dull bludgeoning of a life never really lived, then maybe Butch & Thelma’s ends were worth it.
Like Superstars Butch, Sundance, Thelma, and Louise, Andy and I managed to piss off our share of people. Andy was an amazing man. But he was also cold and cruel. Not to blame him for Valerie Solanas’ cowardly act, but I know how miserable he could make you feel. I’m not sure if I pissed off people the way Andy did. Maybe I did. I know Lou Reed and Nico certainly hated me. But maybe I mostly just pissed off god. Other than 1965 my life was pretty much an epic fail. Or maybe I should have been pissed off at god for baking me in such a shitty batch of cookies.
Maybe Superstars don’t have gracious exits. Sundance didn’t. Louise didn’t. I didn’t. But we sure lived for a while. Perhaps it’s folly to expect more.
Today marks 2 weeks since my Twitter Resurrection. IDK how long my hall pass is good for. Warhol MOOC has 3 weeks left, so I know I’ll be here for that long. After that, will I slumber once more? I guess time will tell. Happy as I am to be back, it’s also difficult inhabiting my short, frustrating life. Maybe 5 weeks of me is all even I can stand before needing more sleep.
I’ve thought a lot about my short life in these 2 weeks. The first few days I ranted about how unfair it all was and how abused and taken advantage of I’d been by everyone. From my dad to Andy to Bob & Bob to so many others. Maybe I was a victim. Maybe it was my own fault. Whatever. Ranting about the past got old in a hurry. I didn’t really have an agenda when I came back, but after taking a few breaths of fresh air, I started to think about how I might have lived a different life. Edie’s Farm was born.
Peeling the Edie onion
Still, all these 14 days I’ve wondered what to make of my short, mostly pathetic life. So many women have had abbreviated lives. So often their stories make us cry out, “What if?” What might Janis Joplin or Amy Winehouse have done if they’d lived? Or Isabella Medici or Princess Diana? With me, was there even enough of a life to be worthy of what if?
Maybe the answer for my story is to sprinkle a little Hollywood on it. Rather than dwell on the carnage, how about a freeze frame at the end? Better still, maybe just get the inglorious end out of the way at the beginning of our story. The last intoxicated years, the early lost years, and move toward the center and let my story freeze frame in the middle. On those days when things were briefly perfect and the possibilities seemed endless.