Dark Fragments

by DL Minor

I am taking the Ava Gardner book, Love Is Nothing, back to the library, having had it on my desk for three weeks straight and not having read a page of it.

I may take it out and try againÖ but probably not.

Marilyn Monroe is this monthís Vanity Fair cover girl. She is there to market the release of the new book Fragments, a compilation of the iconís poems, dreams and journal scribblings (Marilyn honey, wherever you are, I hope youíre okay with this).

I have been reading the Fragments excerpts. They are very affecting, as I expected they would be. But as I close the magazineís pages I find myself wondering when weíre going to see, say, Lena on Vanity Fairís cover, or Dorothy, in remembrance and celebration of their cinematic achievement and pop culture status. I donít mean to be churlish about Marilynóor Ava. They were singular women.

But so were Lena Horne and Dorothy Dandridge. They were stunningly beautiful, trailblazing American women, and their twentieth century success stories were extraordinary, and extraordinarily double-edged, for what each was able to achieve in her lifetime and what each could not.

Between them they could have written libraries about the dark side of Hollywood dreams, as well as the dangers of scaling the rarified heights of Goddess-dom.

Perhaps they did.

Donít dark dreams matter?


Dark Fragments by DL Minor

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