Marilyn Monroe has been dead all my life, or at least all my conscious life. Yet even so, the idea still doesn’t sit right. “Marilyn Monroe is dead.” That’s like saying life and joy and sex and fun are dead. How screwed up does the world have to be that it can’t even keep Marilyn Monroe alive?
She died 50 years ago tonight. Maybe somebody killed her. (Just the thought makes you want to grab your head and scream.) Maybe she killed herself. (I still want to grab my head and scream.) Or maybe she died by accident. (Better, but still awful.) And yet in the years since, no one who has died has seemed less dead.