How could I know what it is you want to read? All I know is what I want to write.
Tuesday, September 24, 2013
It's difficult to watch her last interviews with Paar and Cavet, to hear her talk in that boozy slurr, to see the drug-dulled gleam of her once bright eyes, to watch her staccato movements, like responses to fingernails scratching at a blackboard. Watching these interviews, her nerves seem to writhe beneath her skin like snakes pinned to the ground by a pitchfork. Judy, didn't you understand that you weren't in Kansas anymore? Of course not, you were too busy enthralling us with despair-driven performances that approached frenzy, too busy stunning us with that one-in-a-generation voice that reached far over the rainbows. And we, your audience, were too busy listening, too busy watching in spellbound fascination the spectacle of your breakdown to be of any help to you at all.