HEY VANITY FAIR? NICE PICS BUT, WTF?
Okay so here it is! After having read the Vanity Fair interview with Robert Pattinson, twice, and letting it wander around in my head for a couple of days I have decided I am going to say something about it. With all of the attention it is getting, and not just from his solem commentary, but from all of the flack that Nancy Jo Sales is getting for how she wrote and portrayed him in the article. And now we have his radio interview with Ryan Secrest, which from his tone and responses, seems to be coming from the otherside of the coin when compared to his seemingly bleek Vanity Fair interpretation. And yes, I say interpretation for a reason because that is exactly what it is.
Sales’ interpretation of Rob was one of gruesome celebrity lackluster, a piece stemming from her own narcicism, where it appears she is wanting to a get a rise out of a certain group of people (aka the fandom), in where she is basically doing to Rob, the exact thing he is trying to get away from. She is creating her own fog of vague fuckery and misconceptions, to which the truth just becomes another irrelevent face in the crowd.
Now, you may be thinking that I am falling into the trap of these intentions, but I assure you my motivation stems from an entirely different place. I may joke around and post pictures, write smut and say whatever the fuck happens to come to mind. I do it in fun, it’s entertaining, and it’s what grabs people’s attention. So I say, “Why not?” And because I find it highly fascinating considering my curiosity towards the power of para-social narcicism. But, what I wish for Rob is a moment of reality, a reality in which he does not have to please anyone but himself.
That if he were to be interviewed he would not be confined to a contrived environment of false comforts. That he would be interviewed by a person without motive, other than to have a conversation. No promotions, no interogations, no probing, just a fucking conversation about whatever the fuck comes to mind. Reality. So, Rob if you ever want to have a real piece written about you, untarnished, uncut, and without motivation or promotion you just let me know. I have a place where you could go, and just breathe. You wouldn’t be a celebritity in my little slice of space, you would just be “A dude drinking with CrazyKate.” Because FYI we would be drinking, so make sure you wear your big boy underroos!
My offer comes from a place of empathy for your “stuck” mind. I know what it is to be stuck in world of opposition, where your “real” self is at war with what people see and think they know of you. But guess what? Who gives a fuck! All that matters at the end of the day is that you know who you are (at least in the sense of knowing enough of who you are to know what you aren’t). So, Rob I leave you with this because it is the only thing that will make any sense.
11TH CHORUS
By Jack Kerouac
And if you dont like the tone
of my poems
You can go jump in the lake.
I have been empowered
to lay my hand
On your shoulder
and remind you
That you are are utterly free,
Free as empty space.
You dont have to be famous,
dont have to be perfect
Dont have to work,
dont have to marry
Dont have to carry burdens,
dont have to gnaw & kneel,
the taste
of rain-
Why kneel?
Dont even have to sit,
Hozomeen,
Like an endless rock camp
go ahead & blow,
Explode & go,
I wont say nothin,
neither this rock,
And my outhouse doesn’t care,
And I got nobody
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