Currently working on a post in memory of this lady. Not sure why I’m encountering–especially at my age–the problems I am.
She was a child of, and one who was wrecked by, the 1960s and early 1970s. I can’t but laugh, when I see twenty-first century snowflakes (Selena Gomez, I might be looking at you) trying to establish their transgressiveness, their relevance, and their victimhood as something new, something never seen before in the history of mankind. They can’t imagine, and they cannot possibly compete.
Here is Marianne Faithfull, child of privilege, age 19, in 1965. I was 11. But I remember. How pretty she was. How gentle. And–as I later learned–how wrecked:
And here we go with the rest of the post I’ve been trying to publish for a couple of hours:
Somehow, she made it through.
And she died today, age 78. A survivor of an age that has yet to see a proper reckoning.
Rest in peace.
(Many thanks to Ricochet, which, whether or not this post makes it to the main feed there, didn’t suppress it. I’m not sure I can say the same for WordPress here.)
