"I am at a party at the Dakota, a gothic mountain of a building on Central Park West. Everybody is here, trying to get hip, trying to get high. Andy Warhol is here in his silver cocoon of aphasia and passivity. The ususal drone of coctail party chatter, "eight days a week" playing soflty in the background. Suddenly, a strange girl in black tights, striped t-shirt and giant earrings enters the room. With her odd birdlike gait, she twirls into the very center of the room and remains there, simply... twirling. Edie."
I got this, amongst 4 other books from Ags for my birthday this month and I am simply in love with it. I am in love with HER. Her and every inch of her tragic yet highly intriguing story. It is'nt simply that she is "a beauty", she radiates. I never want it to end.
I wish i lived in the mid 60's. I'd run around in black leotards, huge fur coats, shoddy eye make-up, heavy jewellery with a constant cigarette between my fingers, kicking it with Andy Warhol and Bob Dylan and being photographed by Nat Finkelstein.
(I would probly also be a luxury-junkie and ball half the dudes in town for a snort whenever i ran short.) But that's a whole other story.
thankyou.
//chris
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