IconElegies

They called him the white death. He himself did not establish a name. He remained silent and quiet, just as when he was lying in wait for his next kill. Patiently, from darkness to darkness. He shot unexpectedly, the best sniper in the world, from far only a roar could be heard, silence descended on the light, again the life of one enemy ended, which flowed reddish into the white snow. Like a beast for its victim, he again lurked, one with nature, the world's most famous messenger of death, Simo Häyhä, and they called him the white death.

When our car hit the pillar of the Paris tunnel, I knew the world would talk about this for a long time. I had always been photographed, chased, and photographed again. They were after me again, the paparazzi, but for the last time. When I died, I belonged to history, not the paparazzi. I was Princess Diana, divorced, mother of a future king. I died, when my life began.

I wanted to kill happy people. I wanted to kill men. Men kill women. I hated them. I slept with them for money. They used me like everyone else used me. I myself asked to die. My whole life was hell. From beginning to end. My mother abandoned me, I didn't know my father. They called me the Deathly Hallows. Me, Aileen Wuornos. I'm coming back with Jesus. I'll cry first.

My name was Brian Jones. I was the Golden Stone,  Child of the Moon. and Stones was my band. I died everyday, they said,  and that was true. I died way too early. I was the first in the 27´s club,  when I drowned.  Please do not judge me to harshly.  

Barbie is dead. Ken is gay. Barbie was a patriarchal bitch, then a feminist icon, lastly a corporate slut. Sleep tight Barbie.

Until the last time I tried to call, until no one answered. I left behind a mystery, Marilyn Monroe, but really I was Norma Jean, forever loveless. When they found me, I lay naked in my bed, the way they wanted to see me. But Norma Jean, she didn't answer. Then I just slept, I left Marilyn to them.