This is a real note from the sister of my brother’s best friend Nick from the night John Lennon died, December 8th, 1980. He saw it when he came home from a King’s game (which was a 4-2 loss to Calgary).
I couldn’t help but wonder what other bad news there was out there scribbled on scraps of paper and such. (Not to mention why Gella didn’t wait up for Nick and tell him herself, considering it couldn’t have been much past 10:30 at night when he got home.) So I Googled “horrible notes.” Which led to other stuff.
A letter from English actor Rik Mayall to his wife Sarah. What a lucky lady.
I have to admit, I kind of want to meet this guy under that mango tree. I had to Google “doxology,” which is the name for a collection of short hymns of praise to god. “Am dreaming of you alone…” (awww) Damn I wish I had my old love letters….
Don’t say it: A man named James Harmon began wrote to a huge number of notable people—authors, academics, actors, thinkers, all of whom he admired—and asked, “If you could offer the young people of today one piece of advice, what would it be?” One response came from Ken Kesey, who wrote the very fucked up book One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. I have no idea what your spleen has to do with anything here.
Here’s some advice I have been giving to just-marrieds over the last decade or so:
Don’t say it. It’s too hard to take it back. I’ve seen too many loves sundered by too much needless honesty. These psychological ding-dongs that tell people to speak their minds to their mates, to vent their spleens? What do they accomplish? All they produce is a lot of lonely self-righteous minds & ventilated spleens.
P.S. Faye & I have been married 35 years. KK
21-year-old Steven Morrissey had a Scottish pen pal in 1980 named Robert Mackie. Three years later The Smiths happened. I would make fun of Morrissey for being such a sad bloke his whole life, but if it weren’t for The Smiths I wouldn’t know how to be properly depressed. “I’m unhappy, hope you’re unhappy too.”
Keith Haring seems like he was awfully nice. Nice people write nice thank you notes on cool letterhead.
Speaking of cool letterhead…
David Bowie knew how to be nice.
From dailygood.org: In 1989, a little girl named Amy sent a bottle of colored water, oil and glitter to Roald Dahl, who knew right away that this was a dream in a bottle inspired by his book, The BFG. In response, the author penned this short note to his 7-year-old fan. I’m not sure this kind of thing would fly today.
But creativity is meant to inspire. Just ask Janet.
…Or this “whore.”
At least The Night Stalker could draw. This is the work of Richard Ramirez, the devil-worshipping serial killer who terrorized Los Angeles during a mid-80’s crime spree. I seriously don’t even want to touch my computer.
It was included in this exceptionally nice letter to 18-year-old Serra from Ricky in 2012 in what I can can only imagine would be the crappiest cell in San Quentin. Serra lived in Oklahoma. Maybe she just didn’t know about the extent of his antics or the “hail, satan” drawing on the palm of his hand. And again, what happened to decency and manners like these? And sweet sea horse drawings?
It helps to be cocky. The Zodiac Killer is still out there.
Consider this goodbye.