Dear Joe,If I can only succeed in making you happy — I will have succeeded in the bigest and most difficult thing there is — that is to make one personcompletely happy. Your happiness means my happiness. “On August 5th of 1962, 36-year-old Marilyn Monroe was found dead at her home. The next day, the following unsent and seemingly unfinished letter, addressed to ex-husband Joe DiMaggio, was discovered at her desk, folded up in her address book. It is thought they were planning to remarry.” (via Letters of Note)
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Dear Joe,

If I can only succeed in making you happy — I will have succeeded in the bigest and most difficult thing there is — that is to make one personcompletely happy. Your happiness means my happiness.

“On August 5th of 1962, 36-year-old Marilyn Monroe was found dead at her home. The next day, the following unsent and seemingly unfinished letter, addressed to ex-husband Joe DiMaggio, was discovered at her desk, folded up in her address book. It is thought they were planning to remarry.” (via Letters of Note)

Perhaps it once seemed that stars could ascend meritocratically. Wasn’t this the promise of “indie rock” (or whatever economy-of-a-smaller-scale proxy subculture you fancy) with its self-avowed, proudly ethical distance from the trad machinations of avaricious major labels, star-boning puff-piece magazines, corporatist logic and the like? (Or maybe that was my own teenage projection. Those were the days…) But, amidst the collapse of such readymade distinctions and the business of our time being that of friendship, it’s fascinating to scrutinize the web of interrelated associates, “followers,” comrades, supporters, fans and half-pals that comprise your typical emergent “scene.
Hua Hsu, on access and the entertainment industry (The Atlantic)