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Yesterday, with my mind on the macabre, I went on a Black Dahlia trope. And I came upon this fascinating documentary called "Feast Of Death." It features crime author James Ellroy, sitting around with some Los Angeles detective associates, dining and chatting about deathly matters, chiefly those of Ellroy's mother, and its almost counterpart, Elizabeth Short, aka The Black Dahlia.
I have to say Ellroy is one scary dude. Tall, looming, and having the eyes of a serial killer, he is someone I would love to have dinner with--the things we could discuss, darlings!!!!!!!!--but, having heard he is a big, raging homophobe, why would I want to?
Because, as I realized, sitting across from him, or wherever, I could scare the shit out of him, with my presence. Homophobes are terrified of us gays, so Ellroy would be paralyzed with fear. And unlike closet cases, whom, I have maintained, are worse, one knows what one is dealing with, up front.
In the documentary, Ellroy fantasizes about having dinner with Short, and grilling her with questions. So do I; let's do it, together. As well as other famous serial killers of history. And he talks about finding our answers to questions in the afterlife--like who killed the Black Dahlia?
Or, how about the most popular one, next to that--who was really Jack, The Ripper!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
James, honey, you and I have GOT to talk. Now, the only book of his I have read happens to be "The Black Dahlia," and he does provide, the most credible, and poetically prosaic, way of how and where the torture and killing might have been done. I have got to read some of his other books; maybe that will be my next project, once The Brat Pack is finished.
The mind of James Ellroy must be a scary place. But it is, also, oh so fascinating!!!!!!!!!!!!!
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