Pamela Anderson has been writing divorce poetry

Can someone take the internet away from most celebrities? Like, especially after big life events like break-ups/divorce? Pamela Anderson announced this week that she was divorcing husband Rick Salomon (again), and that realization has got her creative juices flowing, I suppose, because now she’s writing terrible divorce poetry and posting it on Facebook.

This is a long one, so I’ll just give you a taste here and then you can read the full thing behind the cut.

Smoldering…
I know it’s bad for you…
But, this is when I wish,
I had a cigarette-
something I’ve never tried- (light up)
some kind of relief..
I wish it was Italy 40 years ago–
The moon rising over the Amphitheater–
to tremendous applause… like Herzog (clap)
Europeans don’t seem to care about silly
smoking laws?,
We do what we want anyway –
behind closed doors–
Our true character, collective complexities.
childish activities –
patterns- genetics? Attention deficit-
– …SEX … a lost art– a sickness–
Perversions-
Lost sensuality –
The cruel smell of orange blossoms…
I love being in love– but expectations,
make it impossible to be happy-
or satisfied…
I’ve tried… so hard..
maybe it’s not in fashion–
Tradition…just seemed so romantic…,
I guess it’s a used up ideal —
for the old fashion…
not modern…
Female security… lost-
no way–
Coded, and loaded Cell phones,
Computers —
Ordering sex on line-
is like ordering a book on Amazon–
and … snooping eats you alive–

Oh dear. So basically he was cheating… again. I mean, do people never learn? Anyhow, let’s let Pamela continue with her poetic flow. It’s SO LONG!

A mirrored action. obsessive love…
unhealthy,
hopeless- knocked sideways–
There is always this feeling –
of discontent–
Like something is off…
I can’t put my finger on why–
Who wants to be the Warden–
I want out of here– out of this time —
in space–
Grey, muted crystals,
from unsavory places-
bad intentions,
dull- no fire– a secret life –
Laying in my hotel bed–
pulling up my stockings- carefully
re-attaching to the garter- ,
The cuban heel- the line
(right on course)
the works…
Feeling a little guilty-
I started to fantasize–
Il Postino, Pablo Neruda-
Should I go to Capri–?
So frustrated–
burning… questions…
No man knows what to do with me–
I blame myself–
To play with me, is eternal–
I’m not ‘on the clock’ or…
on the ‘payroll’–
rrrr–
I had to get out of the room-
The velvet stuff and porcelain things
closing in on me–
What have I done…?
I knew it was wrong from the start–
primitive– base instinct..
Never marry a rich man…
Euros from a Vagabond..
Just start walking – (Like Jeanne Moreau and
Miles Davis)
Never look back-
There is only beauty ahead,
Salvation..
Glory
Rushing…
I almost forgot where I was– shit–
My white
Burberry trench –
– on the floor?
A Parkay floor…
(Narration by a deep voiced sexy black guy)
BG- She stopped to admire it’s clever design,
ME- “So pretty”
BG wrapped herself up—
She snuck out the door with a quiet click,
and Seamlessly, floating down the hall- (on wire)
Her Tom Ford feet didn’t
touch the ground–
Falling gracelessly into an elevator
playing Nat King Cole’s …. Stardust?
(remembering the movie)
ME- “Fallen Angel?”
BG Nobody was up yet-
out into the cool world she goes,
ME-“Freedom…
I can breathe…”
BG- looking for a little human contact?
Playful seduction? …
ME- “I’m so Hungry…”
BG- Her heart was racing—
It was barely dawn —
Bathed in perfect light-
magic hour– —
ME- “Everyone looks good this early”
BG- Even cats and hummingbirds
Was anyone watching her..
She gazed up into dark windows…
to nobody…
and let the jacket fall loosely around
her shoulders…
The rush coming back- …
a little lost on purpose,
Hiding around corners,
ME- so dangerous-
my body is on fire….
my body is never done– trouble finds me–
please find me-
The iron is always hot!”
BG- She Leaned against the cool wall of a
stoney church-
It felt good, soothing-
ME- I wonder how prostitution works-
Does it ever feel good?
Lost little souls – being taken advantage of–
or taking advantage of-
Is it just for money? Is it for attention?
or — both–
Women suffer-
– Everywhere…
rules, rules, rules–
conflicting needs..
I can’t find the answers– It’s an epidemic–
I know I won’t compete with a computer–
or – a gaggle of hollywood boys hiring poor
Russian girls to swallow loaves of bread
up their anus’?-
How does that work?”
BG- She was disturbed–
How far can she take this?– Is it even real?–
ME- “Have we lost men to thin air—
to the Abyss– to technology and lube-
Flesh is attached to a heart and a brain-
takes effort…and skill…
Where are the great lovers?– A lost art…
God , I hope not…
I’ve never been to Columbia– Should I go?- I really want to go!
Is this Hysteria?…
Objectification?
now– Coming down from the ceiling,
dripping in gold glitter–
Dancing with Nureyev- eyes closed—
the dream…
arousing my tenderness,
A sweet rawness-
feeling bruised and scratched up–
Hypnotic –
Life is sensual– not a “fix it in post”–
ME- I miss PLAYBOY-
The End of an Era–
Chivalry, elegance-
Celebrated imperfections –
differences… hot—passionate dreamy scenes…
The girl next door– shyness– “it’s my first time”
but – not my last….(wink)
— I’m planning a mysterious coup–
Want to get in on it–
Julian Assange?
Is it healthy, to be fantasied about…
by many men –?
Isn’t that the goal-
How many can we effect–
It’s natural– to want to be desired–
The world creeps up on you–
and there you are,
ALL over the place-
places you never intended to be– (desert storm?)
(soldiers)
I am human you know–
left to adjust to the madness-
No mercy- pay the price– my fault-
BG- feeling empty, sad– withdrawn-
Left to Isolate– Medicate.
Go to sleep–
ME-NO! I wont- –
ME- You know- It’s not freaky enough,
to just be beautiful–
I’ve never felt beautiful-
I always felt sexual… and blind..
oh wowwy… I’m losing my mind–
I’m shutting down– It’s such a strange feeling…
going numb… in front of everyone—-
It’s like a Self inflicted drowning…hard to do–
(Alarm bells!!)—
When did I want to be this thing?–
To attract what?
When did I go from a curious little girl,
to an insatiable woman? Girl on the run…
Femme fatale… devoted and ….divided.
Are we all going crazy? –
or, is it just me?
Is it that stuff on unwashed vegetables?
When did I lose control over my own heart?–
When did I start believing ,
That this is all I’m good for-
against my better judgement–
fell for it- dammit- it all backfired–
It doesn’t feel good to be used, neglected, ignored—
controlled….
I’m not doing this—
It’s humiliating – I have to turn this around–
Settling is powerless- desperate–
an illusion–
Can’t buy your way out of this one …buddy!!,
I’m cold-
(She can’t stop laughing..)

Reminds me of a play I wrote —
That one about The Hell’s Angels,
starring –
Steve Queen and Bridgitte Bardot–

The Entr’ Acte….

** A car chase-
She is going on and on (in french) and
He’s just trying to have his way with her-
everything is double entree’ Funny/Sexy-(subtitles projected)
They’ve stolen billions in diamonds – she’s dripping from head to toe…
in a sparkly madness of laughter— 60’s Porsche?- (or that GT/Bullit car)
All in a Car – bouncing and swerving– lights- facing the audience– (with BW projections from the 60’s behind them–)…
They fall in love– They fall apart—
I’m not sure what the The Hells Angels have to do with it–
but they stay in the title—

The End….

VEGAS 2014… limited engagement–

Copywritten Pamela Anderson– (all rights reserved)-
written July 1, 2014
by,
Pamela Anderson

Uh, I love that she felt the need to say this was copywritten, like anyone would ever want to take credit for it? Dear God. Get a journal, lady.