I never thought too much of David Carradine. He was alright in Kill Bill, but Kung Fu bored the shit out of me, and I've never been a huge fan of b-grade films, but after his recent suicide, I have a low grade fascination. I don't know what it is, but the whole idea of someone having found him hanging in a Thai hotel room is just something I can't shake. There's an odd, morbid kind of poetry to it, which I know that a lot of people are not going to see, simply because a lot of people have a thing about suicide. Which is all good and fine, but I'm looking at this from an outsider's perspective, with the gaze of someone who has spent an entire life being trained to watch the way that celebrities conduct themselves, both good and bad.
Recently, C said to me, "You only like famous people when they're dead."
She said it after Ballard had died, and I was reading The Drowned World.