January 6, 2022

13 most-viewed Traci Lords • Jerry Lee Lewis • Video Embeds • 3 Jumbo Instagram Reels • 1 Instagram Approved Reel Liked by Most Famous Dissident Artist in World • Essay on Myra Gail Lewis • Traci Lords Mirror •













 

@aiww liked my reel @nedthephotodude • centerville pd hey everybody, it's ned, with some of my favorite photos are on display. happy new year

Ashna Makeup Zheani • Lie and Look by dougmeet

Traci Lords sang 'Cry Baby' when it counted--belted out 'Please Mr. Jailer,' in her sexiest, post-lifemarked, lovebitten career twilight, regaining a generations-long denouement for a performer of a certain genre, of a certain underage to eclipse in the one-time, life-changing eventuality possible only once, whose facilitators brevet better totem poll carvings--meaning, the same, only more fame to gain, not lose--and time in which her audience may choose.

She's a victim. I admit I believed it all along--I also put her in the victimhood category whose victimology finds her through a sweet overcoming just as seemingly unscathed, and mentally healthier than most, as is her senior doppelganger, Myra Gail Lewis Williams, 60-  to Traci's 40-years-gone adolescent scandal (which you called elementary school)-- both complicit in escaping sordid businesses--and charming, but deranged men.

 

Myra recounting in her biopic, made into a major Hollywood motion picture, one particular appropriately referential term of Hellfire, describing the 'Mother of All' London Pressers (she was 14, and her minder--older sister, Frankie Jean Lewis--forgot to mind her for a real dose).

 

Myra's gum-snapping disclosure so scurrilous that it single-handedly caused Jerry Lee Lewis's life-choices to tumble down into a fire of his own handmaking (one hand, which made $5,000-a-night--the other, the same).

 

She had nothing to do with anything imploding--Rock 'n' Roll always instantiates and quells its own uprisings--using old newspaper clippings to clean up the next dewy seats at whichever Rolling Stones / Justin Bieber  concert girls sit amidst the clangorous dinning of their own high-pitched squeals, which need no etymology to decipher;

 

Jerry Lee Lewis received a 10-year-poll-position penalty--eventually coming back after ten years of solid work, on top again.

 

Myra found happiness in co-authoring her own life story as it pertained to her famous ex-husbands, after an impressive 10-year slog through the women, drugs, their only son's death by drowning, and the desperate, unhinged years which she was blamed for causing demise--her biography made into a movie, myriad fans who didn't quite know what to fan her about--still shocked at the revelation of the truth of her 1950s taboo seduction which saw Jerry Lee Lewis direct her through all of the chaos which she would eventually receive by his own fate to be compelled to only want problems--and despite the boredom which she must have felt after peaking in elementary school, with a marriage to the second most famous rockstar in 1950s America--and that it was her second cousin--mixed with the fact that she was barely 14--and that her father was, not only Jerry's cousin, but also Jerry Lee's bass player,--exactly at the time of Jerry Lee's biggest hit record, biggest windfall, which could only have instigated the truly self-harming decision-making which began with an after-school surprise wedding where he would kidnap Myra, under the pretense of seeing a movie, from her childhood home, where he had found himself couch surfing--as the richest 20-year-old in Memphis, one day, and then the next--the Killer picked her up for that movie--but instead pitched marriage to his 14-year-old cousin, found a Justice of the Peace in Mississippi, and the still-married, 25-year-old rock 'n' roll piano player with a $40,000 royalty check in his wallet--uncashed, so he could show people who had never seen that much money.

 

Phoebe, of the formerly / still outrageous firebomb of continuing internet commentary / conflagration on some thread at least once-a-day, where,  debated as to whether first- or second-  rated was his particular, and her, brand of scandal, in an American Rock 'n' Roll coupling akin to Shakespeare of whose union their one daughter flourishes -- America loves it so.

 

Traci--well, it's late, and I'm early. Her maidenhead stake burned  bright and then went out, allowing her a much needed place to achieve normalcy, which she did remarkably well--the men whose pockets she lined via Steubenville, and the final mildly sad (still a little badass) soft bottom which found her almost completely to bring down another sleazy industry similar to Myra, saw an extremely commensurate and totally controlled defensive fire of cocaine bottoms on Sunset--then found her walking, remarkably unscathed and strangely recovered, into a second career, not formerly ever achieved as to its quixotic and ultra-tasteful, always exactly right fit, whose minor barrier-breaking transition into the, no less tawdry other business of film--and, first music, then theater--where she is at her own speed, politely popping as we speak--and, like I said, it's late--and I'm still early.

 


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