The Key To Room 237

I like the woman in room 237 in a way… She attacks Danny but spares his life. She doesn’t molest him. And in a way she warns him about impending violence that could kill him. And she has Jack totally and entirely figured out. Is she Jack’s “twin flame.” When she manifests as a rotting corpse is that her way of trying to explain to Jack’s subconscious what he’s become…one way or another.

“We were awful. But we weren’t this wretched.”

But…that wasn’t her. That was my impression of her or Duff Twysden’s impression of her.

“This is the moment that you know That you told her that you loved her but you don’t.”

Except…if I can talk to ghosts…Marilyn Monroe was loved by Arthur Miller. If America awarded “gongs” he’d be Sir Arthur Miller.

And…I think we often have their story wrong.

I’d write their love but I’m writing something else right now. Maybe someday…or maybe not. We’ll see. Either way…why not?

What if I’m right?

“You are beautiful but you don’t mean a thing to me.”

He lied. He cracked and lied. And she was conniving and evil at times…

She could be pure love and beauty one moment and the next she’d become shrewd, difficult and ruthless. She was…an “overlord.” But…she was still Marilyn Monroe. And Arthur loved her…”pretty side.” But he struggled to fully grasp and consciously love her depths.

He’d squint and stare…rendered aghast by her beauty…but then…*shrug* she’d change. She’d change for him? She’d change for him. To let him see her. To let him love her.

…But then he was overwhelmed. Far too overwhelmed. Because he was just Arthur Miller after all. And her evil made him “dislike” her. He’d become self-righteous and bitter.

…And if the 20th Century had had as much common sense as it advertised…he’d have paused. He’d have stopped. Decided to never divorce her. Decided that he just was partially losing his mind or she was or both. *he smiles*

…Because she was profound. And awful. And amazing. And…he just needed a moment to catch his breath. To gawk in horror. To stand in awe. Of his true love.

But there was no such time. Not then.

*”Shake it!“*

She’d blasphemously ruin the mood of an evening…with “magic.” And his friends would be both disgusted and fascinated. By her brilliance and her crassness. And he’d see the crassness through his friend’s eyes instead if his own and then crumble thinking he was alone and had fallen for a lie…when really he needed to just crumble. Quietly. And let her crumble.

But they would have crumbled together. Been confused about all of it…together. Because I think it was love. I think they had love. Real love. But there was no happy ending for “the living.”

More later.