i realize marilyn is done and done. and it's such a cliche for me to blog on her, but i just couldn't help myself. my sweet roommate gave me the latest book on the icon for my birthday back in december (after a few subtle hints) called fragments and after reading through it, my admiration is stronger than ever for the beauty. the book is a collection of "poems, intimate notes, and letters" which provides a completely new depiction of who this lady was. her vulnerability, insecurity, and sadness seeps through on each page in her suicidal scribblings which can make parts hard to read, but still i'm stunned at the depth she had. her intellect, often understated, shines through and i'm left with a newfound respect for norma jeane.