My name is Lana Del Rey. I'm the actual Lana, or at least, that's how it feels sometimes. Watching Elizabeth Grant perform my life and my legends through celluloid and spotlights brings a new perspective to the world and the name that I once made for myself. Now that I'm no longer, the biographical nature of her career allows me to live synchronously and vicariously, and I am alive again.
It all started when I was born. I don't remember being born, although I suppose that no one really does anyway. But while most people don't remember being born because they're babies and they haven't developed a working memory, I can't remember a thing because I was so drunk and high. I was living on the edge from the moment I saw the light of day, and I knew that those cocaine dreams and speed lights were all I'd ever see when I closed my eyes at night. I sang myself lullabies of life on the road and Pabst Blue Ribbon before I could even speak. Don't ask how I could do this-- I was always an unusual girl.
When I was 16 years old my momma sent me to boarding school. It was there that I subsisted off of a diet of sparkling vodka and angel food cake sprinkled with cocaine. Instead of going to class, I spent my days at the plastic surgeon fucking with my lips snorting cocaine off of the receptionists desk at a plastic surgery clinic because my dealer was a practicing MD who wanted to live life larger than what even a doctor's salary could provide.
After High School, I attended Fordham University and studied Metaphysics. My thesis was titled "Issues of the Daddy: How Boldly Empowered Women Fall into the Arms of Weak Men". Within the body of my paper was just the word "money". The footnotes were twenty pages long of my favorite Jim Morrison lyrics.
Then I took on a life on the open road, riding on the backs of the motorcycles of men who haven't seen a shower for years and sleeping under arcade machines. When I wasn't living wild and free, I was marrying Kennedy's and staring vacantly at parlors of people. I once did a gig in Vegas that a buddy of mine found where I would lie on the ground and look like I was dead until someone put a quarter in the jukebox. Then, I'd come alive again, and promptly fall to the ground as soon as the music stopped rolling. In this way, I was cinematic, animatronic, hypnotic, before cinema even took shape in our world, my world, a world that is simultaneously vintage and before its time.
After dying about twelve times and only being impregnated with God's child about four, I started going on tours through the Hollywood Hills and sneaking into the homes of the wealthy so I could wear their diamonds and pearls and snort all their cocaine while they weren't home. Occasionally, I'd fuck some husbands, but usually it'd be the elderly don who sat by the fire in everyone's home. Sometimes I wondered why every single Hollywood mansion had the same old man sitting in front of an identical fireplace, but then I thought to myself, "Well, it is Hollyweird, after all." I then snorted more coke.
But things got precarious for me. The government started to question my exploits, and how I've simultaneously been every first lady and occasionally the president for so many years of America's history. They theorized that I might be as old as America herself, or in fact, Lady Liberty in a grand disguise. I tried throwing money at the agents when they came to my door, and I even had sex with two of them. It was no use. I had to hide somewhere more grand.
I moved into the Hollywood sign. Don't ask me how I did it, or how I fit. I know that I was fatter in those Honeymoon days, but those days are over and I eat raw, organic coke now and I'm also gluten free. My Summer home is within the core of the moon, our glorious planetary body, donned with America's grand old flag. My goal is to one day establish a society on the moon where beautiful young people can flourish and thrive. But until then, I'm going to get back to my reading. I'm currently carving through "A Dictionary of Modern Slang", and I'll be "with it" in no time at all.
But be warned. I am always keeping a watchful eye from within my mansion. The last time a little gay tried to leak my music, I gave him a ticket to the moon as accompanied by me. A one-way trip, in fact.
Until tomorrow, if it ever comes
x (the Real) Lana
sometimes i feel like Chuck is the only best/true friend for Lana, nobody stays with her so long except Chuck (yes she's her sister but not all sisters had strong relationships like this)
most of her friendships didn't last, all of a sudden they fade away
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