She was waiting on someone to tell her who she was, what her real name was, when she decided on her own. The hair makes the girl, she thinks. Thus I am Marsha Pink Krakow, standing proud against the evil of the world and living another day to tell others about and, together, finding out ways to deal with such *shadows*. Not monsters… as much as part of ourselves, ready to spring forth and surprise us if we ignore the signs too long. What were my signs? What were Tammy’s/Frankie’s? Push to stardom for me. Drumming. I wanted to be bigger than Starr and Moon, bigger than *Bonham* even (Led Zeppelin drummer who died, like The Who’s Moon — and Pink herself in that variant reality she just exited — way way too early).
“Shelley,” she speaks aloud to emphasize the affirmation, “you and your Doodle-Bug Hair Blonde had its run and, not failed, but didn’t quite cross over the finish line. I am that finish line. I represent death conquered, shadow conquered. And Tammy/Frankie too, wherever she is inside, conscience or not. She is there. And you are too, Shelley, because you provided me the body I now inhabit. I will always be grateful. But I am Marsha… Pink… Krakow.”
She feels two drumsticks manifest in her right back pocket. She will be more humble this time around, more conscious of other’s dreams and desires and not just blot them out with her own bright wannabe future. She will take this golden opportunity to be the best she can possibly be — not a drummer this time around, although that talent may increase too just by proxy, but simply a person, a human being. That’s what it’s all about, Marsha thinks here, not waiting on anyone any longer, knowing who she is. She can make this world what she wishes it to be. She can manifest: joy.
Sunklands 