THERE IS more, more, more! (It’s like the most exploitive, excessive Judy Garland bio you’ve ever read only full of people whose talent to amuse is really a matter of taste!) As I said, lots of the names don’t mean much to me and a few have passed on since the original 1996 publication.)
The book is squalid, evocative and often very, very funny — full of contradictory versions of the same story, all of which have some grain of truth — and that’s how real life is; his version, his version and the truth, which is still compromised.
Although as a youth I was living in Manhattan as the early punk music and madness was bubbling up, I was never a part of that scene. (I had my own squalid adventures and anyway wasn’t nearly cool enough or sufficiently into drugs.)
But “Please Kill Me” did remind me of what New York was like in those days and nights. And while it is now not politically correct to romanticize the city at its grunge-glam, neon-lit, financially-strapped “worst” — I was moved by remembrances of being young and stupid and reckless, with lots of other people who were the same way.
I emerged reasonably unscathed. Some didn’t. I don’t think I could have survived that particular life. Still, it’s fun reading, and imagining that you could have survived!