A rare trip to Celebrity Land with news of Lady Gaga’s new tattoo on the Huffington Post (how can we resist something so earth-shattering?).
First up, the tattoo is penned by Rilke (not literally). It reads:
In the deepest hour of the night, confess to yourself that you would die if you were forbidden to write. And look deep into your heart where it spreads its roots, the answer, and ask yourself, must I write?
“Yes you must, Gaga!” we cry. The world would be lost without your musings. Whatever you do, keep writing. It is our literary oxygen.
But back to the tattoo: too long perchance? (I imagine it stretching up her arm, across her face, down the other arm and then having to go really small to fit the rest on her hand.) Aren’t tattoos supposed to be four words long (I love you Mum; Come on you Spurs; Oh god I’m drunk), not an essay? And Rilke? (Her favourite philosopher, of course.) Why not just have the complete works of Heidegger etched into your skin while you’re at it? Or a helpful little glossary of philosophical terms. Or some of your own lyrics, for God’s sake – the philosophy of “Just Dance” would trounce Rilke any day of the week:
I’ve had a little bit too much, much
All of the people start to rush, start to rush by
How does he twist the dance? Can’t find a drink, oh man
Where are my keys? I lost my phone, phone
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But Gaga’s cultural references are many and various, her comparisons so modest. An early contender for quote of the week goes to this:
I believe in the power of iconography, which was something that Andy Warhol did, and it’s repeating an image over and over again. So I rarely change the shape of my hair.
Oh sweet Lord.
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