“Fortunately I am not the first person to tell you that you will never die. You simply lose your body. You will be the same except that you won’t have to worry about rent or mortgages or fashionable clothes. You will be released from sexual obsessions. You will not have drug addictions. You will not need alcohol. You will not have to worry about cellulite or cigarettes or cancer or AIDS or venereal disease. You will be free.”
A series of autobiographical pieces by a countercultural icon, actress, author, model for artists like Robert Mapplethorpe and Nan Goldin. Cookie Mueller’s writings are the legacy of a memorable woman whose short life was an attempt to exist on her own terms even when the price for living freely was an exorbitant one. Mueller may have been born in the 1940s and grown up in the repressive atmosphere of 1950s’ America but she consistently refused to conform. Her stories serve up in small, beautifully-realised fragments scenes from her experiences. These pieces are sometimes disturbing, sometimes bleakly funny, sometimes blatantly offensive but always irreverent and laced with copious amounts of drugs, sex and alcohol: a teenager in suburbia equally infatuated with an older, dissolute boy and her high-school girlfriend; a traveller in 1960s' San Francisco who narrowly escapes an encounter with Charles Manson and becoming a sacrifice for a local satanic cult; working as one of John Waters’s Dreamland actors; a stint as a go-go dancer whose biggest fan may be a serial killer.
Mueller’s tales convey a sense of what it was like to live on the edge, she survived addiction, time in a psychiatric unit, rape, and all the trappings of so-called casual, everyday misogyny. She drove her long time girlfriend and her many lovers to distraction. But her writings also showcase her dauntless spirit, her impressive ability to pick herself up, brush herself off and start all over again. It was AIDS that finally vanquished Mueller and her collection’s rounded off with a brief letter she wrote in 1989 when she knew she hadn’t long to live, it’s both a recognition of being trapped in something she compares to a war zone with her friends falling all around her, on a battlefield where there are no bombs, no bullets, just people dying in a whisper; and a final moving tribute to the lost.