I don’t know if this is the result of getting divorced again or a side-effect from using discount vegan peroxide, but something questionable seeped into Pamela Anderson’s skull, curled up around her brain, lit a joint laced with angel dust and model airplane glue, and whispered a string of words that would go on to become the most incredible piece of prose. Go ahead and tell your artsy 16-year-old cousin who keeps trying to change her name from Ashlee to Azriel to pack it in; she’ll never be as good at ~deep~ Facebook poetry as C.J. Parker from Baywatch.
On Tuesday afternoon, Pamela Anderson posted an untitled 1000-word poem to Facebook and it’s so profound that even after having read it multiple times, I still have no idea what the hell she’s trying to say. One minute she’s musing about Burberry trench coats and Pablo Neruda, and the next she’s talking about Russian girls shoving loaves of bread up their asses. The entire thing felt like a Baywatch Nights fever dream, which is to say, it is beyond genius and Pamela should start making room on the mantle for the dozens of Pulitzer Prizes it will surely win her.
My only critique is that a poem so avant-garde really should have been published where it would have been appreciated, like The New Yorker or The Paris Review. But I suppose Pamela chose Facebook to make her poetry accessible to dummies like you and me. Thank god she remembered to add “Copywritten Pamela Anderson” at the end, otherwise a less-talented poet like John Ashbery might try to steal it and pass it off as one of his own.
You can read the whole piece here. I suggest taking a hit off a bong or a can of Reddi-wip first to fully appreciate the complex word play and intense visual imagery.