ANNIE HENDRIX

Annie Hendrix

ANNIE HENDRIX is dead.1 This announcement will startle many, but few will be grieved by it. The poet was not particularly well known, personally or by reputation, and though she had readers in the Americas, United Kingdom, several of the states of Continental Europe, Asia, Africa, and Australia, she had few friends, and the regrets for her death will be suggested principally by the consideration that in her, Substack has lost one of its most erratic stars.2

Annie Hendrix was born [Redacted] M. [Redacted] in [Redacted], California, U.S.A. to a poorly connected, financially destitute, and cursed family. She found refuge in literature and first attempted to write a novel of her own on a Bondi Blue iMac G3 computer at her elementary school, but abandoned the project over summer vacation. When she returned, she found the hard drive had been wiped and regretted not burning the file to a compact disc; she was, throughout her life, inept at digital file management and kept her computer’s desktop in check only by a folder titled “Desktop Cleanup” and a sticky note fastened adjacent to her track pad that simply read “File Management.” Her early formal poems and flash fictions, written in her teens, would likely have been lost had she not posted frequently to AllPoetry.com for attention, and perhaps they should have been.

Repeated exposure to visceral disgust in reaction to the word “poet” from both peers and mentors led Hendrix to redirect her expression. She explored visual art, commedia dell’arte, dance, and music performance, the last of which led her to an ill-fated romance with a rogue marching band, in which she played the alto saxophone. After a tumultuous breakup, she took with her the clarinet player and the two were married after only five short years. In the time before marriage, Hendrix fronted a music project in which she covered songs made famous by Billie Holiday, and after singing so frequently about heartbreak, abuse, and death became severely depressed and decided she wanted to focus on writing her own songs about heartbreak, abuse, and death.

In order to fund her recording projects and education in music composition from Mills College, Hendrix composed and produced music for various clientele, performed in Eastern European folk music ensembles, posed nude for the San Francisco Bay Area’s network of contemporary fine artists, and took odd jobs on Craigslist. After the release of her album Folkish, Hendrix was invited to move to Nashville, Tennessee by two veteran songwriters who appeared to have big sharp teeth. They were undoubtedly thirsty for young blood, and after using manipulative tactics to attempt to pressure her to pay for their breakfast and drive them to the airport, both requests Hendrix politely declined, she decided it would be in her best interest to avoid subjecting herself to the abuse and exploitation inherent in “The Music Industry” and instead pursue her true calling.

The final years of the poet’s life were creatively rich. She broadened her compositional practice to include all forms of creative writing, and wrote and performed standup comedy, drafted two novel manuscripts3, and resumed sharing poetry and short stories online, though these efforts were largely ridiculed and at times vehemently rejected by her existing fan-base. Wielding two blazing middle fingers, Hendrix left her following behind and joined an email newsletter platform called Substack, where she was warmly received by a modest readership and regarded as “The Nymph of Substack Notes” by friends and critics alike after engaging in highly inappropriate flirtatious affairs with the site’s literary men.

Annie Hendrix seldom appeared in print, but published personal anecdotes and one-liners online so prolifically it is nothing short of a miracle she left behind a complete, short collection of poems. In addition to her work, she is survived by her husband, several bonsai trees, a grandmother, many uncles and aunts, four siblings, two nephews, innumerable cousins, two White’s tree frogs, and one leopard gecko. A funeral will not be held as the deceased was not particularly fond of parties, but her body will be on display for several days, as she was an exhibitionist. Her organs, including her liver, were unexpectedly healthy and will be sold at auction; proceeds will fund the publication of the aforementioned manuscript, Misanthrope: A Collection of Poems.