Lovely Halloween Morning on Basin Street

Yes, it is a really lovely October morning here!

I just took this photo, looking in the direction of Basin Street as it heads out of town, toward Black Run Road and Wakatomika Creek – that whole stretch of road down there is definitely a place filled with good spirits. Intense spirits. Ancient spirits.

Strange things occurred here yesterday.  My furnace went out. My space heater stopped working. My dryer died. All of these things were, of course, related to the electricity around here.

A really, really nice electrician came over, opened the breaker box, discovered it was, you know – FILLED with water??!!

Him: “Um, don’t touch this. You could get electrocuted.”

Me: “Yeah, that’s probably the only thing about electricity that I understand.” Today, we will find out the thousands of dollars involved in figuring out what is going wrong.

Then the lawn guys came to clear away the last of the debris from having torn down my fence. I was oblivious to their arriving, working, departing.

My friend came, with another friend, and took his 1965 VW camper van from out of my barn, where he’d had it stored all summer. I was oblivious to their arriving, working, departing.

I mean, I was home the entire fucking day. I was upstairs working on the TV pilot script. Apparently, I was deep in some sort of weird zone. The only time I materialized from out of my room was when the electrician came to regale me with the nightmare going on in my breaker box… (Oh, then he texted me late last night: “Are you still awake? There’s some bad news…” I was awake & coherent for that.)

I’m still not done with the script, but should have it finished today.  I still have that one, single page left (see yesterday’s post). I only need to, you know, create an absolute MIRACLE of literary genius in 60 seconds of screen time…

And then deal with the electrician again – he informed me that all the power must be turned off in the house while he dries out the breaker box. And this will occur as the trick-or-treaters come & go. Should be just an interesting day here, all the way around.

On the up side (sort of “up” side, but I need my dryer to start working again) – I bought new bath towels for the first time in 25 years.  Yes, a mere 25 years ago, I bought these great towels from LL Bean. And now that my birth mother is coming to visit, it occurred to me that perhaps I needn’t offer her a threadbare towel with little strings hanging off of it!

So I bought a bunch of new towels. But you can’t use them until you’ve washed them once, because they are full of those tiny little shreds of cotton that get all over you and drive you insane.

Not only is my mother coming to visit, but I think my niece is driving her here to my house. I haven’t seen my niece since she was 4 years old. This was about 18 years ago. I have been a little remiss as an aunt. I have a good reason.


It’s a long story, and has to do with her dad, who is my younger brother (blood brother, not the adopted one).  My brother and I used to be extremely close.  That is a story in and of itself –  a lot of alcohol, jails, some inappropriate brother/sister stuff. My usual fare. It’s a sad and frustrating story, brimming with all sorts of examples of my poor judgment along with rare instances of my better judgment. But I need to talk to my niece in person, first. Explain some things – mostly how much I loved her when she was born; how happy I was. How happy her dad was. But other stuff, too. Not the kind of thing you want to just send out to the world on a blog, though…

So. With that in mind – I shall sally forth into this day and try my damnedest to make it a good one!

Thanks for visiting, folks. Have a wonderful Halloween – you know, that “hallowed evening” before All Saints Day.  Or scare yourselves silly,. Whichever works for you. See ya!

Image result for vintage drawings of all saints day
Le Jour Des Morts A Charteves by Lhermitte



Life Continues to Astound & Amaze!

Yes, I only have ONE MORE PAGE to revise and then the CLEVELAND TV pilot revisions are complete!

At least for round one.  It goes off to one producer for notes & feedback, and I have never known him to not have notes and feedback… (This is actually the 5th draft of this pilot, overall.)

But it still gives me plenty of time to revise again and send it to another producer before I get to LA.

I don’t have a clue why everything is going so great, but I will simply accept and move on! Yay.

Another nice thing – I’ve finally upgraded my iPhone! So I will maybe actually be able to take sort of decent photos.  So if you follow me on Instagram (which I don’t think you do – I’ve noticed that people who follow me here, on Instagram, on Twitter, and on Facebook are all entirely different people.) Anyway, You may finally get to be regaled with decent-ish photos!

Mostly, I had to upgrade before I go to LA because my phone is so old I can no longer have the Uber app on there without deleting something else! (Like, perhaps, deleting 700 photos of my cats!)

On Saturday, I took this photo of my street(s) – I live on a corner. It was a rainy October morning. It just looked so cool.  There’s a sort of bleakness here in Crazyland that I just love! If you click on it and look all the way at the foothills in the background – that is where the cemetery is! Where all my inspiration for The Hurley Falls Mysteries: Down to the Meadows of Sleep is coming from.

On the streets where I live! Standing outside my kitchen porch.

You know, the opioid crisis is really bad here in the State of Ohio. I think that last year, we had nearly 5000 deaths from opioid overdoses.  (Ohio ranks second for the most deaths from overdoses in the entire country.)

But in this little town, we don’t have that problem. It’s just this quiet – albeit, quite strange – little village, where friendly spirits and ghosts abound. And I mean that literally.  It is simply the coolest place, ever, as far as that goes.  If you’re empathic at all, this town will bowl you over – the energy of it. It feels like a vortex to Heaven.

Of course, you’d never know it just by looking at it. It almost looks like it’s straight out of the Great Depression of the 1930s.

Anyway! Okay!! I gotta get crackin’ on that one last page of the TV pilot. I’m actually compressing 2 and 1/2 pages – really important, key pages – down to one page. So we will see how that goes.  Here’s hoping I can just become a truly stellar writer sometime today!

Have a terrific Tuesday wherever you are in the world, gang! Thanks for visiting. See ya!


Chapter 2 excerpt Blessed By Light

Okay, gang, here is anther excerpt from my new novel. This is Chapter 2. (Amounts to about 8 pages.) Have a great Saturday!!

Contains sexually explicit content that might not be suitable for all readers. Thanks!!


Man in the Light

I THINK YOUR ASS LOOKS LOVELY when you agree to lie like that on your belly. Your legs spread just enough to remind me of why I love so much to get in between them. I’ve always thought that pussy was the center of the world. The smack dead center of the whole wide world. Every time I could get a girl in the daylight to turn over onto her belly for me, wow. That was the thing. That was the thing I loved. Seeing that view from behind.

I’m gonna tell you one of my stories. This is the story about the view from behind. My first real look at a girl. In the sunshine.

We were standing next to my car, about to get in the backseat. But I stopped her and I said to the girl:

Turn around.

I wanted her facing away from me. She turned around and then I held her. My arms pulling her back right up to my front. I wanted her to know I was hard, so I purposely pressed it against her. When she didn’t spook, I really hugged her and I whispered in her ear:

Is it okay if I unzip your pants? Right out here? (Okay)

Her voice was so quiet. It really was part of the spell – her voice.

I unzipped her pants. You know, me still behind her, up close, trying not to fumble with the top button too much. Get the little zipper down. Not like the zipper us boys had on our jeans. It was more delicate somehow.

When the zipper was down, it was a big moment, you know? I was pretty sure she was gonna let me pull her pants down, but you can’t be 100% positive until you begin. So I began.

I stood back a little and pulled her pants down around her knees. God, her panties were cute. So pretty. I couldn’t believe she had let me get this far. She didn’t turn around, either. She just stood there, her back to me. I hugged her again, I held her, and I realized she was breathing funny, you know. She was excited and I couldn’t believe a girl that good-looking could get that excited about being with me.

I was rock hard. I hate to use that cliché, but, man, I had no recollection of having ever been that hard before. I had not had intercourse before. She didn’t know that. I did not know if she’d had it yet or not, and I didn’t want to ask for fear that she’d just want to pull up her pants and go home. So I acted a part almost. You know; went through the motions that seemed natural in that situation and, again, right in her ear, I asked her quietly if she was doing okay.


Can I take your panties down, too? Just a little? (Okay. A little.)

This time, I didn’t back away at all; I just stood there, close to her like that, almost like I was still holding her, but I was pulling down those cute panties. I was so hot for her. She was so pretty, and I couldn’t believe that I was that close to her -close enough to smell her pretty hair – let alone that we were proceeding like that, in broad daylight.

We were out there by the woods. My car was parked in a sort of clearing that was out there at the edge of the woods. It’s where everybody used to go back then. I don’t think it’s there anymore. I think they put in houses there a while back.

It was my first car. We had parked and had taken a walk. Then we headed back to the car, and I opened the backdoor – you know, to the backseat – and when she seemed like she was going to be okay about sliding back in there with me to fool around for a while, that’s when I held her. You know, that’s when I pulled her up close to me like that – her back to my front. I guess it was bold but I had dreamed about it being like that because I knew that if the girl was bending over in that certain position, in the sunlight, I’d be better able to see where my dick was going in. Totally selfish of me, I guess. Looking back on it.

The panties, though. The cute panties. So fucking cute. I will never forget those panties – white but with a sort of pattern. You know, pink, yellow. Pastel colors. Like the colors you think of when you think of girls. (I mean, she wasn’t a “girl,” she was grown. Like me. We were in our late teens. A safe age. You’re still young but you know what you’re wanting and you’re ready to get it.)

So I pulled her panties down, and I remember how erotic it felt – felt, because I was too shy to look yet – how it felt to sort of pull those panties out a little ways in order to slide them down over her butt. Her rear end. It was really a true rear end. Not a butt. A sexy, soft, white rear end that was so round. I couldn’t just tug the panties straight down; I had to accommodate her soft round rear end.

I thought I was gonna shoot just from the way that felt. You know, because I was still up there in my imagination, since I wasn’t looking at her yet. She was kinda shaking, you know? I could tell she was getting really excited. Of course, that got me even more excited. I was feeling like it was really turning out to be a great day.

I won’t tell you her name, but I do remember her name. I just hate when you know the women’s names because then you use them; you say to me, “You wrote that for such and such” (using her real name) and then when I hear the name, it’s like you’re throwing it at me. And it jars me. And I feel like, no honey; this memory is for you. For you to share with me. Leave her name out of it. I loved my wives; I still love them (all the women – I still love all the women) but it’s over now.

Anyway, I still remember her name and it was magical – just that alone; the girl’s name sounded magical to me. Pretty name, pretty girl, pretty panties. The panties were now down around her thighs, about where her pants were, and that’s when I pulled a little away from her again and finally looked. You know, I had to look. Had to see. It was sort of enchanting – no, entrancing is the word. Her skin was so white. Her thighs were so white. And then there were her pants and her panties – down. My blood zoomed. Her blouse was covering her rear end but I still knew what this meant; that if she was to bend over right there and then, I was going to be able to get a good look. It was the middle of the afternoon, for Christ’s sake. Broad daylight. No longer scrunched up close together with a girl in the backseat of the car, in the darkness on some Saturday night, not being able to see what the girl had between her legs; just to feel. And it did feel incredible. I’m not knocking it. To feel that place between a girl’s legs and not be able to see it at all? Wow. I mean, we didn’t have porn back then; all we had was Playboy and they didn’t show any of that stuff. I’m pretty sure it was still illegal to show that back then. So I had to imagine what it might look like, this incredibly soft, slippery, complicated wet place that my fingers were going to down between the girl’s legs.

So now I knew that all she had to do was agree to bend over for me and I was finally going to get to see.

She was a brunette, like you. I know I usually fall for blondes. Almost always. I love the blondes. But this one, she was brunette. And I was not prepared for how erotic it was going to look, you know?

First, I asked her again, how’re you doing?

(I’m good)

She was still talking so quietly, though. So nervous. And then I knew that she was trusting me with an awful lot, so I wanted to do right by her, you know. Do the thing, if possible, but only if she was really, really going to be wanting it, too. She sounded almost nervous enough to cry. It was a certain undertone in her voice. Nervous, trusting, gonna cry if anything went horribly wrong. And then I wondered if anyone had ever seen her down there before, if maybe this was her first time showing it to a guy. My mind –it just works and works and works. I guess it’s part of being a writer, right? Even back then. Before I wrote a single word. My mind was filling the gaps with poetry. I decided that she was so nervous because it was her first time really showing herself to a guy – in the sunlight. Not in some dark car. I have no clue if that was true, but to me, it explained why she was almost shaking.

So I asked her how she was doing and she said she was good. Then I said, you know, “Do you wanna bend over?” Something like that. I somehow got the words out that asked her to bend over for me. And she did! She did it. She bent over, all the way over and rested her elbows on the car seat. You know, we had the backdoor open and we were standing right in there by the backseat, so she leaned in there and bent over, and rested her elbows on the car seat.

My god, her ass was round.

And that’s when I saw it. Her pussy. It wasn’t spread yet, but it was peeking out from under there, from between her legs. And her pussy was hairy, you know. I knew girls had hair, still, I guess I wasn’t expecting that. But really, I didn’t know what I was expecting. Like anyone else back then, I’d been to the library before, to look at the Health-Science books, but it was just drawings. No photos. And the drawings were clinical-looking, with arrows pointing to all the various parts. Vulva, clitoris, vagina, anus, urethra, labia – 2 sets, right? Labia minora, labia majora. It was all so baffling and it didn’t look very nice. I didn’t run home and jerk-off over it, or anything. It was more like, Christ; something that feels so erotic when you touch it in the dark looks so ugly? And, of course, I was wondering and worrying; how am I ever going to get my dick in the right place? Especially if I couldn’t ever see anything.

So that’s when I knew that it was going to have to be daylight. Or someplace where the lights were on. For some reason, it never occurred to me that a girl would ever just get right in front of me and spread her legs wide open for me, so that I could see everything. (Of course, now think of it: How many girls have done just that for me? And how many thousands more have wanted to? It’s funny now. Please just go home. I don’t want to see that. Funny. Girls are so funny.) Anyway, I knew it would have to be broad daylight and that she would have to bend over, since I didn’t think nice girls did anything too bold.

Well, she bent over and just the sight of her pussy like that – not even spread – was, well, breathtaking, really. My dick was still inside my jeans. I hadn’t unzipped or anything, although I was just bursting, ready to split a seam or something. I was so hard. But I reached out and I touched that hair real lightly with my finger, you know? Just stroked it and she did something amazing: Her ass arched up, you know? Her legs spread as much as they could then with her panties and stuff down her thighs. But her ass arched up, her legs spread, and she pushed it out at me. She moaned, even. Real quietly. But I heard her. And of course, all this told me that we were going to be good to go.

It’s so hard to say what entranced me most, because suddenly I was just looking at all her goods, you know? All of it. Just right there in the sunlight. And I could see how those drawings in the books in the library might have been technically correct, still the essence – the essence was not captured in those drawings at all. And here in real life – there was the essence.

Her pussy hair was black, like yours, and it made her pussy look almost red by contrast (like yours). And it was wet there. All that slippery stuff that I would feel in the dark? There it was – all over her pussy. I didn’t really know about the clitoris yet. I actually had no clue at all about the clitoris – just knew the word. Didn’t know that girls had orgasms or anything at all like that. My first wife – I learned all that with her. She showed me how she masturbated and then I learned all about the clitoris.

But back then, I didn’t know; didn’t know girls could be so aroused. But I was entranced by the sight of everything being so wet.

I know now that she wasn’t a virgin. I don’t blame her for being coy or anything; I don’t believe it was like that at all. I still think she was genuinely shy, that she was not an “easy” girl; she just simply had started early. Earlier than me. But I’d had no idea that she was supposed to bleed, or that it would have been really hard to get into her if it were her first time. I knew none of that stuff yet. And in all the times I’ve thought about it in my head, remembered that afternoon, I’ve felt really glad that she wasn’t a virgin, because it would have thrown me. I wouldn’t have wanted to hurt her. I would have given up right away, at the first sign that she was in any pain.

But she wasn’t in any pain. It was not like that at all. I was so blessed to be with a girl like her for my first time. It wasn’t elaborate or anything. She never even took her pants all the way down. She never turned over. Never opened her blouse or pulled up her bra. It was just her pussy offered up like that. When I finally got up enough nerve to unzip my jeans and take my dick out, she helped me get right in. You know, reached around and guided it. No girl had ever touched my dick before. The feel of her fingers, you know – her hands were delicate. Capable, but delicate. They felt so soft on my dick; gentle, cool to the touch. I thought I could maybe come from just that, right? Her gentle fingers taking my dick and helping it find the hole.

Then I went right in. Oh my god. She was tight. Not a virgin, but still tight. So hot, so wet. I never felt anything like that before in my life. And just as exciting was watching it go in. Watching my dick go into that hole. As you now know, I have kind of a long dick, but it was disappearing, I’ll tell you!  It was going right on up.

I didn’t know how to fuck, of course. I didn’t have that rhythm down or anything close to that. But I did jerk-off an awful lot. I knew I needed to pump into her, to feel that feeling, and it was coming on me quick. I leaned over her and steadied my arms at either side of her on the car seat, pumped into her just a few quick times and felt myself exploding. Really, just shooting out.

I came in her. Thank god, I didn’t get her pregnant. You know, I wasn’t thinking about any of that stuff at all. I was just overcome by what was happening.

When it was all over, she got up and she pulled up her pants, you know. I didn’t help her do that part, even though I had been the one to pull them down. To tell you the truth, I wanted to watch her pull her pants up. I don’t really know why; I just found it erotic to watch her do that. She let me kiss her. We did kiss. But by then she had gotten really shy again, and I had gotten really shy again. I drove her home.

I didn’t see her again, not in that way. We kind of just drifted back to our own crowds.  But forever afterward – and I do mean forever – I jerked-off thinking about that time with her. I don’t even need to embellish it at all. Well, in my mind, I take a lot longer to come! I actually fuck her, you know? But I don’t need to add any other details. She sure looked hot, bending over like that and showing herself to me. And my dick sure looked hot going into her. I love remembering that. It plays on and on in my head, pretty much forever. She was a sweet girl to let me do that to her.

c: 2018 Marilyn Jaye Lewis

Back in Crazyland!

Yes, gang, I’m back home in  Crazyland! And my trip to NYC was amazingly successful – from start to finish.

First, though, I want to draw your attention to new stuff.

Way down there at the bottom, on your left, my Instagram photos now get posted. You must actually follow me on Instagram to read the spellbinding things I say about these breathtaking photos!

However, if you’re a loyal reader of this lofty blog, you probably already know that it doesn’t matter what the fuck I say – the lousy photo alone is likely going to say it all.

That said, if you still want to follow, I’m @marilynjayelewis.

Next, there on your right is a Music Player, where I will be uploading  old demos from my singer/songwriting career back in the 1980s. These songs will all eventually be re-recorded and produced by my long-time and very dear friend Peitor Angell, in Los Angeles.

Currently uploaded there is a song I wrote in 1984, called Boy, If You Want. This version is a 24-track demo.  It’s folk-country, which was my style of folk music.

Thirdly, at the top of the page, you will see a new page that features excerpts from The Muse Revisited collections. These will be complete short stories, or excerpts from longer works, that are included in the collections.  These, of course, are meant to entice you to buy the whole book!

Please be cautioned that the Muse excerpts WILL BE offensive to some readers, whether due to explicit sexual content, graphic sexual violence, drug use, prostitution, and often all four at once!

The current short story posted there, Night on Twelfth Street, was written in 2001, and was published all over the place, both in print and online, in the early 2000s.

Though fictionalized, it is highly autobiographical and deals with stuff going on in my downtown world in NYC in 1985. Read & Enjoy! (If indeed you “enjoy” sexual violence, drug use, prostitution, heartbreak, and sex.)

Now, onto how great my speedy trip to NYC was!

First off, my 9-hour drives, in both directions, went off swimmingly! I couldn’t have asked for better weather, better traffic conditions – everything was simply perfect. And I arrived at Sandra‘s on Tuesday afternoon in plenty of time to catch the train into Midtown to meet Christopher Stokes Moseley for drinks at Sardi’s, in order to introduce him to Sandra. They seemed to hit it off really well! I had hoped they would.

We then made it to American Son, playing at the Booth Theater on Broadway, in plenty of time, then made our 10:45 PM train back home in plenty of time. All this while I’d been awake since 3:45 AM.

I needed to see the play for a reason that I can’t discuss now, but it was really an achievement to get to that play on time, considering all that driving and train-going stuff.

The following day, Sandra and I finally completed the one-woman musical about her life – The Guide to Being Fabulous – that we’ve been working on together for 5 years. All that’s left to be done is some copy & pasting and re-arranging of monologues.

It was such a phenomenal feeling for both of us. I can’t even begin to describe the sense of achievement, release, relief, etc. It was so worth the ton of driving I did in such a short period of time. We are aiming for January to begin the process of the staged reading, Off-Broadway,  downtown NYC.

Btw, if you look down there at the left, at the Instagram photos, you will see a documentation of sorts of everything I just wrote about! Including my bare feet at bedtime in NY, and my bare feet in my own bedroom when I got back home to Crazyland! And that is Sandra at lunch in NY while we were just finishing the final notes on the play! And a couple of the photos are the notes of the play, in progress.

We were so fucking happy with everything that we’d finally achieved, that we were reduced to outbursts of hysterical laughter many, many times during my short trip.  And I mean, uncontrollable laughter – the kind where we couldn’t even breathe anymore, and where people around us were literally moving away from us…

And might I add that we are  both ladies of a certain age, wherein uncontrollable laughter only leads to pissing ourselves, which of course makes you laugh harder, which then… well, which sucks. But, ah well. All in all, it was still totally worth it.

On that lively note, I gotta get back to rewrites on the CLEVELAND TV pilot. Time’s a wastin’ – I gotta get it done and off to L.A. by mid-November at the latest, and my birth mother is coming to visit in about 10 days…

Okay, thanks for visiting, gang. Have a fantastic Friday, wherever you are in the world!! See ya!

A repeated adieu to my best friend

I know I shouldn’t dwell on it, and yet I will!

Today is the anniversary of the death of my very best friend in the world. He has been gone now for 19 years, and in most ways, it feels like he died  only yesterday.  (He designed sets for the theater, opera, TV commercials, and Hollywood movies. We met in high school – back when being gay, bisexual, or queer in any way was totally NOT cool.)

Yes, I lost my father, and my best friend, and one of my dearest mentors (Bob Cato – a Senior VP at Columbia Records when I knew him), all in the same year.

Men have always been the hugest part of my life, so 1999 was sort of a killer year. (I use killer in its worst possible sense.)

But time barrels along faster & faster as the years go on, and it just gets so much more difficult to process any of it.  The tears, of course, are all gone. You can’t keep crying over stuff, right?   And also, to say that I believe in life after death is the most enormous understatement – almost everyone I know who has died still interacts with me constantly. So where is that line between here & not here?

It fades, I’ll tell you that. The hardest part is not being able to touch the person, see them in a 3-dimensional way, or even smell them. The senses we use to process “being here” in the physical are useless when people cross over and become Energy, right? So I do interact with the people I love who have died. And yet I still grieve. Selfishly wanting to touch them again. To see them.

All righty.

I’m packed for NYC. I’ll be leaving Crazyland at something like 4:45 A.M. in order to try and stick to something related to this ridiculously crammed schedule I created for myself. But rather than focus on the insane schedule, I’ve decided to focus on simply being excited, happy, hopeful — and all the theater things that I truly love about New York and my life. Plus, knowing me, I will probably go about 90 MPH most of the way.

I will mostly be traveling on the truly lovely I-80. It has the best scenery throughout Pennsylvania.

So, in honor of myself, I leave you with this little ditty. (BTW, Tom Petty’s birthday was Saturday, wherein the town of Gainesville ,FL, dedicated a public park in his honor. So cool. Maybe I’ll go see it some day.) Have a terrific Monday, gang, even if it kills you. Thanks for visiting. See ya.


And now a break until NYC

Revisions on Act 2 of the CLEVELAND TV pilot are complete! Yay.

That means only 2 more Acts and a total of only 24 more pages to revise!! Plenty of time to get notes from one producer in LA. and then send it off to the other producer before I go to L.A. the first week of December

I don’t imagine I will work on it again until I come back from New York City, later next week. I need to be in theater mode for now.

I’m really happy with this new direction the pilot is going in, although, in key ways, it is so different from my initial vision for it – different from the reasons I wanted to write it in the first place, but that’s okay. It has evolved and I’m happy.

Okay. I think I’ll play records, stare up at the ceiling for awhile. Tomorrow, I have to clean house! Diane is staying here when I go away – to look after my cats.

Here are 2 of them right now. Yes, they are still feral, all these years later. Yes, they will likely disappear the entire time that Diane is here. But I’ve decided I’m still gonna have her feed them…

Okay. Happy Saturday, wherever you are!! Thanks for visiting! See ya.

Lucie & Weenie wondering why I still live here…


Chapters 10/a. – 10/b. from Blessed By Light

Chapters 10/a. – 10/b. from my new novel, Blessed By Light. (Amounts to about 6 pages.)



LIES. I GOT SO GOOD AT IT, at telling lies. I could tell the truth about so many unexpected things, and in unexpected places – like in the Press. I even garnered a reputation for being so direct, so outspoken and honest, that when it came time for me to tell my lies, everyone believed me.

I was not sleeping with the famous gal, and she was not sleeping with me.

And that became the truth, for decades. The accepted truth. Until we grew out of our need to fuck each other, and we really did become just friends. Just the closest of friends.

She outlasted my first wife. And took a very generous backseat to my second one.  And life, in all its complexities, and heartbreaks, and profound question marks, went on.

The only lies that were left were the ones I was telling myself.

When my first wife left me, taking my daughters with her; when she told me to grow up, I did just that. I grew up. I stopped all the coke and I stopped fucking the random fans. For a time, my escapades with the famous gal, along with everything else, came to a halt and it was just sober me, alone with my right hand. And she came back to me – my wife came back.

And then the only lie left was the big one: I kept telling myself I was happy.


I know you avoid telling the whole truth an awful lot, but do you ever tell real lies? I mean, grown-up lies; the kind you can only tell as a complicated adult; the kind of adult with a wandering eye, or a questioning heart.

Not the kind of lies you told as a child – the kind you were talking about earlier this evening. The lies you told to try to save your skin; to not get found out about something small, something so simple and uncomplicated that you’d done, because you were so afraid of those dreaded spankings.

And I have to just add right now, how much you amuse me. To hear you talk about your fears as a little girl – to actually see you reliving that fear in the expression on your face. And now you can’t get enough of those bare-assed spankings.

Well, I guess maybe you can, at that.

But I’ll tell you a secret, honey. I’m not done with you yet. You mull that over if you want to. I like that little potting shed. You get real well behaved out there.

I know you were never married, so maybe you never had to convince yourself that a decision you’d made, a vow you took, was carved in stone. That there was no going back because those words “for better or worse” were interpreted as covering a multitude of sins – divorce was out of the question.

That first wife of mine, you know, she eventually strayed. And I found out but she never knew that I knew. It was sort of my gift to her – let her have her secret life. Her world that was untouched by my fame, that was just about her and what she wanted and needed. Emotional things that I guess I couldn’t give her.

Maybe I should have confronted her. Maybe she mistook me as someone who didn’t care enough to ask her to explain herself, her indiscretion. Maybe I should have called her on it, because it wasn’t too long after that, that she made the announcement about needing her own room. Then my pain and my anger, my humiliation were so deep that all we did after that was yell – at the top of our ugliest voices.


My mortality is weighing on me tonight.

I need so much to feel forgiven.



WHAT A BLESSING YOU ARE to me. And it’s so late. You were so sound asleep – just dead to the world. When I woke you, it was 4:12 A.M. You know what you said? You said, “What am I gonna do with all this bubble wrap?” It was funny. What were you dreaming about? Do you even remember?

And by 4:17 A.M., I was going in you; lying on top of you, and going in, and you were trying so hard, for my sake, to wake up. You spread your legs for me and I got on you and you were wet already. How did you do that?

Maybe that bubble wrap dream was more interesting than it had initially sounded. But whatever the reason. It was dark, it was god-awful early or god-awful late – take your pick – you were trying so hard to focus, to be awake with me. And through some miracle, you were wet for me and I was going in. And even though I was still stuck in this not so good place, this place that was asking so much from you – “Please try to reach out to my daughter, okay? Use social media, maybe. She’s always on her damn phone. Just try, okay? I’m so worried about her” – I know it was the last thing you wanted to hear while we were making such disjointed love, but you stuck with it; you stayed right with me and we did make love.

You are just what I need – always. Just what I need, when I need it. I can only hope you feel the same thing about me. That if, some dark night, you’re ever tortured by all the lies you’ve told, by the infidelities on all sides, the disappointments, the rage and bitterness; the years of working too goddamned hard to get the whole fucking world to just love you, and when it does, your whole family goes down the toilet with you because you can no longer figure out how to just be happy – if you ever have one of those awful nights, you can wake me at 4:12 A.M. and I will do whatever it takes to get it up for you, honey. I will.


I texted my daughter at 3 A.M. I wasn’t gonna tell you this, but as long as you’re up.

She texted me right back, I was astounded that she was awake. She has to work in the morning. But there she was, awake, texting me back, and guess what? Here comes a photo from her, too. Another damn tattoo.

How am I supposed to reply? How nice? That’s lovely? It’s hideous, if you ask me. And she was kind of asking me, so I just did my “dad” thing and focused on her bank account. “Those things are expensive. Watch how you’re spending your money.”

And of course she was pissed. It was just a simple text in reply to me but her pissed-off-daughter tone came through loud and clear.

But what am I supposed to say? I remember when she was born; I remember giving her baths, and how pretty she was. Her skin was so soft and just perfect, you know. Now it’s covered in ink.

And she doesn’t want to get married. Not that that’s the answer to everything, but she isn’t even dating. She goes to her job, and then she’s alone in her apartment, constantly taking pictures of everything she does with her goddamned phone, and when she stops being a loner-narcissist for five minutes, she goes off and gets another tattoo.

I worry about her; I do. She’s got so much money, because I gave it to her. But she’s lost in a world that I don’t understand, and that I don’t think is gonna be good for her for very long. She thinks she’s satisfied, but I don’t know.

My other daughter, the older one. Well, you know. I hate to have to say it, but she’s perfect.

Don’t ever tell either one of them that I said that.

I know all of it makes you feel uncomfortable – they’re not your flesh and blood. They’re strangers to you and too protective of me. But if for any unforeseen, unexpected, convoluted, crazy reason an opportunity comes up for you to reach out to that younger daughter of mine and just be her friend, I hope you will. And don’t let her overwhelming and outspoken personality scare you. Inside, she’s just a frightened little baby girl.

And I know it. I did it to her, you know. I did that. By leaving them all when she was too young. By leaving her stranded when she was drifting. When she really needed her dad, but I just couldn’t be one.


“You don’t get to tell me what to do, you know.” She still says that to me once in a while, when she’s really hurting. Even though she’s not 13 anymore, she’s fully grown. “You don’t get to tell me what to do because you left.”

And then we’re both hurting. We’re hurting like crazy.

Well, hallelujah, right? Finally, a topic she and I can both relate to.


I know. You’re right. I’m allowed to have my happiness now. I know I am. I’m allowed to be happy – regardless of what I might have done, or said, or denied in the past. What I created or destroyed. You’re right. We’re all – each of us – allowed to be happy. Because life goes on, and we’re responsible for how we choose to react to things, how we choose to respond to our experiences. I’ve tried to make reparations with my girls, you know – emotionally. I think we’re all in an okay place with one another, regardless of the occasional drama.

But sometimes I still just feel so guilty. Just so guilty. For something I did, for my own mental survival, over 25 years ago.

I love those girls. I love them. It was their mother I couldn’t tolerate anymore. She wouldn’t let me off the hook for anything.

And it was the pot calling the kettle black by then, you know. She was fucking around on me with her boyfriend. They were doing all that coke. She was living high on the hog off of all my fame.

But I didn’t want to tell her that I knew all her little secrets.

I didn’t want her world to crumble, didn’t want her delicate mind folding like a house of cards because I needed something to be left sane in her because I needed her to raise my girls. I was always on the goddamned road.

Christ, you’re right. I know you are.

When am I gonna let it go?

It took two lonely, fucked-up childhood sweethearts to tear that marriage to pieces. It sure as hell did. I wasn’t alone in creating that nightmare by any stretch.

Do you wanna go back to sleep, or are you up now?

Okay. Let me just lie here with you then. Just lie here and remember what love is and how it feels. Just for a little while.

I’ll put the coffee on in a minute.

c: 2018 Marilyn Jaye Lewis