One of those hauntingly lovely days

I’ve had the best day, gang, even though I did nothing. I hung out in bed this morning in the dark for 3 hours and just felt totally blissed out, and the feeling kind of followed me around throughout the day.

I am one of those people who really loves listening to music from the 1920s and 1930s. I really adore a lot of Rudy Vallee’s early hits. They create an atmosphere inside me — if that’s a possible thing? Maybe even a memory from a different lifetime gets unearthed? I don’t know. But here’s one of his songs that I’ve been playing today. A lot of singers have covered this song down through time, but his version is my favorite. It really does make me feel like I was alive back then…

Okay. I might check in again later and actually say something, but until then — a page from some other life & love! Hope you’re having a great Sunday, wherever you are in the world!

Well, All Righty, Then!!

Okay, I have to say that for whatever inexplicable reason, some of the Alexander McQueen women’s wear Spring/Summer 2020 Pre– Collection (whatever the heck that is supposed to mean) made it into my field of vision  and I actually loved it. (Except for the shoes and the tapered waist — I hate a tapered waist.)

Still. How fucking weird is that? The designer with whom I have the least patience… It was in the vein of a man’s suit, which is what I was just talking about the other day.

I guess it just goes to show you that, not only do Chesterfield cigarettes come back around — meaning that what you’ve lost can return to you. But also, something you are used to disparaging can suddenly surprise you.

Indeed, life is interesting when you remember to release things, to let things go. It makes room for other things to come into your awareness, right?

Okay, yesterday, the work with Peitor was so fun.  We got some good work done on the script — still in the process of going shot by shot through Scene 3, sort of a key and quite dynamic 90-second scene in our 8 minute film! A lot hinges on it being believable, even while its premise remains absurd.

At one point, I said: “Oh, I found all those notes we were looking for a few months ago! It turns out, I saved  them to a really weird file. I have no idea why I put them there. But I was searching for something else at the time, so I just left them there and now I can’t remember where I saw them!” Meaning that the notes we need on a second project are still irretrievable. “Why the heck did I do that?”

And he replied, “Just common idiocy.” And I laughed so hard, that then we were off and running with ideas for another project, of course titled, Common Idiocy. And we ended up laughing so hard over it, that we were both crying again. And then that underscored the rest of our work for that session. It was just so fun. I really needed to laugh like that.

I just love “Lita’s Got To Go.” (The current micro-short project.) It is so darn serious and even a bit disturbing. The shots and mood in the first couple scenes are heavily informed by Polanski’s Repulsion, which of course is not funny at all. And each shot is so precise and  full of uneasiness (Bauhaus), and yet the whole thing is basically arbitrary and leads nowhere. It’s just so funny.

Well, to us, anyway.

It does seem like it was a good thing for him to go off to London (and Paris) for the holidays, because Peitor just seemed a million times lighter yesterday. I didn’t bring up the new TV series because, frankly, I’m so fucking busy right now. I’ll just wait until it comes up again and then make room for it in my brain at that point.

Today, I want to work on crafting a sort of “stand alone” section for Thug Luckless. Something that would be part of the novel overall, but that would be suitable for publishing  as an excerpt on its own. I don’t ever write that way — I either write a short story or a novel. I don’t try to craft both at the same time. But this morning it occurred to me that I’d like to try doing that with Thug. It could open up how I’m looking at him, because I just have so many ideas circling who I think he is and what goes on in his world (even though all he actually is is an AI sex robot). So bringing part of it into tight focus could prove really informative for me.

“Captivity,” Letter #6 for Girl in the Night: Erotic Love Letters to the Muse, is still gestating. I wrote 2 pages and then had to pull back from it. The energy was going nowhere. I don’t want it to be too much of a narrative. So I need it to kind of re-assemble itself in my brain.

Life is so strange, isn’t it? It’s just moment upon moment upon moment, and it always feels like it’s got a forward momentum of some kind, yet it doesn’t actually go anywhere. Everything sort of seems the same every time you wake up. And then eventually, everything’s just different.  I was thinking about that when I came out of meditation this morning.

I want so many things to change in 2020. I guess “come to fruition” is more like it, but I do want this sense that my life is lived in captivity to just leave me. By captivity, I think I mean fear and habit and that drifting thing my mind always does.

I can be in the middle of working on something, then I’ll get up from my desk, an unlit cigarette stuck in my mouth, I’ll sit down on the side of my bed and stare out the window and just drift for a while, you know? Wonder why I’m alive. What life actually is. What does it mean to be physical rather than nonphysical. I’m really just a focusing mechanism; a tuning mechanism; a mass of electro-magnetic-chemicals — this idea that I’m more important than that is sort of an illusion. My body is astounding but what I believe its purpose is, is just an illusion…

This kind of stuff takes up a lot of my brain space. And then when  I stop doing that, I’m writing highly erotic weird stuff that people seem to enjoy reading. You know, words get onto the page. I read it over and then  wonder: How’d that get there? Meaning, where does it come from? I’m tuning into something; focusing on something. God only knows what. But it does sort of define who I am — the words I choose to put onto a page. Whatever that means, right?

And the days fly by… and then suddenly, everything’s different.

And on that note, gang! I’m gonna take a look at Thug Luckless. See what sort of artificial life I can bestow upon him. I hope you’re having a nice Saturday, wherever you are in the world. Thanks for visiting. I love you guys. See ya.

Off We Go, Back To Work!

It isn’t actually snowing here today — as the little picture above would imply. It’s raining. And is going to rain nonstop until tomorrow, when it will turn to snow. So it’s kind of an appropriate picture.

I cannot tarry here today because Peitor got back to Los Angeles on Monday and is expecting to get back to work this morning on our micro-script — often titled “Lita’s Got To Go” but sometimes it’s called other things! (I prefer it’s Swedish subtitle: Lita måste gå.)

Anyway. I have to get back in the mindspace for that intensely well-crafted absurdity, so I can’t spend too long on the blog today.

Oh, before I forget, there’s a new Nick Cave Red Hand Files letter out today. It’s very, very interesting, about the song “Hollywood” from the album Ghosteen. I love that song.  (I know, I know, I know — someday I’ll try to dig up a Nick Cave song that I hate, just to prove to you how fair and impartial I can be!! Meanwhile, as pigs fly…)

Anyway. You can read it at the Red Hand Files link up there if you so choose!!

I spent yesterday streaming more of those old Black Books TV episodes on Amazon. That show just really makes me laugh. I know it’s politically incorrect to laugh at drunks anymore but I just find it so stupidly funny. I really just do. I laugh out loud.

And I also did this:

Yes, I did indeed start yet a third journal and clipped a pen to it and carried it around. Meaning, down to the kitchen, back up to my desk, over to the night table.

It does sort of seem, on the face of it, to be kind of ridiculous to have all these separate journals for all the many things that go on in mind that need constant processing. Why not put it all in just one book and not isolate everything like this?

Frankly, I’m not sure. But for now, this is how it is. And I’m hoping it will just stop here, you know? (Oh, and I do want to mention that I am well aware that my little bedside lamp there is intensely un-chic and is well over 60 years old… I, personally, have only owned it since 2004, when Mikey Rivera found it at a garage sale somewhere in Bucks County, Pennsylvania and brought it home to me. I fell instantly in love with it. That’s some kid’s childhood embodied there in that lamp! How can I part with it?? Plus that little green glass part of it is its own separate night light!! It’s just too cool, even though I’m not exactly into the sailboat motif anywhere else in the house, or in my life…) (As if I have a motif in my house other than “old.”)

(And that coaster there on my night table is of a pub in London. I bought the set of coasters at the Heathrow airport about 20 years ago, and it has different illustrations of famous old pubs in London. I also have a set of coasters illustrating popular tourist spots in Paris — the Moulin Rouge one sits on my desk. For some reason, I love coasters bought in airports. And a friend of mine who lives here in the US but who is British,  took a vacation several years ago in Switzerland and, without knowing my slavish devotion to coasters bought in foreign airports, brought me back a set of coasters of pastoral spots in Switzerland. She said, as she sheepishly gave them to me, “I’m not sure why I bought you these weird things, I just saw them and suddenly felt compelled to get them for you…” I was thrilled!!)

So I still have all the Christmas stuff hanging out in the dining room. I just haven’t felt like dragging all those boxes out of storage yet. It felt really nice to just kind of lounge around and read magazines and talk on the phone and stream old TV shows that I’d never seen before… Kind of a little paradise around here for a couple of days.

But I am indeed back to work today because Peitor insisted on it. (I know: first, he insists on dashing off to London for 2 weeks; now he insists on dashing back to work. And my job, I guess, is to just be flexible and let people be whoever they need to be in this life…)

And even though I’ve already seen him a couple times during the holidays, I have an official meeting with the director of Tell My Bones on Tuesday. I actually can’t wait. It’s going to be a good meeting, I know. Even though I still have to do some revisions on the play. (He’s actually asked me to wait until the first table read in NYC because he thinks it will be more instructive for me that way, so I haven’t felt too pressured to do any more rewrites on it just yet.)

Plus, I just love having meetings with people who have vision, who have great ideas. And he does. Plus I love knowing that I am only responsible for writing the play. I don’t have to execute any of his ideas — just write the play. He is always saying to me: “Marilyn, that’s not your job; that’s my job. Just write and let me do my job, okay?”


It’s so cool to have a project and not have to be overseeing absolutely everything. I guess this is part of my 2020 horoscope, where it said that this year I was going to learn how to be interdependent.

So, on that note, I need to scoot because I have to get myself sorted here at the desk before Peitor calls. And, of course, get more coffee. (BTW, I drink really, really weak old-fashioned coffee, because I can’t handle very much caffeine at all. I just love the process of constantly drinking coffee but I do like at least a little caffeine. So when I’m saying that I’m always drinking all this coffee, I’m not actually wired to the rafters or anything. I can barely feel it. )

But that said, I’m gonna get more coffee and get going around here. Thanks for visiting, gang! I haven’t actually been playing much music around here, except Sting and old Nick Cave songs that I’ve already posted here recently. Although, I do really love this other song, that I played yesterday while making my lunch, so I’ll leave you with that. You probably already know it because it’s a monster hit that’s already a year old, so I won’t post the lyrics, which are exceptionally lengthy. It’s a really cool song, though — “a lot” by 21 Savage featuring J. Cole.

All righty! Have a terrific first Friday of 2020!!I love you guys. See ya.

Little Brown Mouse, Thinking & Reading!!

Yesterday was sort of a perfect day, gang. Surely it is indicative of a perfect year ahead. Maybe even a perfect decade??

I did no work yesterday at all, and I actually read that issue of Another Man from cover to cover and inadvertently got some interesting insights into the Thug Luckless character, of all things.

Not necessarily related to Thug Luckless, though, it does seem that haute couture menswear is going in two distinct directions — which is cool in and of itself, because usually menswear goes in no direction. But it’s either a sort of “anime in the post-apocalypse” plus oversized boots and shoes (and oversized overcoats), or really, really elegant stuff — Givenchy, specifically.

Plus the random, single pearl earring, over and over. I loved that.

I’m not an anime fan, at all. It really just doesn’t do anything for me (although I do love hentai, but if you add pornography to anything I tend to like it lots better!). So I don’t really relate to most of the menswear lines that are aiming at very young men. And those enormous shoes and boots — I’m not getting that. But, overall, there was just some really elegant stuff and I wished that designers would design that kind of stuff for women. But they just don’t. (I guess because men prefer that non-lesbian women not dress like men unless they’re Katharine Hepburn or something.)

And oddly, Alexander McQueen had a really elegant outfit in there, which of course makes me wonder why his womens-wear line is always reminiscent of women in cages. But the men get to look elegant. (It’s not actually him, though, because he’s been dead a long time. And Givenchy is dead now, too.)

Anyway, it was thought-provoking.  From the sublime to the ridiculous (i.e., kids wearing sort of full-length “A Clockwork Orange” depictions on their coats and such. That seemed more than a little regrettable to me. You know, if a grown man wants to wear something that is blatantly symbolic of violence and control, that’s one thing; but to put it on a child trivializes it down to absolutely nothing. And that, to me, is such a waste of the human mind and the power of ideas.)

And I also thought it was extremely interesting how Lanvin had a menswear layout that featured a woman, between two fully dressed men,  wearing only a sort of cape — or oversized scarf — at her neck and a pair of socks. Since Jeanne Lanvin, the actual woman, was one of the first truly visionary designers — over a hundred and twenty years ago — who truly liberated women within (under) their clothing.  What would she think of a woman wearing only a scarf and a pair of socks now, in her”name”? I don’t actually have any idea, but it was worth pondering.

(And Paul Poiret, who followed in that liberating vein in the early 20th Century — absolutely fascinates me. He created designs that necessitated women get rid of restrictive undergarments entirely; to let their bodies be totally free under their dresses, and also to do away with yards & yards of fabric, so women no longer had to drag the weight of that around, and also to have shoes that liberated their ankles.)

Image result for original paul poiret designs
Paul Poiret — a later design, post WWI

And the thing that interested me most, in the whole magazine, which is close to 280 pages, was something knitwear designer Gareth Wrighton said, in connection to narratives told through digital avatars — about wanting to create costume designs that aren’t restricted by physics. That made me stop and really think.

Well, after that, I spoke on the phone for quite a while with Val in Brooklyn. We hadn’t spoken in many weeks. I tried to get her input on what I should do about the current family drama situation in my life, and she just said, “Sheesh, Emmy, that’s a tough one.” So no real help there… but it was great talking to her while I was just lounging around on my bed, doing nothing!!

And then I went down to the kitchen and started streaming an old British TV show — Black Books. It’s 20 years old already, but it was brand new to me and it was so funny. It’s basically just gags, no riveting storyline or anything. It takes place in a small London book shop. But it made me laugh out loud repeatedly, so that was nice. I’m planning on watching more of that today.

I’m liking this not-really-working kind of thing. Even though I can feel Thug Luckless gestating and that’s exciting to me. (Wouldn’t that be cool if we could get ultrasounds of our novels gestating inside us? “Oh look! He’s got a little Chapter 4 growing in there!!” And then I could show the printout to everyone: “Look! I’ve got a new novel taking shape inside me!!”)

Which sort of reminds me… I’m not exactly sure how it’s happening — whether it’s related to the director of my play, or something else entirely — but my days of living in deep cover out here in the Hinterlands seem to be coming to a gradual end. I’m okay with it; I’m not going to fight against it, or anything. And I guess it was going to eventually happen. Meaning total strangers suddenly knowing that I’m a writer.

Well, okay. I’ve actually decided that I do want to start keeping a  regular journal again. I’ll just figure out how to make room for it in all this other writing I’m constantly doing. And with that in mind, I’m gonna scoot and get back at it. And then maybe take it easy again for the rest of the day!!

Thanks for visiting, gang. I hope 2020 is starting off nicely for you, wherever you are in the world! I love you guys. See ya.

A Clear & Happy Morning, 2020!

In keeping with my customary obsessive behavior — I ate breakfast this morning while taking down all the Christmas stuff and at least centering it all on the dining room table, for now. And I did 2 loads of laundry — Christmas table cloths, Christmas dish towels, Christmas throw-rugs,  and Christmas fleece throws, etc., etc.

At least now it’s all in one place in the dining room. I just have to lug a bunch of (empty) boxes out of the storage closet again and drag them all downstairs.  Fill them and drag them all back up.

Not sure if I’ll do that part today, or not, but I feel like I was already quite industrious! If I were a bonafide Protestant, I would praise my Protestant work ethic. However, what I really am is obsessive about getting Christmas put away the moment the New Year arrives. I start to feel guilty if Christmas is still visible by, like, January 4th at the latest.

So, last night! I was home by 10:22pm. (Aren’t digital clocks great? Assuming your clock runs on time, you know where you are to the exact minute — I was walking in the door last night at 10:22.)

I wanted to just sit alone at my kitchen table and ring in the New Year with Perry Mason. And just be sort of quiet and cozy and contemplative. However, Perry Mason is quite suddenly no longer streaming for free and you have to buy a subscription from CBS.  And even though it’s stupidly cheap — or, I should say, “affordable” — I have seen every single one of these episodes a million times. I know them all by heart. I know who did each murder and why and I know how Perry finds out who did it. So do I really need a reason (i.e., a paid subscription) to keep my quite comely behind planted at my kitchen table, watching this stuff??!!

Sadly, the answer I was forced to come to last night was “no.” Because, as obsessive as I am about sitting at my desk unendingly, I am that much more obsessive about watching old re-runs of Perry Mason. I truly am. It’s like an addiction to me — that show.  And if I were paying for it then I would actually feel obligated to watch it. Yes, I would feel obligated to my addiction. And so by 10:33pm, I said aloud, “Fuck this. I’m not paying for this.” And all my grand plans for the rest of New Year’s Eve were instantly dashed.

I was actually pretty tired — sort of an intellectual ennui. Nothing else I tried to watch appealed to me at all. And I didn’t feel like listening to any more music. So by 11:56pm, I was in bed, with the lights out and I fell instantly to sleep. Isn’t that weird? That I could not remain awake for 4 more minutes? But I couldn’t; I was dead tired. And then I was suddenly lurched awake by 2 of the cats screaming at each other, which is always a delightfully terrifying sound when you’ve been dead asleep, and I looked at my phone and it was 12:03am.

So, you know, I was sort of awake to ring in 2020. Thanks to the cats.

It’s funny to think that, when I was married to my first husband, I lived in the Theater District, a block away from Times Square, and could readily hear the roar of the crowds that filled the night when the ball dropped. And then when I lived in the East Village, I could readily hear fireworks going off and intensely inebriated people reveling and cheering at the stroke of midnight. Now I hear cats screaming at each other.

But the reason they were screaming is actually kind of cute: they were fighting about who gets to be the one to sleep on the little fleece blanket under the lighted Christmas tree. (Well, that has come to an end, as all good things must. For now.)

After I did all my obsessive tidying early this morning, I went back to bed to read the issue of Another Man that came months ago. I am so behind on magazines, it’s ridiculous. But I don’t want to throw them out until I’ve read them, you know? I only subscribe to magazines that I actually like, so I want to, you know, read them. I have about 6 issues of Mojo that I haven’t read yet. I have 4 issues of Biblical Archeology Review, about 20 bazillion issues of The Hollywood Reporter (I gave up on those this morning, though, and tossed them all in the trash), and one lone issue of Another Man because, thankfully, it only comes out, like, once a year; sometimes twice.

Anyway, the magazine is just a colossally huge amount of glossy ads for men’s haute couture (yes, I do love looking at men), but then tucked at the back of the magazine (which weighs something like 5 pounds), are these really cool articles and interviews. Really. So I like reading those.

So that’s what I did, in bed, with my coffee. And then I thought about the upcoming year and wondered what I was going to write in 2020. And then I wondered what I would write today, if anything. And then I thought fleetingly about this current manipulative stuff going on in (what’s left of) my adoptive family and whether or not I was going to actually try to deal with it, or just ignore it indefinitely and eternally and maybe just carve out a new path for myself and the remainder of my life.

I’m leaning more toward that new path for the remainder of my life, but I’m not 100% sure yet. I want to make sure I have clarity on what’s motivating me. I don’t know how it is for you, but the moment I get true clarity on something, I know it, and then my decision is made and I can stick by it for the rest of my life. I know that it looks to others like I’m being stubborn, but what I get is clarity and then I don’t see any reason to look back. Because of that, though, I always want to make sure I’m truly clear about what I’m feeling and why.

So that’s going to be part of today: What am I feeling and why?

Also, my 2020 horoscope over at is kind of amazing.  He says that this year is going to be positively transformational for me because I am going to learn how to be interdependent and rely on someone else’s help and support — a thing I am notoriously incapable of doing. I am “mono-dependent” to a fault. So that is quite interesting. I guess we’re gonna find out how that’s gonna go.

Meanwhile, I hope that this first day of a new decade is a good one for you, wherever you are in the world and whatever it is you might be facing. I hope you get clarity.

Thanks for visiting, gang. I leave you with just a quiet blank space for contemplating whatever it is you feel like contemplating today!! Okay. I love you guys. See ya!

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