Sorry I’m Late!!

I was too busy, this morning, dancing with the cat…

Actually, I was busy scribbling away at something else. But here I am now. And I’m getting geared up to work with Peitor on Abstract Absurdity Productions stuff!

I think!

Loyal readers of this lofty blog no doubt recall that since the pandemic started to really explode across everything, Abstract Absurdity Productions has had some problems getting itself focused. (And to be honest, and not funny at all, several of Peitor’s family members here in the US now have the virus — and his 93-year-old mom is quarantined in Italy and has been throughout the pandemic — so it is really getting emotionally tense for him. So, really, we do just play it by ear and see what he feels up to at any given time, you know?)

But we do at least plan on working today, getting the synopsis together for our micro short film, Lita måste gå! (aka “Lita’s Got to Go!”). And I haven’t done a single solitary other thing for the web site — which was supposed to launch tomorrow — because I haven’t been able to focus on anything for very long.

Although I am getting really good at staring. And also at pacing around. And also at staring at all my many half-finished projects in stacks on the floor of my bedroom. I’ve gotten really, really good at all these things.

Nick Cave just sent out one of his Red Hand Files letter things. It was very, very interesting indeed. You can read it at that link. I know it probably seems weird to say this (to think this) but I keep feeling that underneath all of this, we are all blessed in some hard to define way. In ways that maybe we won’t be able to understand until time has passed, or perhaps in the next life, you know?

I keep feeling that when a non-pandemic life resumes for those of us who find ourselves still here, it will bring with it a “new normal” that will transcend anything we’ve known before now. I’m not sure in what way, but I feel it will be worth all of this. I guess we’ll find out.

I, personally, have developed a sort of “intense apathy” that I have never had before. Buy that, I guess I mean that each day feels very much under a microscope, yet things that usually matter so much to me, just flow by my awareness like water going down to the sea or something. Things still matter to me, but I can’t control anything at all. Nothing whatsoever. Just waiting. It’s not necessarily sad, or anything; just waiting.

I’m still able to laugh (a lot) when friends call on the phone. I can still feel an intensity of joy that flows through me all day, every day — an undercurrent of my own Identity that is riding out the outer current, the experience of “Now.” There is a real joy in “beingness” that still feels very sacred to me.

And I am also totally loving being fucking asleep. I am so thankful for sleep. Escape. Wake-up. Then see how & where life begins again. (For most of my adult life, I had trouble sleeping — anxiety issues. Ever since that man came into my life and then died a couple of summers ago, I have no sleep issues anymore. Isn’t that interesting?)

(I apologize in advance for my typos. I’ve noticed I have a lot lately. I try to go in and correct them, but I still don’t catch all of them.)

I cut my hair on Sunday. Just trimming off the dead ends, as I do every few months. But I am usually so intensely precise about it. Yet this time, there’s a part in front that is not even.  A part that’s a little tiny bit longer, but I have decided that I love the asymmetry of it. And asymmetry is usually something I have no tolerance for! I don’t think it’s actually noticeable — but the fact that I am just letting it go is kind of unheard of for me.

So we shall see who I will be as the months go by, right?  (Hopefully someone who has nice, even hair but I guess we’ll find out!)

Okay, gang. I need to get ready for my meeting here. I might post again later. I hope you’ve been having a good Tuesday, wherever you are in the world.  Don’t forget to count your blessings, okay? Counting them is how they multiply. Being aware of all the good things is how you recognize and become more and more aware of more good things that are coming. And they always do arrive when you care enough to expect them. All righty.

Thanks for visiting, gang.  I leave you with the song that was in my head when I awoke this morning at 4 AM, and was thinking about someone I consider my dearest friend in the world. And I share it now with you, too, okay? I love you guys. See ya.

“Lean On Me”

Sometimes in our lives
We all have pain, we all have sorrow.
But if we are wise,
We know that there’s always tomorrow.

Lean on me when you’re not strong
I’ll be your friend, I’ll help you carry on
For it won’t be long
‘Til I’m gonna need somebody to lean on.

Please swallow your pride
If I have things you need to borrow
For no one can fill those of your needs
That you won’t let show.

You just call on me, brother, when you need a hand
We all need somebody to lean on.
I just might have a problem that you’ll understand,
We all need somebody to lean on.

Lean on me when you’re not strong
And I’ll be your friend I’ll help you carry on
For it won’t be long
‘Til I’m gonna need somebody to lean on

You just call on me, brother, when you need a hand
We all need somebody to lean on.
I just might have a problem that you’ll understand,
We all need somebody to lean on.

If there is a load
You have to bear
That you can’t carry
I’m right up the road
I’ll share your load
If you just call me.

Call me if you need a friend
Call me, call me, uh-huh
Call me when you need a friend
Call me if you ever need a friend
Call me, call me
Call me, call me
Call me, call me
Call me, call me
Call me if you need a friend
Call me, call me
Call me, call me
Call me, call me
Call me, call me
Call me

© 1972 Bill Withers

Before I Say Goodnight…

Interesting day here, gang.

I did take a look at the manuscript for the novel-in-progress, Down to the Meadows of Sleep: The Hurley Falls Mystery, and I really liked it! So I’m going to do a little work on that and see where it takes me. (I haven’t done any work on it since the summer of 2018 — right when I met the man that I fell in love with who then died.)

My ex-husband in NYC called me this morning to see how I was getting along, and I told him about my problem with focusing right now, and he encouraged me to focus on writing as little as one page a day, on any project at all, so that I could begin to feel like I was making some progress. And so I did that and it really worked. I feel a lot better.

And apparently the Vice President of the United States, Mike Pence, reads my blog, because I saw him doing an interview today on Instagram (of all places) wherein he talked about the number of people in the US who were taking the Covid 19 virus test and testing negative, and he said that these are the numbers currently:  just under 10% in this country test positive for the virus, and over a million tests have been administered now. So that was good to hear, even though they expect that the next 2 weeks will see the virus peaking in this country.

I mentioned here recently that my ex-husband in Seattle emails me several times a day now to give me information about the virus, or to make me laugh, or just to inform me about things, in general — I wrote him this afternoon about the anxiety I feel whenever I have to leave Muskingum County and go into the next county, where they do have the virus (so far, we don’t). And how it kind of takes me a while to get back to normal after that.

And he emailed me this in return and it meant so much to me. It brought tears to my eyes. (This is a man I married 39 years ago, as of April 9th — a very long time ago. We haven’t been married anymore for a very long time, but he and I have been through a lot together — married or not.)

And so I’m sharing it with you, gang, as I say goodnight, close down my computer and go down to the kitchen to stream another episode of DCI Banks.  Listen to it and think of a friend who loves you, okay? (It’s probably me!!) Thanks for visiting. I do love you guys. Stay well. See ya.

“You’ve Got A Friend”

When you’re down and troubled,
And you need some love and care,
And nothing, nothing is going right
Close your eyes and think of me,
And soon I will be there
To brighten up even your darkest night.

You just call out my name
And you know wherever I am
I’ll come running to see you again
Winter, spring, summer or fall
All you have to do is call
And I’ll be there
You’ve got a friend

If the sky above you grows dark and full of clouds
And that old north wind begins to blow
Keep your head together and call my name out loud
Soon you’ll hear me knocking at your door

You just call out my name
And you know wherever I am
I’ll come running to see you again
Winter, spring, summer or fall
All you have to do is call
And I’ll be there
And I’ll be there, yes I will.

Now, ain’t it good to know that you’ve got a friend
When people can be so cold?
They’ll hurt you, yes, and desert you
And take your soul if you let them,
Oh, but don’t you let them

You just call out my name
And you know wherever I am
I’ll come running to see you again.
Winter, spring, summer or fall
All you have to do is call
And I’ll be there, yes I will.
You’ve got a friend

You’ve got a friend
Ain’t it good to know, you’ve got a friend?
Ain’t it good to know?
Ain’t it good to know?
Ain’t it good to know, you’ve got a friend?

Oh yeah, now
Oh, you’ve got a friend
Yeah, baby
You’ve got a friend
Oh yeah…
You’ve got a friend

© 1971 Carole King

Yeah, well…

Man, is it windy here, gang. You would not believe it. It began yesterday, continued all through the night, and continues this morning.

The wind was so strong, in fact, that it blew a couple sections of my neighbor’s privacy fence completely away, along with many individual slats in their fence.

However, you will notice by the photo below, that these missing segments of fence in NO WAY assist any of my dead leaves in their mission to get into my neighbor’s yard!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I know. Isn’t it terrible? This situation with my dead leaves? Lest you think my sloth has gone unpunished — when I opened my back door this morning to get that photo, the wind blew just a ton of mouldery-spore allergen type stuff right up my sinuses and now I have a colossal sinus headache.

And now that the President has declared that our lockdown will continue to at least the end of April, if not actually the end of May, I honestly cannot imagine, at this point, that I won’t be raking those fucking leaves. God knows, I’ll have nothing but time… I’ll be really hard pressed to come up with a viable excuse for not raking them. I mean, I do own a fucking rake… and I know how to use it…

And in all honesty, if that segment of my neighbor’s fence that’s closest to my god-awful accumulation of dead leaves did give way, and suddenly all my dead leaves blew into his yard? Wow, I get the feeling he would be so fucking pissed at me.

So, yes, this morning, I resigned myself to this notion that I am going to have to rake those darn leaves.

Meanwhile.

Yes, our lockdown is set to continue — for maybe even as much as 2 more months. And with this in mind, I laid awake last night, wondering if maybe I might not want to get out the manuscript for Down to the Meadows of Sleep: The Hurley Falls Mystery, and read it over and maybe work on that right now? (See last evening’s quick post.)

If I recall correctly, I’m about 50 pages into it.  Even though it’s a murder mystery set primarily in a graveyard, it’s also sexy and funny and upbeat and quirky. So it might be good for my brain right now. I’m going to at least read it over and see.

Even though I have all this time to myself during this pandemic, I’m having trouble focusing on which project-in-progress of mine I really want to focus on.

I’m having trouble focusing, just in general. For me, because I lived in NYC during the AIDS crisis and during 9/11, those two tragedies were much harder for me to cope with than this current pandemic. During the AIDS crisis, literally dozens of my friends died quick & horrible deaths in the span of about 2 years — this was before anyone really understood what was killing them. And then 9/11 was sort of just unspeakable.

I have the type of PTSD that comes from a lifetime of physical, sexual, & mental abuse (C-PTSD, also called Complex Trauma Disorder). And even though Wayne and I were officially separated by the time of 9/11, we still lived in the same apartment but he was stuck in the South of France and couldn’t get a plane back to NYC. I had just gotten out of the hospital because of a bad MERSA infection that no one could figure out how I’d gotten, and they’d also had to do a biopsy on something in my throat because they thought I might have cancer — and then 9/11 happened in the midst of that and so I was in full-blown C-PTSD that entire time, and I was all alone in the (quite lovely) apartment, going nuts.

And whether or not you were alone, NYC during and post-9/11 was absolutely awful. And that is an understatement.

And now, even though I know this current pandemic is real and that for people who die from it, it is a really awful death, I’m still living in a place that hasn’t been touched by the virus and absolutely everything in my immediate world is exactly the same, except for social distancing in the store. My C-PTSD has remained absolutely dormant during a pandemic.

It is really just so strange. And yet all of my friends are in areas that are really hard hit by the virus, and of course that affects me, emotionally. So even though I have all this enforced time alone, it is really hard for me to focus. I sit at my desk, but I can’t focus in any meaningful way.

Perhaps switching to a novel that’s more fantasy and has nothing to do with reality as we know it, will help.

And speaking of social distancing, after my walk through the cemetery yesterday, I stopped in at the dollar store to buy two vital items: bathtub drain un-clogger and Hershey’s chocolate syrup! (Yes, I did buy more ice cream the other day; I was back to needing comfort food amid all those organic fruits & vegetables & yogurt & grains. And I ran out of chocolate syrup.)

Well, I went down that aisle that has the chocolate syrup in it, and there was a man standing right where I needed to be, and the store was almost out of chocolate syrup — I could readily see that from my social distance of 6 feet away — and yet I had to keep practicing social distancing. I could not get closer than 6 feet to that guy. So I tried patiently waiting for him to move, and then finally, such was my need to get my hands on one of those two remaining bottles of Hershey’s chocolate syrup, I finally said to him, “I’m really sorry, but I need to be right where you’re standing please.” (A sort of polite way of saying “Could you please move?”)

He sort of just looked at me, wondering, I’m sure, why I seemed 12 yet had all this long, silver windswept hair, and then he begrudgingly moved an additional 6 feet away.

Other than that though, so far, life is pretty much the same.

Although I am sleeping at really weird hours now.  I fell deeply asleep at 10PM last night, woke at 10:30, feeling like I’d slept at least 3 hours and was astounded to discover it had only been 30 minutes. Then I fell back to sleep until about 3 AM and then was texting back & forth with Kara for quite awhile.

Kara is always up at 3 AM, smoking cigarettes and drinking an espresso and trying to get some peace from the 6 wild dingoes that live with her. (They are not actually wild dingoes, but they are domestic dogs that were illegally bred with wild dogs and she rescued them and saved them from euthanasia. Much like me living with 7 feral cats that I rescued, never dreaming I was going to have to live with 7 wild animals for the rest of their natural lives  — and it started out as 12 of them…)  Anyway. Kara was awake, too, and so we were texting. We text every day.  Then I slept for 3 more hours. Then I got up.

It’s like that every day now — I either sleep too much or too little, but always at weird hours. And when I’m awake, I can’t focus. Even when I’m streaming those reruns of DCI Banks, I pause it every few minutes, then I get up and pace around and look out the windows and wish I still smoked and still drank because it seems like it would maybe give me something to really focus on, and then I sit back down and continue watching the show. It’s just weird.

But, still, you know — I feel really grateful for every moment. And all the moments that come on the heels of those.

Okay. On that note… I will get the day underway here, take a look at that manuscript and see how I feel about it.  Get another cup of coffee & hope it kills this sinus headache.  I hope this finds you doing well, wherever you are in the world. Thanks for visiting, gang. I’m still really only listening to Dylan’s “Murder Most Foul.” So, for now, I’ll just say that I love you guys. See ya!

If you listen carefully, gang, you can hear Dylan’s “Murder Most Foul” coming from that open window there. Okay. See ya!

After My Walk!

Hello again!

Since it is SO beautiful out today, I took another walk over to the cemetery. I tried to take better photos this time.

These are a couple of the founders of this town, along with Eliza, one of the wives that I mentioned the other day,  who all feature largely  in my novel-in-progress Down to the Meadows of Sleep: The Hurley Falls Mystery.

If you’re not familiar with this particular title, all of the dead residents of the cemetery (the founders) are alive & well in the town’s afterlife and they try to help the people who are currently alive & living in the town solve a murder.

I’m on my kitchen porch, blogging on my phone, so here’s hoping the photos post correctly!!

(PS: Cold weather is coming back tomorrow, so I’m going to really try to enjoy this beautiful evening. See ya! I love you guys!)

John Wimmer, one of the founders of the town, with a whole lot of the beautiful town behind him there! Those will all be green cornfields soon enough!
Eliza, Sam’s much younger wife. She died at age 36 — in my novel, they were eternally in love with each other, which is why she only outlived hm by 13 years.
A better shot of Sam’s crypt than the one I took the other day. He was the main founder and the man my town is named after.
Another shot of Sam’s crypt, along with my lovely shadow!!

Whew!! We Made it!!

Yes!! I went out first thing this morning — drove into town to go to the market as soon as it opened, so that I could get my week’s groceries without having  to shop with too many people in the store.

(Ohio is on Stay-At-Home orders, which means we can go out for essentials but that’s it.)

And when I got back home, this time I paid attention to everything I touched before I washed my hands, so that I didn’t go through some sort of paranoia attack all day about whether or not I had washed every single solitary thing that might need washing…

And I’m hoping to do only one load of laundry today — instead of worrying that I didn’t get every single thing that my clothing might have  touched when I came in the door.

In short, I hope to have a nice day.

The weather here is unbelievable!! We did not get all the rain that was predicted — which is good because Wakatamika Creek has already become a veritable lake, flowing all over the bottom land. (It doesn’t affect the town, because the creek always floods and that bottom land always eventually absorbs it. In the nearly 200 years the town has been here, I guess they figured out not to build anything at all anywhere near that creek…)

Anyway. It is gorgeous outside. Most of the windows are open, which is such a relief for me, because I am allergic to cats and I have 7, so fresh air is just like the best thing that God invented, ever.

I am on Day 15 now of my quarantine. We still have no confirmed cases of the virus in Muskingum County — and here is something that actually pisses me off: Ohio has stopped reporting how many people test negative for the virus. The last time they reported the number, several days ago, it was close to 20,000 people who didn’t have it.  They only report now how many people have it and how many people have died from it. Which just totally skews everybody’s understanding of what is going on.

And when questioned why they stopped releasing the numbers, they let it be known that the nearly 20,000 who didn’t have it, did not even include the amount of negatives coming from the private testing sector. The State itself (not the private sector) is testing 500 people a day! And 1400 people have tested positive (that includes those who have recovered and 28 who have died). So who knows how many tens of thousands of people in Ohio don’t have the virus?

It just feels so manipulative and political, doesn’t it? (If you don’t live in America, you probably can’t get a real sense of how many politicians want to blame Trump for absolutely everything imaginable, even if it means having to “misrepresent” or downplay the facts. It just gets ludicrous.)

The Health Department here in Ohio also seems to be relying on a forecasting formula that the Federal Government has stated is outdated now because the forecasts did not match what is actually happening in Italy.  It just feels so controlling — try to make everyone feel hysterical so that they no longer trust the Federal Government.

It is just so hard to know what the heck is going on anymore, so it’s still best to just stay inside and wash.

And speaking of Italy — that Instagram photo I posted last evening (lower left of this page if you’re on a computer) is of Pope Francis giving the Urbi et Orbi blessing in a deserted St. Peter’s Square last night. Isn’t that one of the most amazing sights?

And speaking of the Pope… I spent yesterday catching up on some back issues of Biblical Archaeology Review (which has nothing to do with the Pope, just the Bible). What a cool magazine. But so hard to spell!! (I’m guessing that the next Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds album will have both the words “Archaeology” and “Apocalypse” in it so that I can go out of my fucking mind trying to spell it…) (See various references to my inability to spell the word “Apocalypse” as well as the 2004 double-album title Abattoir Blues/The Lyre of Orpheus.)

I love Biblical archaeology. I love the stuff they discover, and how it helps us re-frame what was handed down in the Bible (for instance, before contemporary times, women had a very different way of interpreting what is written about Eve in Genesis because they relied primarily on Genesis 1 and let that inform how they interpreted Genesis 3 — meaning, in short, they believed that Eve was the spiritual equal of Adam and also that Adam was standing right next to Eve during that whole serpent thing, so, um …) (Also, the King James Version of the Bible misinterpreted the word for “pupil” to mean “apple” so the saying “apple of his eye” actually reads “pupil of his eye.” I just love stuff like that!)

And I especially love it when archaeology supports what is written in the Bible. I love all that ancient historical stuff.  Oh — and I ordered a scholarly book from Amazon yesterday that’s a couple years old already, but it re-examines Judas’s role in what happened to Jesus, along with the role of the Jewish High Priests, and it apparently redirects the blame to Herod. That the High Priests were providing shelter to Jesus from the Romans during Passover, and that Herod intercepted that.

(Folks, you really, really gotta closely examine that relationship between Herod and Jesus at every turn. Something really, really bad was going on there. We’ll probably never really know what. But it has something to do (I think) with the Romans having appointed Herod King, when that was not the way the Hebrews accepted a “King.” And all the John the Baptist stuff is connected there, too.)

This all fascinates me, personally, because I am working on a one-man play (titled In the Days of the Flesh) about the (fictional) Gospel According to Caiaphas, which exonerates him from what happened to Jesus.

And here we are today! I’m gonna go eat my lunch now and get this day underway.  (And, btw, the market was completely stocked with absolutely everything.) I hope you are having a good Sunday, wherever you are in the world. Thanks for visiting!! (Oh, and another by the way!! Dylan’s new song, “Murder Most Foul,” already has 2 million views on YouTube — and that’s not counting my endless listenings because I bought the song immediately, so I stream it.)

I’ll leave you with my breakfast-listening music from this morning, “Casa Dega,” which I only listened to halfway, because the windows were open and I realized that the birds were singing and I preferred listening to them!! But anyway, this is not the version I listened to, but I like this one because it captures Tom Petty live in 1978, when he still had that awesome attitude he had when he was young. (He’s 28 here.) Enjoy, gang!! I love you guys. See ya.

“Casa Dega”

Well the clouds roll by in the big blue sky
As the sun beats down on Casa Dega
And the moon pulls the tide and the tide brings night
But night is more than just night in Casa Dega

Oh

Baby I think I’m starting to believe the things that I’ve heard
‘Cause tonight in Casa Dega I hang on every word

She said to me as she holds my hand
And reads the lines of a stranger
Yeah, and she knows my name, yeah she knows my plans
In the past, in the present and for the future

Yeah, baby now I think I’m starting to believe the things that I’ve heard
‘Cause tonight in Casa Dega I hang on every word

Then she said…

Oh

And you almost pay the price of a whisper in the night in Casa Dega
Time rolls by, night is only night, can I save ya?

Yeah, yeah
Alright
It’s more than just a night
Alright
Yeah, yeah

© 1978 Tom Petty

A Break in the Weather!!

Well, so far, it’s only been mild rain so no more of my bathroom ceiling has landed on my bathroom floor.

(Btw, I don’t have an actual leak in the roof — there is a seam between where the roof meets the side of the house that needs re-sealing, and when extended torrential rains come with high winds, the water blows down in through that seam and then collects in the ceiling in my downstairs bathroom, and then — voila! Ceiling meets floor! Well, at least the plaster lands on the floor; it’s not the actual ceiling. But it does make a big fucking mess and now the ceiling needs re-plastering, too.)

Anyway, it is incredibly lovely here in Crazeysburg right now. The sun is up and the birds are singing and the temperature is  mild enough to have several of the windows open already. The cats are quite happy with this development! But by midday, we are supposed to get more rain…

If you follow my Instagram feed, you will no doubt have noticed that my joyful new coffee cup arrived yesterday!! “I like pretty things and the word Fuck”.  (You can see a photo of it down on the left there, if you’re on a computer, that is.) A woman artist, named CynthiaF, created this coffee cup design. She has many designs, in fact, that are quite flowery and that prominently feature the word “fuck” and they all make me laugh. But this one just really spoke to me, gang! (Other close favorites are: “Yippee Ki Yi Yay, Motherfucker!” and “Fuckity fuck fuck” and “She believed she could but she was TOO FUCKING TIRED so she didn’t” — that last one is a play on a popular girl-empowering slogan: “She believed she could so she did.”)

I’m gonna wait until after Easter to use my flowery new cup, though.

Also in yesterday’s mail, I got a collection of old photographs that my dad wanted me to have. I absolutely love photographs. Actually, even if I don’t even know the people in the photos — I love photographs.

Here is one that really startled me, though, gang. And not really in a good way. I remember this tree really well. This is back in Cleveland, summer 1968. I don’t remember the photo being taken. I think it’ s a sort of wistful picture of my older brother. Although I don’t remember him ever having bangs! (aka “fringe”) And I love the fact that he climbed that tree barefoot.

What startled me, though, was how sad I looked. And it’s obviously a candid shot; I’m not trying to look one way or another.  And looking at the photo yesterday only reminded me of how intensely intense my whole fucking childhood was, because every single moment of it was determined by the unpredictable, wildly-swinging moods of my adoptive mother. I hate to say that I’m glad it’s over — there is so much about my childhood that I loved. But I guess I’m glad it’s over — all the relentless stress of it.

Me and my older adopted brother, summer, Cleveland, 1968

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And speaking of the 1960s in America… WOW, is that new Bob Dylan song, “Murder Most Foul,” amazing, gang. I don’t know how many times I’ve listened to it already. It is just chilling.

I’m guessing you need to be a Bob Dylan fan to like the song, and maybe you need to be of a certain age or era, to fully appreciate the many, many cultural references. And maybe you even need to be an American to get all of the horrific references to the conspiracy behind Kennedy’s murder. Still, it is just a staggering song. After my first listen (the song is 17 minutes long), I felt like: Okay, I guess I can die now because this is the scope of my whole life, summed up, right here.

It really felt that way.

I know a lot of people hate Americans. And I personally know a number of Americans who hate Americans and America, even though they still live here. But I have always loved being an American, even with all its turmoil and all its terrible things. I still love America. And “Murder Most Foul” really captured for me the paradox of that love.

But one of the truly exciting things for me was that the song “Nature Boy,” by Nick Cave & the Bad seeds, is referenced in the song. I was so fucking thrilled. They are now part of that landscape for all time.

So. Abstract Absurdity work did not happen yesterday. It just never got off the ground. Which is okay. We have time. There is no need to force it, you know, when emotions are high there over the virus stuff.

I got a text from Sandra yesterday that new pages of revisions on our other play will be coming my way starting today. (The Guide to Being Fabulous, which is now back to its original title of Hiding in Plain Sight. Although I kind of get the feeling that a third, as yet unknown, title will ultimately be chosen. We will find out!!)

But I’m excited to get back to work on this play.  It is still set to go into production later this year in Toronto — of course, the timing will now hinge on how long everything in the world is held captive by this virus. Eventually, though, the world will get back to normal, and, as they say, the show will go on!  And I, for one, am living for that moment!!

All righty, gang.  I’m gonna get started here.  Still not sure what I want to work on regarding my own stuff. We’ll see. (And now I really look forward to the evenings around here because I am really enjoying those reruns of DCI Banks!)

So things here are good. Tomorrow I need to go back into town, though, to go to the market. So we’ll see if I have another paranoia attack over everything I touch when I get home. (The county where the market is located has 3 confirmed cases of the virus now.) Regardless, I’m guessing tomorrow will be all about washing, washing, washing!! But today will probably be a nice, quiet one.

All righty. Thanks for visiting! I hope good things are coming your way today, wherever you are in the world. I leave you with “Nature Boy,” from the 2004 hard-to-spell double-album, Abattoir Blues/The Lyre of Orpheus, by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds. If you’ve never heard it before — enjoy! (I guess, if you have heard it before, enjoy it again!!) Okay. I love you guys. See ya!

“Nature Boy”

I was just a boy when I sat down
To watch the news on TV
I saw some ordinary slaughter
I saw some routine atrocity
My father said, don’t look away
You got to be strong, you got to be bold, now
He said, that in the end it is beauty
That is going to save the world, now

And she moves among the sparrows
And she floats upon the breeze
She moves among the flowers
She moves something deep inside of me

I was walking around the flower show like a leper
Coming down with some kind of nervous hysteria
When I saw you standing there, green eyes, black hair
Up against the pink and purple wisteria
You said, hey, nature boy, are you looking at me
With some unrighteous intention?
My knees went weak,
I couldn’t speak, I was having thoughts
That were not in my best interests to mention

And she moves among the flowers
And she floats upon the smoke
She moves among the shadows
She moves me with just one little look

You took me back to your place
And dressed me up in a deep sea diver’s suit
You played the patriot, you raised the flag
And I stood at full salute
Later on we smoked a pipe that struck me dumb
And made it impossible to speak
As you closed in, in slow motion,
Quoting Sappho, in the original Greek

She moves among the shadows
She floats upon the breeze
She moves among the candles
And we moved through the days
and through the years

Years passed by, we were walking by the sea
Half delirious
You smiled at me and said, Babe
I think this thing is getting kind of serious
You pointed at something and said
Have you ever seen such a beautiful thing?
It was then that I broke down
It was then that you lifted me up again

She moves among the sparrows
And she walks across the sea
She moves among the flowers
And she moves something deep inside of me

She moves among the sparrows
And she floats upon the breeze
She moves among the flowers
And she moves right up close to me

© 2004 Nick Cave, James A Sclavunos, Warren Ellis, Martyn Casey

Nothing Beats Home Sweet Home!!

…day after day after day after day…

[UPDATE: Wow. Bob Dylan’s new song, “Murder Most Foul,” is incredible, gang. See below.]

Yes, gang! Here I am again. When I awoke this morning, I decided: What the heck — it just looks like more rain, so I think I’ll just stay home today!

My goodness. It is starting to feel a little endless.

I don’t mean any disrespect to any of my readers who might have the virus. I know for sure that a couple of you are quarantined in Europe with family members who do have the virus. So I don’t mean to be disrespectful of what any of my readers are going through. However, here in Muskingum County, we still have no confirmed cases of the virus (and a couple of the counties next to us that are also primarily farms do not have the virus), but of course the numbers from the urban areas all over Ohio go up daily and there are pockets of hysteria caused by the TV news media.

And here where I live, even while we’re also on Stay at Home orders, absolutely everything is exactly the same as it was.

So the strangeness of it all can get unbearable — the numbers of people getting sick, the amount of people dying, the news trying to get people to panic, it seems, since they don’t focus on any of the thousands of people getting tested here who aren’t sick  — or even the daily listings in the online newspaper from the nearest city, how many people die there every day who don’t have the virus. You know, people are just dying anyway.

And still Crazeysburg is absolutely the same as before. It is hard to process.

So, I slept ten hours last night. That is just unheard of for me. I usually sleep about 5 or 6 hours. But I am trying not to get depressed. So, every time I awoke and felt those creepingly bad thoughts at the edges of my brain, I forced myself to go back to sleep and not let my brain go in that direction.

It seems to have worked. I’m in a much better frame of mind here this morning! And even though I overslept, I can’t really tell myself that “the day is half gone” because tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow [Is that one of the best soliloquy’s of all time??!! — Ed.] will more than take care of any time I think I might have lost by oversleeping this morning.

And all that oversleeping gave me the chance to have a really strange dream about Nick Cave — over and over and over. I kept bringing him the same 3 bottles of white wine.  One at a time, I mean. One at a time, I kept bringing him 3 bottles of white wine. I don’t know what kind of wine it was — they were each in a Bordeaux-shaped bottle. Still corked. Ice cold and sweating. One time I actually brought an ice bucket. But other than that, it was  just on repeat, forever it seemed.

I personally don’t like white wine. Plus, I’m not sure that he even drinks anymore in real life. So I have no clue what was going on with that endlessly repetitive dream. But there you have it: my rest-filled night.

Today is an Abstract Absurdity Productions day. I hope. It didn’t go so swimmingly on Tuesday. Our phone meeting lasted less than 2 minutes. And even while I am prone to exaggerate, I am not exaggerating at all about that. It was quick and brutal and awful.

So here’s hoping today is better. I really don’t want to go for the entire quarantine not working on Abstract Absurdity stuff with Peitor. But I also want to give everybody all the space they might need right now, since everyone in the big cities has so much more on their plate right now than I do.

Plus, I also need to find a way to turn off the many voices in my head these days, because it is really interfering with me being able to write anything at all worth keeping. The words come but they don’t feel very inspired, so I don’t keep them.

It’s something I really want to start working on, beginning today — tuning in to words that can be productive and creative right now, since God knows, I’ve got all the time in the world to work on everything.

If you’re a Bob Dylan fan, he dropped a new song during the night. I haven’t heard it yet. It is called “Murder Most Foul” and is available on all streaming platforms. It’s about the Kennedy assassination and is apparently 17 minutes long. I will check it out momentarily.

Meanwhile, I guess I will get started around here. I hope the day is good to you, wherever you are in the world.  Thanks for visiting, gang. I leave you with something appropriate for all this rain we’re getting here, as well as a sort of reminder that we’ve been through Hell before and we’re still here. Okay? (The great multitude of lyrics are in the video.) All righty! I love you guys. I might check in again later. We shall see!