I’m hoping that if I can focus on something besides every single solitary thought that’s in my head, it will help me get better. We’ll see.
I know I don’t have pneumonia, because I feel absolutely perfectly fine except for this inability to breathe normally. If I lie perfectly still in bed, I breathe normally. And in fact, I sleep great. I’m feeling absolutely fine. But as soon as I get out of bed and start moving around, the out-of-breath thing starts in again and I am just so fucking tired of it. This is Day 17 already.
Anyway.
I’m still loving Vienna Blood (PBS) but I am already halfway through the final episode. I hope they are going to plan on making a Season 2. The writing is a tiny bit uneven, because I feel like they’re trying to cram too much plot from the novels into a 45-minute episode, which means suddenly a chunk of dialogue will happen that is purely exposition and it kind of sticks out from the rest of the story. But it’s negligible, and if you aren’t a writer, you might not even notice it at all. It does make me want to read the novels, though. (Vienna Blood is based on the Max Lieberman novels by Frank Tallis.)
And actually on a similar note… I am seriously considering just starting my own small press again. I mentioned this in a post a few days ago. But now I’m actually really thinking about it. First, just to put into Print on Demand my own titles, and then maybe consider publishing other writers who are super fringe. I have to really think about it, though, because it would mean looking into actual distribution and marketing if I published other writers, too. And I’m already — virus notwithstanding — a tad bit busy.
I’ve been wanting to get Twilight of the Immortal back into print with an updated cover, instead of just having it as an eBook. And then publish Blessed by Light, In the Shadow of Narcissa, Girl in the Night: Erotic Love Letters to the Muse, Thug Luckless: Welcome to P-Town, Down to the Meadows of Sleep: The Hurley Falls Mystery, and maybe do Print on Demand editions of The Muse Revisited collection, and finally clean up all the typos in those specific eBook collections.
Part of the allure of it is knowing that I don’t have to worry about the content and how it would fit into someone else’s marketing agenda. I can make it as hardcore as I want (without going off into those areas where I’m looking at prison time again, of course…) The main problem with most of my work has always been that it’s both too literary and too erotic. And now it needs to be one or the other to appease most small presses these days. (Plus, I’ve gotten just ridiculously tired of waiting to hear back from other small presses who simply just never get back to you.)
So I’m really considering it. The investment is in the cover design, but other than that, the cost to produce each book is negligible. Between my popularity among international book piraters and the state of small presses now, I don’t know that it even makes financial sense to give up a portion of my rights to small presses anymore. Better to give a cut to the actual printer (what’s left after hemorrhaging potential profits to book pirating, I mean) and then just try to arrange readings when I’m off hither and yon doing the various film & theater projects.
Which reminds me that the other play I’m doing with Sandra (with the fluctuating title) that’s being produced in Toronto, has been pushed from this Fall off to the misty glades of 2021. So I’m guessing it will premiere on June 3rd, when I’ll be with my new friends in Switzerland to see Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds…
(As usual, I sure hope I’m kidding about that.)
Okay. Well. It is going to be a really gorgeous day here today. It was pretty yesterday, but it was cold. Today, it is going to be super sunny and really mild. I can probably open some windows around here, which always makes me so happy!!
And I am hoping to spend less time in bed today. I really am. I so want to be past this virus and start writing again. We shall see.
I hope you guys are all in a good space on this wonderful Monday in Pandemic Land. I’m gonna go finish up the laundry now, check in with my dad, get another cup of coffee. Thanks for visiting, gang! I leave you with some very fun Ringo Starr music from I don’t even remember when — the 1970s? “The No No Song,” which of course, I can attest to now, but when it was an actual hit, I was quite far from it… (if you don’t know what the heck I’m talking about, you gotta listen to the song! The lyrics are in the video, gang!) Okay. Enjoy!! I love you guys. See ya!
Okay, I don’t know that the morning is actually “sexy,” but it’s still just a really frisky morning here. Sunshiney beyond belief. Trees everywhere coming more and more into their new leaves. Promising that Summer is just around the corner, gang!
My lawncare guys still have not come out yet because it’s been mostly rainy and still really cold. But I know that really soon, they’re gonna come out here and my lawn is going to look like everyone else’s in the town — meaning not a complete overgrown, weed-strewn disaster.
And then I can once again look out my kitchen window and feel really blissful, instead of really paranoid –knowing that everyone in this town — virus or no virus — is wondering: What the fuck is her deal, anyway? Why doesn’t she cut her fucking grass like the rest of us do? If she wasn’t planning on cutting her fucking grass, why’d she go and buy the one house in the center of town that has the biggest fucking lawn? It makes no sense. And have you noticed that every single fucking window in that house has a different cat sittin’ in it? I mean, really – what the fuck is her deal?
OTHER (very 420-friendly) GUY SITTING IN THE SAME TRUCK: “I heard she comes from New York City. Some kinda writer.”
FIRST (420-friendly) GUY: “New York City?! Shit. There ya go. That says it right there.”
But, you know – keep a tidy lawn and no one thinks twice about you.
And I have made up my mind that this year, I’ll just buy the darn chainsaw myself — the one that the lawn guys need in order to get rid of that dead oak tree that’s in a heap back by my barn. And then they can just keep the darn chainsaw. I mean, I’ll still pay them to do the work because it is going to be a fucking nightmare to get rid of that thing. But perhaps the “parting gift” of the actual chainsaw will finally get rid of that enormous dead tree that has been sitting there now in that heap for a few years, keeping me from being able to really fix my barn.) (Because everyone who promises to come out and deal with that tree — and get paid to do it –never does.)
But guys love power tools, right? So we’ll see… I’m hopeful, anyway.
Well, yesterday, I went to the dollar store! I ran an actual errand and it felt really good. And even though I still spent most of the rest of the day in bad, I wasn’t tired out from the little excursion. I really, really think I am just about over the residual stuff from the virus.
And yesterday, I started streaming Vienna Blood on PBS Passport (From UK/Austria, 2019). About a student of Freud and a police inspector who solve murders in Vienna in the early 1900s. It is really fun. I’m sure I’ll devour it in a heartbeat, though — there are only 6 episodes, total.
And, sadly, the next new season of Endeavor won’t happen until the summer of 2021! I’m guessing, they mean it will begin streaming the very moment Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds begin their re-scheduled Ghosteen concert in Zurich. And that I’ll be forced to watch the premiere episode on my phone while also trying to watch the Bad Seeds onstage in front of me.
And my Swiss friends will say, “Marilyn, you came all the way to Switzerland to see this show, can’t you put your phone away?”
ME (pulling out one ear bud): “But it’s Endeavor. There hasn’t been a new season in two fucking years, man.”
Yeah, right!!
Anyway. Okay.
I am going to get going here and continue on with my sexy beautiful morning (even though I still smell like Vick’s Vapo-Rub). I hope you have a nice Sunday, wherever you are in the world. Stay hopeful!! Summer will get here before you know it and even though everything imaginable will have changed, soon enough it will be better than ever before.
I was still listening to Elvis Presley and “Can’t Help falling in Love With You,” this morning, so I leave you with last night’s listening music, as I was drifting off to dreamland: “To Be By Your Side” by Nick Cave. It is from the Winged Migration soundtrack, 2018. Okay. Thanks for visiting, gang. I love you guys. See ya!
“To Be By Your Side”
Across the oceans, across the seas
Over forests of blackened trees
Through valleys so still we dare not breathe
To be by your side
Over the shifting desert plains
Across mountains all in flames
Through howling winds and driving rains
To be by your side
Every mile and every year
For every one a little tear
I cannot explain this, Dear
I will not even try
Into the night as the stars collide
Across the borders that divide
Forests of stone standing petrified
To be by your side
Every mile and every year
For every one a single tear
I cannot explain this, Dear
I will not even try
[Chorus]
For I know one thing
Love comes on a wing
For tonight I will be by your side
But tomorrow I will fly
From the deepest ocean To the highest peak
Through the frontiers of your sleep
Into the valley where we dare not speak
To be by your side
Across the endless wilderness
Where all the beasts bow down their heads
Darling I will never rest
Till I am by your side
Every mile and every year
Time and Distance disappear
I cannot explain this, Dear
No, I will not even try
[Chorus]
And I know just one thing
Love comes on a wing
And tonight I will be by your side
But tomorrow I will fly
Away
Love rises with the day
And tonight I may be by your side
But tomorrow I will fly
Tomorrow I will fly
Tomorrow I will fly
The sun has just now sprung from behind some clouds that have been hanging around, raining on us, for a couple of days now. According to my phone, with it’s long line of sun icons scrolling horizontally across the screen, we’re gonna have sun all day today.
I sure hope so. I could use some.
First, I want to mention that Bob Dylan dropped another new song during the night. This one titled, “I Contain Multitudes.” I have only listened to it once so far, and I was doing something else while listening to it, so I can’t really give an opinion yet, but it did have some startling lyrics, especially near the end. You can, of course, listen to it yourself wherever you stream your music, and decide for yourself. Why wait for me to be in my right mind? After all, that could be a long wait!
Yesterday was a very strange day. I was supposed to work with Peitor on Abstract Absurdity stuff, and right before I expected him to call, he texted me a really, really funny little cat video. And I mean, it was really funny. I texted him back. Then waited for his call. And he never, ever called.
I’m guessing he was not in the mood to work so I let it alone. I have no idea if he’ll want to work today or not.
Today, I am ambivalent. I’m just gonna let the day come however it wants to. I might stream that benefit concert tonight, at least for a little bit to see what it’s like. But honestly, even though they’re comparing it to the Live Aid concert back in 1985, it doesn’t feel to me like it’s anything close to that. I could be intensely jaded now — lo, these decades later — but it feels more to me like a bunch of really famous people getting tired of sitting at home like everyone else.
And guess what? 35 days into my quarantine, and 15 days into the incomparable virus experience — I’m going to the dollar store today! To run an errand!! From everything I have been able to discern online from the Health Department — from no one who knows for sure — after waiting 8 days after the symptoms of the virus are over, it is safe to go outside, but still practice social distancing, etc.
(I actually love social distancing, gang. I am one of those introverted writers who actually prefers that 98.2% of all people everywhere maintain a noticeable distance from me. I can’t help it. But if you’re part of those 1.8% of all people everywhere that I actually adore, then I get extremely upset when you are not constantly in my field of vision.) (Oh, and I’m not kidding.)
Last evening, I watched some short subject films on Short of the Week. Doing my weekly research on that site, and I watched an animated short that I had meant to watch last week and forgot. Oh my god, was it good!! An animated, sci-fi, coming of age , quasi- space exploration story called, “Finding Uranus,” by Ivan Li. It is completely adult content, in the best fucking way. I totally loved it. (If you use a translator to read this site, “Finding Uranus” is a play on words: it’s partly about going into outer space to find the planet called Uranus, but it is actually about a young guy jerking off to a virtual reality thing that turns him into a tiny astronaut that goes off into space and then up exploring into some gigantic star constellation-gal’s anus.)
Well, it was too cool. It might be offensive to you, but it might not. You can watch the vimeo of it here. It’s animated and about 7 minutes long. (The guy who made it is still only in art school or something scary like that.)
I also voted yesterday! Yes, because of the State going into lockdown right before the Primary election last month, no one was allowed to vote, so my ballot to vote from home arrived yesterday. A Primary election means that you can only vote within your chosen Party. And since I live in such a sparsely populated county, there was basically only one person running for each office within my chosen Political Party, so it felt a little superfluous — but hey, I voted! Plenty of Suffragettes suffered horrific atrocities and indignities to secure the Vote for Women, so I’m gonna vote. And I did. But it is really weird now — I’m so much older than a lot of the people running for political offices, so I was voting for people with names like Mollie and Cindy. I mean — that’s so weird. I felt like I was voting for 6-year-old girls.
Anyway. I’m sure that Mollie and Cindy will have everything all over Muskingum County under complete control.
I went to sleep kind of depressed last night, because of the combined issues of wanting to get back to my desk and really work, but not having enough energy or brain power to really do that yet, and also being someone who identifies way too personally with my work, so when I go this long without working/creating/writing, I start to lose my ability to understand who I am.
So I thought it best to just go to sleep and reset myself emotionally. But I awoke at 2:30am, feeling intensely sad. And I just couldn’t shake it, and at the same time, I couldn’t really understand it. Because, even though I am having to stay in bed a lot right now, still, my life is just so incredibly good. It didn’t make sense to feel so sad.
And I laid there like that for over an hour, and then suddenly got on Instagram and saw that someone I care about very much had just posted something and did in fact seem to be extremely sad — he seemed overcome with dealing with too much loss today, all across the board, really. And then I realized: Oh my god, that’s why I was so sad. And it broke my heart because there is absolutely nothing I can do, you know? I cried a little bit. That feeling of emotional impotence, when someone you love is suffering, far, far away. There’s nothing you can do to change anything. And anything you want to try to say just seems too obvious, you know?
I finally forced myself to get out of bed and feed the remarkably happy cats, and I tried to tell myself that at the core of us, each of us, is Spirit, and Spirit — that great Creative Source, whatever it actually is — is a foundation of energy that is pure, positive love. And so at least I have to believe in that, right? That love somehow makes sense of everything for all of us, at some point. Somehow.
And so then I felt like listening to Elvis — “I Can’t Help Falling In Love With You.” So I played that while feeding the cats (and myself), and it was so odd because one of the cats — Lucie — who is so emotional and so docile and so beautiful, was making these intense expressions that seemed to be in response to Elvis’s singing. I know she really wasn’t doing that, but it was just sort of uncanny. And she made me smile.
Okay. I’m going to get my Saturday underway over here. I hope my journey to the store is uneventful and yet eventful at the same time — in all the best “I’m finally out of my house during a pandemic”kind of way. I hope the sun really does stay out all day today. I hope I don’t have to yet again spend most of this day in bed. I hope I lighten up on myself and stop worrying about never writing again.
Today would have been the start of the European leg of the Ghosteen tour for Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds — in Lisbon. In honor of that postponement, I leave you with my favorite Mark Kozelek song, “I Love Portugal.”
I, in fact, love so many songs that Mark Kozelek has written — including a killer and very, very accurate, heartbreaking song about Ohio, called “God Bless Ohio” — but I still keep coming back to this acoustic version of “I Love Portugal” as my favorite. And I think it’s actually quite appropriate, on several levels, for today. So I leave you with it, along with its 17 hundred million lyrics. Enjoy, gang. Thanks for visiting. I love you guys. See ya.
“I Love Portugal”
In my hotel where the band is staying
I’m on dessert but what I’d give to not get on that plane
Woke to the sound of birds calling and I wanna water the flowers in the garden
And the maid scooting her tray around the echoey hall
I just want to stay in Porto today, that’s all
‘Cause when I’m here there’s a sense of calm
People living day to day and enjoying the moment
Last night we found a cozy place and we listened to fado music and we ate steak
And bacalhau and caldo verde
Then we went and got gelato and we drank iced lattes
And the fans have always shown me love (shown me love)
And so have my friends Vasco, Miguel, and Nadia, and Monica (Nadia and Monica)
I can’t complain, I get to visit every year
Last night my driver said my music brought him to tears
I love Portugal, I love Portugal, oh, oh
I love Portugal
I love Portugal, I love Portugal, oh, oh
I love Portugal
I love Portugal, I love Portugal, oh, oh
I love Portugal
I love Portugal, I love Portugal, oh, oh
I love Portugal
Was listening to Mahavishnu Orchestra’s “Liala’s Dance”
As I drifted off into rare afternoon nap
Yesterday, one shot in Minnesota, one in Baton Rouge, and then retaliation in Dallas
Someone shot and killed five cops
And the cops came back and killed that sniper with a robot
But all was peaceful here at the Seculo Hotel in the Bonfim neighborhood of Porto
Now I’m on my way to Zürich at Gate 35
TAP operated by Swiss Airlines
I miss my quiet day in Porto, sleeping and listening to the many birds sing
And the shoe store that I wanted to shop in
Was closed and, man, it pissed me off
As we drove by twice on the way to soundcheck and on the way to the hotel that night
I’m gonna return some day, I know it (some day)
I’m gonna buy me a home looking over the river in Porto (river in Porto)
Gonna get me a plate of melon and prosciutto and grilled sardines, a cup of coffee, and a bowl of gazpacho (bowl of gazpacho)
The USA can’t pull the guns from the trolls of the country I live in
Can’t get a grip on gun control
If we’re gonna live with a president who’s a huge fucking asshole
Then believe me, baby, I’m gonna buy me a home in Portugal
I love Portugal, I love Portugal, oh, oh
Where the people don’t walk
I love Portugal
They just stroll
I love Portugal, I love Portugal, oh, oh
Where the people go to bars, relax
I love Portugal
And listen to fado
I love Portugal, I love Portugal, oh, oh
Where I feel at peace from my
I love Portugal
Head to my toe
I love Portugal, I love Portugal, oh, oh
Particularly I love the city of Porto
I love Portugal
At the Rothaus, Room 301, in Zurich
The Bern show is cancelled tomorrow night due to violence and a bunch of crazy shit
It’s found its way into the venue
I’m not going to sing about it
I’m just gonna read the statement from the promoter to you
“Dear Mark, Dear all at Sun Kil Moon
I have really, really, really bad news. We’re deeply afraid but see ourselves in circumstances that unfortunately urge us to have to cancel. The Sun Kil Moon show at Dachstock Reitschule, Bern, the open space in front of our house Reitschule, Bern is causing increasing troubles with violence and sexes. An organized drug dealer and the [?] we decided to shut the place down and its ongoing activities. For a while, at least ten days, or maybe longer and find a way of how to deal with our society’s problems erupted in front of our house, creating a rather explosive atmosphere at times in front of our house. We’re very sorry that due to this reaction the show with Sun Kil Moon will have to be cancelled. As we’re in general enforcing this temporary shutdown, apologies for any inconveniences to you, I know your band just got into town. Of course we’re gonna pay full agreed guaranteed fee as well as covering your hotel for 12/7/16. Also tickets will be reimbursed, it can be used to see your show tonight in Zürich. We strongly hope you reschedule your concert in Bern next time your band is touring in Europe. Reitschule remains closed until further notice. Again, my deepest apologies, but it’s totally out of my control. Let me know if you need any more info
Sincerely, your promoter at Breathing Hope.”
I love Portugal, I love Portugal, oh, oh
And the sparkling Douro River estuary
I love Portugal
I love Portugal, I love Portugal, oh, oh
And when I die I want some of my ashes spread there
I love Portugal
And skip the Hail Mary
I love Portugal, I love Portugal, oh, oh
I’m gonna back next year and I’m gonna find that same shoe store
I love Portugal
I love Portugal, I love Portugal, oh, oh
It’s gotta be somewhere between the venue and the Fnac bookstore
I love Portugal
I love Portugal, I love Portugal, oh, oh
And it doesn’t have a goddamned thing to do with football
I love Portugal
I love Portugal, I love Portugal, oh, oh
I love Portugal
I love Portugal
First, I want to say that Quibi is dropping a new series on Monday, called “Dummy,” and guess what it’s about? Yes, an AI sex doll.
But it’s a comedy and it’s a female AI sex doll. It’s about a woman who discovers that her boyfriend has a sex doll and she ends up going off on a road trip with the sex doll and becoming BFFs with it or something like that.
So, nothing at all like Thug Luckless: Welcome to P-Town, but I did think it was interesting, regardless. I will definitely watch it. Although, so far, still the only show on Quibi that I like is “Agua Donkeys.” I do like a lot of the elements of (non-scripted) “Chrissy’s Court” — where Chrissy Tiegen is a Judge presiding over an actual small claims court. However, I can’t stand courtroom garbage. I have no tolerance for people who get to the level where they must sue each other over stupid shit. So I wasn’t able to watch more than one and a half episodes of that show. Although Chrissy, herself, was really funny and I enjoyed watching her.
Anyway. I’m curious to see how the writers handle “Dummy.”
And it’s not that I am only looking for comedies. I’ve tried watching several of the Quibi dramas but couldn’t stick with them. I was sort of interested in (non-scripted) “Flip that Murder House,” or whatever it’s called. But you know how serious I get (kill-joy, I guess is the ironic word for it). I just found the show so disrespectful to the people who were actually murdered in those houses and then the families and the loved-ones of the people who were murdered in those houses.
I have no problem with people wanting to try to make real homes out of houses where murders have occurred, but just the way it was handled on the show seemed so dismissive and abrasive to me.
But, of course, that’s me. (And it’s what drives me to want to laugh instead.)
Okay.
As indicated by the illustration above, it is supposed to rain pretty much nonstop today. Of course, I’m not going anywhere, so it doesn’t matter. I’m supposed to work again with Peitor today on Abstract Absurdity Productions stuff. I hope it pans out because I had such a good time working with him on Wednesday. It felt so good to laugh that hard again.
Which reminds me, speaking once more about laughing — I am becoming a total TikTok-oholic. Some of those videos make me laugh so hard, it’s ridiculous. And since I am now basically still stuck in bed throughout most of the day, it is super easy to just lie there and scroll through these 20-second videos. It just kills me how funny so many people are — from all walks of life.
And that teenage boy who tells his overworked mom those dirty jokes? Man, some of those jokes are so funny and so dirty, I can’t even reprint them here. (Because I’m not only chaste and wanting to remain that way, but this blog is simply not about any X-rated potty-mouth stuff, ever…)
Okay, on an entirely different note.
Nick Cave sent out a Red Hand Files letter yesterday about the nature of prayer, and who it is you are praying to when you pray, and why the virus has given us an opportunity to be prayerful right now — regardless of what we do or don’t believe in outside of ourselves. You can read it at the link there. Of course, as always, I thought it was extremely well stated.
I, personally, am really grateful that I was taught at a very young age (about 3 years old) how to pray. It was my adoptive mother who taught me all about praying, when I asked her one afternoon if God was a cloud.
She was in the kitchen, busy, as usual in her always cooking, always cleaning, housewife way. But she stopped everything and explained to me that God wasn’t a cloud; He wasn’t a “thing” at all — but He was everywhere because He had created everything. But that most importantly, a little piece of God lived inside my heart, too, because He had created me. And that whenever I wanted to talk to God, He was always right there inside me.
Jews pray in an entirely different way than Christians do. It’s blasphemous for Jews to give any sort of form to God. God’s not a man, God’s not a statue, God’s not an icon. God is everything but no-thing.
Even though I couldn’t embrace the Jewish faith, I really appreciate having that background notion of God being formless. Because it has led me into a type of prayer that is extremely up-close and personal. (And, oddly enough, it’s also why I ultimately couldn’t embrace the Jewish faith — because the inner God I was praying to was loving and kind, and not the fear-mongering, war-mongering God I was forced to encounter in the synagogue every week.)
All righty. Well. Who knows what today will bring? I feel very encouraged that it will bring wonderful stuff! Like naps! And silly things to laugh about! And reasons to feel stupefyingly horny (i.e., continue reading Love in the Time of Cholera, which is often a very hot little book)! (I’ll tell you, gang, this virus might have knocked me out from the waist up, but from the waist down, I’m as frisky as ever!!)
And I guess, a case in point, is today’s breakfast-listening music! I’ll leave you with that: “Sexbomb” from Tom Jones’ sexy little 1999 album, Reload. Enjoy it. And thanks for visiting, gang. I love you guys! See ya.
“Sexbomb”
Listen to this
Spy on me baby, use satellite
Infrared to see me move through the night
Aim, gonna fire shoot me right
I’m gonna like the way you fight
And I love the way you fight
Now you found the secret code I use
To wash away my lonely blues
(Well) so I can’t deny or lie
‘Cause you’re the only one to make me fly
Sex bomb, sex bomb, you’re a sex bomb uh, huh
You can give it to me when I need to come along (give it to me)
Sex bomb, sex bomb, you’re my sex bomb
And baby you can turn me on (baby you can turn me on)
(You know what you’re doing to me don’t you, I know you do)
No, don’t get me wrong ain’t gonna do you no harm, no
This bomb’s made for lovin’ and you can shoot it far
I’m your main target come and help me ignite
Love struck holding you tight (hold me tight darlin’)
Make me explode although you know
The route to go to sex me slow (slow baby)
And yes, I must react to claims of those
Who say that you are not all that
Sex bomb, sex bomb, you’re my sex bomb uh, huh
You can give it to me when I need to come along
Sex bomb, sex bomb, you’re my sex bomb
And baby you can turn me on (turn me on)
Sex bomb, sex bomb, you’re my sex bomb (sex bomb)
You can give it to me when I need to come along
Sex bomb, sex bomb, you’re my sex bomb
And baby you can turn me on
You can give me more and more counting up the score, yeah
You can turn me upside down inside out
You can make me feel the real deal
I can give it to you any time because you’re mine
Sex bomb
Oh, baby, sex bomb sex bomb you’re my sex bomb
And you can give it to me when I need to be turned on (no, no)
Sex bomb sex bomb you’re my sex bomb
And baby you can turn me on (turn me on)
And baby you can turn me on (turn me on)
Baby you can turn me on (turn me on)
Ooh baby, you can turn me on (turn me on)
Baby you can turn me on, ooh (turn me on)
Baby you can turn me on, ooh
Baby you can turn me on
Well, baby you can turn me on
Yesterday, I actually got into my car, drove around the block and dropped off my water bill in the little water bill-dropping-off slot at our prestigious City Hall. I can’t find an actual photo of our City Hall online, but it is that equally small brick store front type structure directly next door to this building:
Even though it was chilly outside, it was a really beautiful morning and it felt so great to be in my car again and be out in the world. And the train went barrelling through while I was actually outside. So — the perfect morning.
Overall, I did have a really good day yesterday. Peitor and I worked on Abstract Absurdity Productions stuff for about an hour. We had a great session. We laughed a lot and that felt so good — I was breathing better after the call than when I started it.
Abstract Absurdity Productions is actually a 3-fold project. The films, the website, and then a streaming series of micro-micro short episodes that relate to working in our Company. All of it absurd. Yesterday, we were working on character development re: the series and it felt really great to be laughing that hard again.
And just in general, since Peitor is always — 24/7 — involved in the creative side of developing storylines, I’m the one who does all the constant research. And I actually like doing that. It’s just second nature to me. It involves a lot of scrolling & following on Instagram; tracking the videos on Short of the Week; tracking shows on Quibi (“Agua Donkeys” is so far my favorite), and scrolling through TikTok.
And even though our production company has nothing to do with pets or dirty jokes, I do spend a ton of time watching those really silly cat & dog “dear diary” shorts on TikTok, and also the ones where that teenage boy tells a dirty joke to his very overworked/distracted mom and then the dad laughs really hard. And the jokes are actually funny.
(So far, my favorite joke was about the man who kept switching between the Golf Channel and the Porn Channel on the TV, and then his wife finally says: “Just keep it on the Porn Channel, honey, you already know how to play golf.” And then, as always, the mom almost smiles and the dad laughs really hard.)
All this silly stuff just really makes me laugh. The cat & dog videos are kind of no-brainers, but I just love the videos where the teenagers (boys & girls, both) try to get their parents or grandparents to laugh.
Plus, all of this has the added bonus for me of being “Research.”
Yesterday, I also streamed the one-woman stage version of Fleabag by Phoebe Waller-Bridge. Last Friday, you could rent it for $5 and all the money was donated to help UK healthcare workers. So I rented it on Friday and then watched it last night.
The stage show is actually what became the first series of the TV show on Amazon. Oddly enough, I didn’t really like that whole first series of Fleabag, and yet I really enjoyed the play, overall. (And I loved the second series of the TV show version, a lot.)
As a writer, it was interesting to see the difference in how I responded to the very same material when it was a one-woman show, and when it was fleshed out with characters and tangible settings in a series. It’s something I really want to think about — the differences, and why I responded so negatively to the series and so positively to the play, when it was the same story.
You can see that I am itching to get back to working around here, for real. But I still need to go slow. My breathing still changes throughout the day, and I’m still trying to force myself to stay mostly in bed — since there’s apparently still plenty of time to send the virus in reverse and end up in the ICU.
It was funny how well-meaning friends — when I was past the peak of the virus and starting to feel a lot better — kept alarming me by pointing out what was happening to Boris Johnson. How he seemed to be stable then suddenly he was in the ICU.
And never, ever before had anyone compared me in any way whatsoever to Boris Johnson, then suddenly they were using him as a sort of diving rod for my entire future. It was annoying and disconcerting, but I have to say it was an utter relief to me when he got better.
But anyway. I am better. Lots better. Just still have waves of not breathing at 100%. And I can still engage, for now, in the guilty pleasure of not getting dressed and lying around in bed and reading a book.
(Oh, and I really, really loved that Showtime series Patrick Melrose, with Benedict Cumberbatch. Wow, was it good. I might watch it again, actually.)
Okay, that’s it for today. Have a great Thursday, wherever you are in the world! I leave you with the song I’ve been listening to since last night — unlikely as it might seem! Enjoy, gang. Thanks for visiting. I love you guys. See ya!
“(I’ve Had) The Time Of My Life”
Now I’ve had the time of my life
No, I never felt like this before
Yes, I swear it’s the truth
And I owe it all to you
Cause I’ve had the time of my life
And I owe it all to you
I’ve been waiting for so long
Now I’ve finally found someone to stand by me
We saw the writing on the wall
As we felt this magical fantasy
Now with passion in our eyes
There’s no way we could disguise it secretly
So we take each other’s hand
Cause we seem to understand the urgency
Just remember
You’re the one thing
I can’t get enough of
So I’ll tell you something
This could be love
Because
I’ve had the time of my life
No, I never felt like this before
Yes, I swear it’s the truth
And I owe it all to you
Hey, baby
With my body and soul
I want you more than you’ll ever know
So we’ll just let it go
Don’t be afraid to lose control
No
Yes, I know what’s on your mind
When you say
Stay with me tonight
(Stay with me)
I’ve had the time of my life
No, I never felt like this before
Yes, I swear it’s the truth
And I owe it all to you
Cause I had the time of my life
And I’ve searched through every open door
Till I found the truth
And I owe it all to you
Now I’ve had the time of my life
No, I never felt like this before
(Never felt this way)
Yes, I swear it’s the truth
And I owe it all to you
I’ve had the time of my life
No, I never felt this way before
(Never felt this way)
Yes, I swear it’s the truth
(It’s the truth)
And I owe it all to you
Cause I had the time of my life
(The time of my life)
And I’ve searched through every open door
Till I found the truth
And I owe it all to you
I’m back to not breathing so great, but I did sleep well. So I’m not going to worry; I’m just going to focus on letting myself get better however that happens.
It is really cold out there today but super sunny. I really do feel good, all things considered. I’m planning on doing at least a little work with Peitor later today on Abstract Absurdity Productions stuff.
You know, this morning, I saw something on Instagram that really offended me. A well known artist/musician from LA, created a work of art that declared that America was doing what it does best (regarding the virus): Saving the rich and letting the poor people die.
What a sweeping accusation, right?
That is so offensive to me on so many levels. I also feel it’s irresponsible, but one of the valued things about being an American is that you get to express yourself here, regardless of whether or not you offend people or are irresponsible.
In this extremely large country, where a whole lot of people have the virus (614,180) (although there are 20 States where the impact of the virus has been negligible compared to a few key highly populated areas in other States), Corporate America, as well as the Armed Forces and the Federal Government, stepped up production on ventilators, respirators, surgical gowns, masks, etc., to ensure that if you had to be hospitalized in this country — regardless of how much money you make — there’s going to be a hospital bed for you and the supplies that are needed to try to keep you alive.
And even though I don’t believe in health insurance companies (I belong to a Christian healthcare cooperative), still, the largest insurance companies in this country removed the co-pay and the minimum out-of-pocket expenses you have to pay if you have to be treated and/or hospitalized for the virus. And if you can’t pay or don’t have any insurance at all, the Government covers you, so that no one gets turned away from medical care.
I know that there is an issue (that we always have, all over the world, frankly) with poor people of color having more underlying, often stress-related health issues, that are putting them at risk to get the virus and die from it (and any other serious diseases, for that matter), but that’s different from saying that America saves the lives of the rich and lets the poor people die.
There are thousands of healthcare workers in this country right now working extremely hard to keep people from dying. It is so unbelievably disrespectful to them to say that America saves the rich and lets the poor people die.
Also, in Ohio once a week, local and County Governments, along with hugely profitable private Corporate Food Service suppliers, give a week’s worth of groceries for free to low income or no income individuals and families. Every week. And it’s not garbage food, either. It’s real food. You don’t have to pay a dime for it.
And if I can’t pay my mortgage right now (which I can, thank God), I can get my payment deferred. Honda also offered me two months’ worth of deferred payments on my car if I needed it. Two giant corporations, trying to help people not lose their homes or their cars or take a bad hit to their credit reports.
And this morning, I woke up to find $1200 in my checking account — from the Federal Government. My lawn care guys texted yesterday, needing work and since the Government gave me a bunch of money, I can not only afford to pay them to come out and start dealing with my horrific lawn, but I can also afford to pay them to deal with that new hole in the roof of my barn caused by those high winds we’ve been having.
Readers of this blog know that I’ve been stressing about that roof of my barn and the state of my horrible backyard — and I just feel that the Government gave me money to ensure that I could pay my bills and pay people for their services and keep the money circulating as best as possible right now so that nobody has to go without too much during this pandemic. (Plus, the lawn guys are willing to come out and help me even though they know I have the virus.)
And just on a personal note, even while I don’t have good relationships with most of my adoptive family, the fact of the matter is that they all came over to America as indescribably poor Jewish immigrants, fleeing pogroms in Eastern Europe and Russia. And they managed to become extremely wealthy people, because they worked their fucking asses off. And they gave back to their communities, their Country, and to Third World Countries — with both enormous amounts of actual money (sometimes to the tune of tens of millions of dollars), as well as donating their time and skills (a lot of them are doctors).
It could be that some people are experiencing an America that defies all of this that I’m experiencing. Or it could be that they’re only reading stories in newspapers, and in fact live in an income bracket that doesn’t require them to have to actually live among low income or no income people during this pandemic (or at any other time).
As a word of caution, though, I just want to point out that our new Democrat nominee for President has no fewer than 7 women now accusing him of sexual assault and the same newspapers that go after Trump for every single thing (they think) he says or does, are not covering that sex assault story. At all.
I’m just saying: you gotta be careful not to live in a bubble. You could be making yourself crazy for all the wrong reasons.
And as we say here in America, in the poorest taste imaginable: “Other than that, how was the play Mrs. Lincoln?”
On that lofty harbinger of a note, I will close this and go back to bed and wait for my lungs to get over this virus.
Have a good Wednesday, wherever you are in the world. Thanks for visiting, gang. And appropriately enough, I leave you with last night’s listening music, a favorite song from my wee bonny girlhood, “Wild World,” by Cat Stevens (1970 — I was 10 when this was a huge hit). It’s from his legendary album Tea for the Tillerman. Okay. I love you guys. See ya.
“Wild World”
Now that I’ve lost everything to you
You say you wanna start something new
And it’s breakin’ my heart you’re leavin’
Baby, I’m grievin’
But if you wanna leave, take good care
I hope you have a lot of nice things to wear
But then a lot of nice things turn bad out there
Oh, baby, baby, it’s a wild world
It’s hard to get by just upon a smile
Oh, baby, baby, it’s a wild world
I’ll always remember you like a child, girl
You know I’ve seen a lot of what the world can do
And it’s breakin’ my heart in two
Because I never wanna see you sad girl
Don’t be a bad girl
But if you wanna leave, take good care
Hope you make a lot of nice friends out there
But just remember there’s a lot of bad and beware, beware
Oh, baby, baby, it’s a wild world
It’s hard to get by just upon a smile
Oh, baby, baby, it’s a wild world
I’ll always remember you like a child, girl
Baby, I love you
But if you wanna leave, take good care
Hope you make a lot of nice friends out there
But just remember there’s a lot of bad and beware, beware
Oh, baby, baby, it’s a wild world
It’s hard to get by just upon a smile
Oh, baby, baby, it’s a wild world
I’ll always remember you like a child, girl
Oh, baby, baby, it’s a wild world
It’s hard to get by just upon a smile
Oh, baby, baby, it’s a wild world
And I’ll always remember you like a child, girl
As soon as I think I feel better, I immediately feel wiped out again. Just tired, though. The weight is definitely out of my lungs now, so I’m not going to complain. I’m just trying to roll with it.
Peitor and I have decided to do Abstract Absurdity Productions work tomorrow instead.
Meanwhile…
Even though 90% of the songs I wrote in the 80s & 90s have not been digitalized, I actually do have an mpg file of one of the earliest songs I wrote after I moved to NYC. I was 21.
This song was actually really popular in the folk clubs and other folk artists covered it, which, of course, was a thrill for me.
It has a very Caribbean feel to it.
Here’s me back then. And this is Stephen, the guy who is playing all the instruments on this particular recording from back then. We made this recording in his bedroom. We recorded a ton of music together in his bedroom, although he was a drummer/singer in a New Wave band. Almost everyone I knew back then was a musician, and almost all of us played a different style of music, in different clubs, different parts of the city. But we all got along really well. (Let’s just say we partied intensely. I seem to recall never sleeping for about a decade…)
Anyway. Stephen was one of the nicest & most talented guys I ever knew. He was from the South, and has long since returned there to get married and settle down.
We are pictured under a statue of Bo Jangles in Richmond, Virginia. 1982. Enjoy, gang! I love you guys.
“SAME OLD STORY”
Well, I’ve got a story that you gotta hear
Oh, come on, sinners, gather near
Well, I promise it’s a story you’ll like real well
About liars
lovers, cheaters
And I’ve a got a secret, do you wanna know?
I’ll tell you all about it, then I gotta go
I’m going down to the water when the tide comes up
And jump over
Up and over
‘Cause I took a journey into paradise
Giving up my freedom was the sacrifice
Oh, but I had a man who said the price
Was worth it
For love
And I believed him
CHORUS
It’s the same old story ‘bout a woman who’s found
That she’s tired of his drinkin’ and his runnin’ around
So she tries to get him into settling down
And he leaves her.
(Not in body, but soul)
I’m not a dummy, Lord, I went to school
Oh, but I took a gamble on a stubborn mule
If I thought I could change him,
I was more a fool
But I tried to
Every chance I got
Soon, he was comin’ in at quarter to three
I tried to pretend it didn’t bother me
Until the night when I saw him
Kiss that dark-haired girl
And he held her
In the back seat of his car
CHORUS
It’s the same old story ‘bout a woman who’s found
That she’s tired of his drinkin’ and his runnin’ around
So she tries to get him into settling down
And he leaves her.
That is a photo of where I went to Divinity School. Home of one hundred year’s worth of Evangelical old-style camp meetings by the river. I loved that school and those people. I really did. I left when they wanted me to begin my ministry by being the Youth Minister.
I left for 2 reasons. One: I knew that what I really believed about Christ was not something they would want getting anywhere near their children. And two: I figured it would just be a matter of time before someone’s parents googled me and then they really wouldn’t want me being anywhere near their children.
From there, though, I moved on to a more urban environment and got my counseling from intensely forward-thinking, pro-gay-and-everything-else ministers in a cathedral setting. Old stone pews, beautiful stained glass windows. Incredible choir. (They were the ones who gave me my Pastoral Care & Hospital Visitation training in hopes that I might become a Chaplain. I learned so much from them — I learned so much from them about the business side of being a minister and all that it entailed (a mind-numbing amount of stuff). But where the Progressives differed from the Evangelicals was that they didn’t accept my belief that Christ could literally heal people and they were waiting for me to outgrow that.) (I didn’t.)
Anyway. Not sure where that little digression came from, right off the bat.
So.
It’s a beautiful — but very chilly — day here today. I’m not feeling as good as I felt yesterday but I still feel pretty good, all things considered. I’m going to try to do a little Abstract Absurdity Productions work with Peitor over the phone this afternoon. We’ll see how that goes. I still get really tired when I do too much talking, but I miss that feeling of connection and of working. (Although Peitor texts me everyday, it’s still not the same thing.)
I’m feeling a little depressed today. Feeling overwhelmed by my projects that have lost momentum (the 2 plays with Sandra, and the micro-short films with Peitor). I’m trying to remind myself, though, that I don’t have to regain that ground all in one day, and also that the entire world lost momentum on their various projects…
I’m trying to just be realistic. Not a word I really take too well to, though, even in the best of times.
I think part of it is because I feel almost back to normal so it’s frustrating to not just be back to normal. And I’m also someone who feels guilty about just lying around in bed. So if I’m not feeling totally sick, it’s hard to allow myself to keep lying around in bed.
So that’s my big complaint for today, I guess. Party-Pooper mode was bound to hit me at some point. [party pooper – noun: a person who throws gloom over social enjoyment. Or, in this case, social-distancing enjoyment. — Ed.]
I’m going to close now and get back in bed. Maybe later I will feel better and then post again! Have a good Tuesday, wherever you are in the world, gang. I leave you with what I’ve been listening to. I love you guys. See ya.
“Underneath The Stars”
Underneath the stars I’ll meet you
Underneath the stars I’ll greet you
There beneath the stars I’ll leave you
Before you go of your own free will
Go gently
Underneath the stars you met me
Underneath the stars you left me
I wonder if the stars regret me
At least you’ll go of your own free will
Go gently
Here beneath the stars I’m landing
And here beneath the stars not ending
Why on earth am I pretending?
I’m here again, the stars befriending
They come and go of their own free will
Go gently
Go gently
Underneath the stars you met me
And Underneath the stars you left me
I wonder if the stars regret me
I’m sure they’d like me if they only met me
They come and go of their own free will
I’m trying not to get zealous and overdo it around here, but I do think the virus has moved out of my lungs, finally.
I awoke at 4:30am and laid there for awhile, feeling absolutely fantastic. My breathing was completely back to normal for the first time in 9 days. Plus, my bed felt really incredible. On the phone yesterday, my dad had persuaded me to change my sheets and wash the blankets, etc., because I’d been in the same bedding since before I’d gotten sick.
And then I realized I’d also been wearing the same darn chemise with the same white tee shirt on top of it for the entire time, too.
Even though I had found the energy everyday to take a 2-minute shower, I would just get right back into the same chemise, tee shirt, and collapse back into the same bed linens. And I realized that my dad was right — it was probably a good idea to get up the energy to do some laundry.
Just FYI — even though, on the outside — or I should say “verbally” — my reaction to anything any man ever tells me to do is to automatically say “no;” I am in fact intensely submissive by nature and, 99.9% of the time, I will first say “no” and then do exactly what I’m told.
MY DAD (on phone): “You really ought to wash those sheets, Marilyn. That virus is probably all over them.”
ME (on phone): “I don’t think so. I’m so tired. I don’t think the virus lives that long on fabric…” (gets out of bed, washes sheets, then washes everything else in sight)
(The only man I say “no” to and then steadfastly adhere to that intensely negative mindset is the second husband. When/if he ever advises me to do something, I not only automatically say “no,” but a filter type thing — called “You’re Not the Boss of Me” — also gets lowered down over the inside of my brain to ensure that no advise he is trying to give me permeates my consciousness in any way whatsoever.)
Okay. Anyway. All those clean sheets and blankets and the clean tee shirt/chemise helped me get the best sleep I’d had in awhile.
And now I’ve officially switched to the Spring/Summer sheets, too — the 125,000-thread-count pure cotton sheets from Italy. So it was really just a great night’s sleep, and I woke up breathing. Like I used to do 9 days ago.
I don’t know how you guys are about Easter (assuming you celebrate it at all), but for me, even though it’s a joyous holiday, it’s also a day where I do a lot of thinking about my life. Meaning, if the Resurrection is telling me anything at all, it’s telling me to look at my life before I die. Is this how I want to be living it? If not, then here’s yet another chance to try to get it right.
Usually, every single darn year, my answer is “no, this is not how I want to be living my life,” and in this case, the word “no” is not because I have a serious issue with male authority. It’s because whenever I’m pressed to really take account of my life, I’m simply never satisfied with how I’m living it.
The older I get, the tighter the focus gets on “my work.” If I die today, and leave this huge amount of unfinished work behind, it would be okay. Because I honestly believe that we get to finish in the Afterlife whatever we left unfinished here.
However, I also believe really strongly that I didn’t come here to be physical and to start a bunch of projects, just to go back over there (wherever there is) and finish them there, you know? Why bother to come here at all then, right? So I am hopeful that, before I die, I’ll finish all these many projects I have that are half-finished. Even if I don’t get them out into the world, I’d like to at least leave a tidy stack of finished novels, memoirs, stories, micro-short screenplays, and plays on my desk, with a little handwritten note to my sister on the top of the stack: Please take care of these. Thank you.
(Plus, I still really, really want to record that album with Peitor, of maybe 14 or 15 of my favorite songs that I wrote when I was a singer-songwriter, too.) (Readers of this lofty blog, perhaps recall that back when a VP at Columbia Records was trying to get me signed there, Peitor produced a demo for me in his studio that I absolutely loved. He made my songs & my voice sound like nothing else I had ever heard before; I really felt he captured a certain magic in my songs. But the VP at Columbia Records famously said to me, “Why are you singing like this? I can’t do anything with this.” So I’d really like a chance to go back into the studio for real this time, and have Peitor produce all of my best songs. Maybe title it: This is Why I’m Singing Like This, Even If You Can’t Do Anything With It…)
So, since it was Easter yesterday, I was thinking about this stuff — my life. And realizing that I’m going to be 60 in about 14 seconds, so I really need to make a commitment to trying harder to get this stuff done.
Part of the challenge is that most of my projects aim a little higher than I can reach, so I always have to evolve as a writer while I’m in the process of doing the writing. My vision for what I want to achieve with my work is always way out there beyond my grasp, so I am always in the process of finding my way. (When I first began writing Neptune & Surf in 1994, inspired by an extremely long day/night of drinking in Coney Island with Holly Lane, I had never written anything longer than short stories. I know for a fact that I re-wrote the opening page to that book 60 or 70 times before I could even undertake writing the rest of the book; I was trying to learn how to write.)
Well, anyway, I decided yesterday that for however long I continue to be alive over here on this side of reality, my mind is just going to have to work harder. Find better words. String them together in a better way. And then if I die anyway and nothing’s finished, well, I’ll worry about it when I get to the Afterlife.
On other topics — I am now deeply into Love in the Time of Cholera and just loving every moment of that book. It is indeed better to be reading it during not only a pandemic, but also to be in some weird form of all-consuming love that has no roadmap whatsoever. It’s good to be reminded that for all time, throughout everything, people have managed to love unconditionally with no hope of grasping any conclusion, while life just went barreling on and tumbling down all around them.
So. I’m learning to just let each day be whatever it has to be.
The Nick Cave art book, Stranger Than Kindness, is just really interesting — thought-provoking; indeed a ponderer’s paradise. Although his handwriting is often just indescribably indecipherable. Lots of original versions of song lyrics are in the book. And I really love seeing what writers write, re-write, re-visit, and then compare it to what was ultimately chosen as the finished vision.
I’m not super well-informed about The Birthday Party era of Nick Cave’s career. I have the Boys Next Door album (CD) that has the song “Shivers” on it and I think that album is so good. It really captures that era of music so well. The songs are very good, too, when placed directly in that whole scene. But I didn’t know anything about the Boys Next Door or the The Birthday Party when I first discovered Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds in 1985. I was so blown away by the Bad Seeds stuff that I hit the ground running with that. (Plus, it was really difficult and expensive to get import albums back then, even in NYC, and I was extremely poor back then.) Over recent years, I have since watched various videos of The Birthday Party on YouTube and they are really good songs.
I also have had the book King Ink, since forever. (Scarily enough, I now see that I have had it for 31 years now. It is really extremely difficult at this moment to wrap my mind around that number.) I remember the day I bought it so perfectly. I was in St. Mark’s Bookstore, on St. Mark’s Place in the East Village. I had no money to speak of, but I was planning to buy some of those underground zines that I used to love — and I got published in several of them, too, btw.
My eyesight must have been amazing back then because I remember the whole sky cracking open when I suddenly saw, way over at the front of the store, way up high, behind the cash registers, far, far from where anyone could possibly touch it or steal it, there was a book written by Nick Cave.
I was, like, holy fucking moly. And I put everything down that I was thinking I was going to buy and went directly to the cashier and asked him if that book was by Nick Cave the songwriter, and he said yes, and then I told him I had to have that book. He looked at me dubiously because he had to climb up on a ladder to retrieve it and he said sort of disgustedly, “It’s $25…”
I was quite taken aback by that amount because I truly couldn’t afford that amount, but I still had to have it, so I made the guy get it down for me, and I bought it without even knowing what the fuck it was. It was the only copy of the book that they had (it was an import from England) and I felt like the cashier was going to grab it right back from me because I’m sure it was written all over my face: oh my god, I can’t afford this. So I bought it. (And we won’t discuss the myriad insane things I had to scramble around and do back in those days to try to scrape together my fucking rent even without buying a $25 book.)
Well, long story even longer — all The Birthday Party song lyrics were included in King Ink. So I have at least known the lyrics to their songs since 1989. But I didn’t know the music to them until years later.
Their songs are very, very interesting. Intense, dark, funny, and, well, intense. And a couple of the original handwritten lyrics are included in Stranger Than Kindness. So I was thinking about those songs a lot yesterday, too. I played “Mutiny in Heaven” on YouTube several times. While it’s obviously dark, I think it’s just an incredible song.Unbelievable. (It is down below the photograph.)
Anyway. In the photo from one of my bookcases in my family room just now, you can see that I thought it was worth the $25 I didn’t have — 6 moves and 31 years later. (Oh, and down at the bottom of that horizontal stack, is a book that contains the script and some movie stills from Francois Truffaut’s famous film, The 400 Blows. I took the book out of the local library when I was 15 and loved that book (and the film itself) so much, that I wound up stealing that book from the library and was not allowed to use the library ever again. But you can see that I thought that book was worth it, too — 14 moves and 45 years later.)
Okay, see ya, gang. I gotta scoot! Thanks for visiting. I love you!!
“Mutiny In Heaven”
Well ah jumpt! and fled this fucken heap on doctored wings
Mah flailin pinions, with splints and rags and crutches!
(Damn things nearly hardly flap)
Canker upon canker upon one million tiny punctures
That look like…
Long thin red ribbons draped across the arms of a lil mortal girl
(Like a ground -plan of Hell)
Curse these smartin strings! These fucken ruptures!
Enough! Enough is enough!
(If this is Heaven ah’m bailin out)
If this is Heaven ah’m bailin out
Ah caint tolerate this ol tin-tub
So fulla trash and rats! Felt one crawl across mah soul
For a seckon there , as thought as wassa back down in the ghetto!
(Rats in Paradise! Rats in Paradise!)
Ah’m bailin out! There’s a mutiny in Heaven!
Ah wassa born…
And Lord shakin, even then was dumpt into some icy font
Like some great stinky unclean!
From slum-chuch to slum-church, ah spilt mah heart
To some fat cunt behind a screen…
Evil poppin eye presst up to the opening
He’d slide shut the lil perforated hatch…at night mah body
Blusht
To the whistle of the birch
With a lil practice ah soon learnt to use in on mahself
Punishment?! Reward!! Punishment?! Reward!!
Well, ah tied on…percht on mah bed ah was…
Sticken a needle in mah arm…
Ah tied off! Fucken wings burst out mah back
(Like ah was cuttin teeth!!)
Ah took off!!!
(Rats in Paradise! Rats in Paradise!)
There’s a mutiny in Heaven!
Oh Lord, ah git down on mah knees
(Ah git down on mah knees and start to pray)
Wrapped in mah mongrel wings, ah nearly freeze
In the howlin wind and drivin rain
(All the trash blowin round ‘n’ round)
From slum-heaven into town
Ah take mah tiny pain and rollin back mah sleeve
(Roll anna roll anna roll anna roll)
Ah yank the drip outa mah vein! UTOPIATE! Ah’m bailin out!
UTOPIATE!
If this is Heaven ah’m bailin out!
Mah threadbare soul teems with vermin and louse
Thoughts come like a plague to the head…in God’s house!
Mutiny in Heaven!
(Ars infectio forco Dio)
To the plank!
(Rats in Paradise! Rats in Paradise!)
Ah’m bailin out!
(Hail Hypuss Dermio Vita Rex!)
Hole inna ghetto! Hole inna ghetto!
(Scabio Murem per Sanctum…Dio, Dio, Dio)
Marilyn's Room 