You KNOW I’m In A Mood When You See *THIS* Guy

I’ve been sitting here at my desk  in front of the blog template for almost an hour already, unable to clear my mind and get to someplace fun & happy!

I hate using this blog to preach about shit, but I also hate just ignoring the blog for an entire day because I can’t think of something fun & happy.

So many of my readers here are not from the US. You come here to the blog every day from South America, Central America, Western Europe, Eastern Europe, Africa, Asia and countries of the Far East, the Middle East, the Near East, India, Canada, and Russia.

And of course it makes me wonder what you can possibly think about this insane country of ours, especially now.

Oh — and by the way, in case you hadn’t already heard, Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds announced yesterday that their North American tour, which was set to begin this fall, has been cancelled.

And, NO, they didn’t say it was because the US is so insane right now that they wouldn’t be caught dead here…. it was something to do with a pandemic.

Anyway!!

The news here this morning is that Columbus — the nearest city to Crazeysburg, 50 miles from here — announced that those few nights of rioting is going to cost the city and its small businesses over $3 million. (This doesn’t count what the pandemic has cost them, either. Small businesses have absolutely lost their shirts from the virus.) (If you don’t understand that phrase — it means that you have lost everything, including the shirt off your back.)

(I don’t know — doesn’t that look like at least 3 million more votes in Trump’s lap? Hmmm….)

That remark wasn’t really my point. My point is that this is a democracy, and people are always going to protest about something, and sometimes the protests will be violent, and there are always going to be factions in this country virulently opposed to other factions in this country. And the fact that we are allowed to have our opposing ideas, and even our violent opinions, and our individual understanding of what truth is even when it’s completely at odds with what everybody else’s truth is, is what makes a democracy so sacred to human rights.

However, the thing that confounds me about the US now is this whole up-swelling of younger people who have the misunderstanding that a democracy is a “cancel-out” culture. That if  someone disagrees with you, that person needs to be cancelled out (silenced) in some way.

(My problem with my play, Tell My Bones, comes under that banner, but I want to add that the director called me twice yesterday, assuring me that he was not abandoning the play. That we were going to have to wait it out, for when NYC gets back to some sort of “normal.”)

The sad situation in our country is that most public schools no longer teach History or Government, or even World History. Private schools are where children get the prime education nowadays — whether they are Catholic schools or strictly academic schools.

Public schools are no longer funded well enough to focus on anything but the basics. There’s no Art, no Music — without parents paying separately for it, and then it usually happens after school. A lot of the schools no longer even have libraries. And even the school sports teams are funded by parents paying for the kids to be on the team.

Yes — isn’t that insane? You no longer have to try out and see if you’re good enough to make the team. If your parents can afford to pay for you to be on it, you’re on the team.

What’s even worse, is that sports like swim teams, that hand out trophies for 1st, 2nd, 3rd place — well, now anyone who participates gets a trophy. Just for showing up. Because no one wants any of the kids to have hurt feelings.

This has been going on for a couple of decades already.

Even at the college level — a friend of mine is a college professor and he’s not allowed to use red ink to grade papers because the color red is too threatening to students.

This is not a joke. This is real. Red ink is too threatening.

An entire culture of young people coming out of our public schools who are not adept at handling challenges or conflicts or the opposing opinions of others.

And they aren’t taught how a democracy is run, either. They don’t even study the Constitution of the United States or the Bill of Rights  anymore (in public schools). They aren’t taught History, for godsakes. Or that tolerance, however difficult it can be, or impossible it can feel sometimes; it’s the foundation of the civil liberties of all Americans.

(And I guarantee you that a lot of politicians are banking on you not having a clue what the fuck is really going on with all that anymore. Even if you think you’re on the “right” side. That same side is banking on you not knowing how to even really think.)

I just saw a comment just this morning where a well-known Hollywood actor was making a movie about a revolution in another country and he said that it made him think about how the Europeans came to America and what happened then to the Native Americans who were already here.

Honestly — he had to act in a movie in Hollywood before that thought occurred to him??!! WTF??!!

When you study History and World History and Government you learn about things that are really important.

About how history has an uncanny way of repeating itself — all over the world. And to expect that violence is met with violence — so, if you want to choose violence, which is your right, you need to expect violence to come right back at you. Whether you’ve murdered someone, or whether you’re fighting for your inalienable right to live.

It has astounded me, the outcry in the national news that the recent riots were met with riot police, or even the militia. Or that what was intended to be a peaceful protest became violent anyway — on either side. Or that people with an organized agenda of some kind will barricade themselves behind innocent, well-meaning  people and allow them to become victims of violence that they didn’t start.

Where is the “news” in that? This has gone on throughout all time.

And so many people bringing up now what happened at Kent State in 1970, when the Ohio National Guard was called in and unarmed students were killed.

Yeah, that happened. I’m surprised they didn’t teach you that in school. It’s part of our history — people fighting for change and for their rights and losing their lives because of it.

I can’t forget it because I lived here back then. Ohio was very violent back then, and the country itself was very violent. Non-military groups, of all colors, were arming themselves and were setting off bombs everywhere and blowing up buildings. Shooting all sorts of people — on all sides.  Aside from flat-out assassinations, well-known public people, from politicians to pornographers, wound up in wheelchairs for life because of snipers’ bullets. And riots were common. And blow back was common.

It’s awful. I’m a pacifist and always have been. I cannot handle violence. I expect something more rational from all people. And I’m usually really disappointed. But violence is a part of an equation. We’re all allowed to make any choice we want to make, but we also have to at least be aware that no action exists in a vacuum. There’s going to be a reaction — it’s part of the laws of Physics.

That stuff that they teach you in school, right?

Anyway. It all sucks, of course. But what I have a hard time dealing with is this lack of education in a huge section of America, and this lack of critical thinking and this idea that Liberals — who were once the embodiment of tolerance — are now at the forefront of the culture of cancelling-out; of silencing people; of  the idea that someone is not entitled to their views if they oppose yours.

And this lack of History. My god. Honestly. If I see one more person putting forth the image of Bob Dylan and quoting his song “The Times They Are A-Changing”, I’m going to scream.

The times are changing. It’s a no-brainer, gang.  But you’d be much better equipped quoting other songs he wrote, that weren’t so “feel-good.”  He wrote a ton of them. I leave you with a couple of those today.

All right thanks for visiting, gang. I love you guys. See ya.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pk_dt71ElwY

 

“Only A Pawn In Their Game”

A bullet from the back of a bush took Medgar Evers’ blood
A finger fired the trigger to his name
A handle hid out in the dark
A hand set the spark
Two eyes took the aim
Behind a man’s brain
But he can’t be blamed
He’s only a pawn in their game

A South politician preaches to the poor white man
“You got more than blacks, don’t complain
You’re better than them, you been born with white skin” they explain
And the Negro’s name
Is used it is plain
For the politician’s gain
As he rises to fame
And the poor white remains
On the caboose of the train
But it ain’t him to blame
He’s only a pawn in their game

The deputy sheriffs, the soldiers, the governors get paid
And the marshals and cops get the same
But the poor white man’s used in the hands of them all like a tool
He’s taught in his school
From the start by the rule
That the laws are with him
To protect his white skin
To keep up his hate
So he never thinks straight
‘Bout the shape that he’s in
But it ain’t him to blame
He’s only a pawn in their game

From the poverty shacks, he looks from the cracks to the tracks
And the hoof beats pound in his brain
And he’s taught how to walk in a pack
Shoot in the back
With his fist in a clinch
To hang and to lynch
To hide ‘neath the hood
To kill with no pain
Like a dog on a chain
He ain’t got no name
But it ain’t him to blame
He’s only a pawn in their game

Today, Medgar Evers was buried from the bullet he caught
They lowered him down as a king
But when the shadowy sun sets on the one
That fired the gun
He’ll see by his grave
On the stone that remains
Carved next to his name
His epitaph plain
Only a pawn in their game

© 1964 Bob Dylan

“With God On Our Side”

Oh, my name—it ain’t nothin’
My age—it means less
The country I come from
Is called the Midwest
I’s taught and brought up there
The laws to abide
And that the land that I live in
Has God on its side

Oh, the history books tell it
They tell it so well
The cavalries charged
The Indians fell
The cavalries charged
The Indians died
Oh, the country was young
With God on its side

The Spanish-American
War had its day
And the Civil War too
Was soon laid away
And the names of the heroes
I’s made to memorize
With guns in their hands
And God on their side

The First World War, boys
It came and it went
The reason for fighting
I never did get
But I learned to accept it
Accept it with pride
For you don’t count the dead
When God’s on your side

The Second World War
Came to an end
We forgave the Germans
And then we were friends
Though they murdered six million
In the ovens they fried
The Germans now too
Have God on their side

I’ve learned to hate the Russians
All through my whole life
If another war comes
It’s them we must fight
To hate them and fear them
To run and to hide
And accept it all bravely
With God on my side

But now we got weapons
Of chemical dust
If fire them we’re forced to
Then fire them we must
One push of the button
And a shot the world wide
And you never ask questions
When God’s on your side

Through many dark hour
I’ve been thinkin’ about this
That Jesus Christ
Was betrayed by a kiss
But I can’t think for you
You’ll have to decide
Whether Judas Iscariot
Had God on his side

So now as I’m leavin’
I’m weary as Hell
The confusion I’m feelin’
Ain’t no tongue can tell
The words fill my head
And they fall to the floor
That if God’s on our side
He’ll stop the next war

© 1963 Bob Dylan

Onward & Onward, Full of Grace Pt.2

Well, somehow I got through yesterday. Many phone calls — all of which helped me find balance and perspective, and redirect my focus toward the future, and all my other projects.

A few of you wrote to me yesterday (thank you), some of you not understanding why my having written a play about a black painter is now considered “racist.”

The term is actually “cultural appropriation,” which means that white people are not supposed to write about black lives because we can never truly understand them and would therefore create a false perspective of what it means to be black in America.

I can agree with that, but only so far; only up to a point.  At some point, we all become human beings. I wrote a play about a woman’s life with not only her full consent to write about her, but with her very deep hope that her story would reach the world in some way.

I also feel that the accusation of cultural appropriation threatens to ghettoize all writers, because it also means that blacks can only write about black lives; Asians can only write about Asians; Latinos can only write about the Latino experience of life on Earth; Native Americans can only write about Native Americans; and Eskimos or any other indigenous people, are only capable of expressing what life on Earth means to an Eskimo, etc. Men can’t write about women; women can’t write about men; Gays can’t grasp the lives of straight people, and straights can’t imagine what it’s like to be Gay.

It gets dangerous to compartmentalize everyone’s experience of Life on Earth, gang.

However, sadly, I saw this coming a few weeks ago — even before the Black Lives Matter protests exploded again with the murder of George Floyd in Minneapolis — because I attended a poetry reading online that truly alarmed me in its rage and anti-white agenda.

It was a fundraiser, and at the time, I was impressed that they’d raised $9,000 during a pandemic. Until another fundraiser I attended online — a multi-cultural poetry reading, heavy with Latino/Latina poets — raised $140,000 in 24 hours, during the same pandemic.

I was just incredibly alarmed, gang, by all the “vibes.” I could tell that something was going to absolutely explode. And I could also tell that my play was going to somehow get hit by shrapnel.

Anyway. It did. It has. And now on we go, toward the future.

I have no lack of projects to devote my attention to — and that’s an understatement. And I hope that all the sorrow and devastation I felt yesterday, cleared the deck for me emotionally, and I can get back to focusing on these other things. For instance, Girl in the Night sits there with only one additional sentence since Sunday. And everything else imaginable remains, basically, half done.

But it is a really unbelievably beautiful day here today. And I slept great (through some miracle), and I am still in love with my life. I don’t really give credence to that saying “everything happens for a reason,” because I’m more of a firm believer that once something is created, it lives, and it goes out into the world, either in spirit or in physical form, or maybe even both. Allow creation to happen for the joy of creation itself.  Just allow — you know?

It’s not always easy to get to that place of allowing, but it beats the energy of resisting. For sure.

Okay. I hope you all have a terrific Tuesday underway out there, wherever you are in the world! Thanks for visiting, gang. I leave you with something I was listening to, just for the hell of it. The joy of it. For the years gone by and all the joy and dreams-under-the-bridge-of-it! “Emotional Rescue,” by the Rolling Stones. This was their album that was a huge hit at the time that I moved to New York City, in 1980 (at age 20) and finally started having my “real” life.

So listen and just rejoice, gang. I love you guys! See ya!

With Great Sadness

I honestly cannot believe I’m having to post this, but it is looking like my play about the painter Helen LaFrance, Tell My Bones, is being shelved indefinitely due to my being a white writer and the play is about a black woman.

Since the Black Lives Matter protests have taken over the country, no one wants to be perceived now as racist or as politically incorrect.

I’ve worked on Helen’s life story now for 8 years — as a screenplay first, then as a  play with music.

I’m devastated. I can’t really even think straight. This has been going on since last evening, so I’m really just a mess. My nerves are destroyed.

Naturally, I got no significant work done on Girl in the Night: Erotic Love Letters to the Muse. And today — in between bouts of crying, I’m just worn out. Just wanting to vomit.

A bright note — the other day, I found a first edition of the photo book Fish in a Barrel, in excellent condition at list price. These are photos the photographer Peter Milne took of Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds on tour, and it came out in 1993. It includes some of my favorite photos of them.

The book arrived in today’s mail. I’m happy but I’m also sad because I don’t know how 27 years flew by so quickly. This all seems like yesterday.

Don’t forget! If you live in Copenhagen, or can get there, Stranger Than Kindness, the Nick Cave exhibit, opened today!!

And on another sad note, my best friend Paul, who died from AIDS in 1999, would have been 61 today.  I like to feel that he’s hanging out with me a little bit today, but honestly, I just don’t know anything anymore.

Have a good Monday, gang, wherever you are in the world. Thanks for visiting, I love you guys. See ya.

Oh, Happy Day!!

Hi, gang!

This is another one of those posts that is going to be brief!

It is just a spectacularly sunny day here, today. And add to that, that I managed to get the house all vacuumed yesterday, so the sun is not shining in on a ton of cat hair everywhere — and I’m just super happy about that.

If you saw my post from last night, you know that Letter #8 for Girl in the Night: Erotic Love Letters to the Muse took an unexpected turn yesterday, so I want to  get back at that. See where it wants to take me now.

Last night, I also posted about the discouraging news about the birthday stuff for next month — well, now my dad is really sick. So I’m guessing he is just really stressed out about all of this.

You know, since there is not a damn thing I can do about this stupid pandemic, I cannot get too bogged down in all these unhappy feelings. I need to just accept “what is.” Somehow, move forward.

Okay. Don’t forget — if you live in Copenhagen, or live somewhere where you’re allowed to travel to Copenhagen, the Nick Cave exhibit, Stranger Than Kindness, opens tomorrow!! And if you get to see it, please write and tell me about it!!

Stranger Than Kindness: The Nick Cave Exhibition

All right, well that’s it for today. I want to get started here.

I hope you have a good Sunday, wherever you are in the world. Thanks for visiting, gang. I leave you with “Oh Happy Day,” that huge hit by the Edwin Hawkins Singers from something like 45 years ago.  It’s how I’m feeling at the moment! I hope you are, too! Enjoy. I love you guys. see ya!!

As Evening Comes

It’s been a really lovely day here, gang, but kind of sad.

My dad and I have birthdays one day apart: mine is July 22nd and his is July 23rd. We were supposed to have a big family gathering this July,  to celebrate the fact that my dad is turning 90 and I’m turning 60. Plus it was a way for everyone to be together again for something a little happier than my stepmom’s funeral (which was back in January.)

Anyway, today my dad canceled the party because of the pandemic. Nursing homes and their surrounding “assisted living” residences are still under tight lockdown and might stay that way through the fall.

So it’s frustrating and sad.

I did vacuum the house, though. No help from the cats, of course. And oddly, after spending so much time with that first page of the new segment for Girl in the Night, I was working some more on the second page today and then realized it was actually the first page of the  segment and wound up totally deleting that whole other first page. (This is for Letter #8.)

I sure wasn’t expecting that, but it’s okay. The Letter has taken on a whole new tone.

The day is indeed over and now the evening is just so lovely. So quiet. But I still feel a little sad.

The sun is still on the horizon. I’m going to watch yet another Charlie Chan movie— another one that I’ve seen before. I’ve seen most of them many times! Anyway, they’re fun and I don’t really have to think, which is what I want right now.

Okay.

Hope your Saturday was good to you, gang. I love you guys. See ya!

 

Ah, Those Carefree Non-Pandemic Days of Summer!!

Well, to be honest, around here, the lockdown is as good as over. And by June 10th, pretty much everything will be open again, but social distancing is still going to be required.

(Oddly enough, June 10th was the day I graduated from high school — 42 YEARS AGO!!!!)

Honestly, I don’t even understand that number…

Okay. Well, I did a little bit of laundry here this morning. And I sort of looked around the various rooms of this bonny house of mine and decided that, without a doubt, everything needs to be vacuumed again.

The cats are on some sort of mission right now to shed as much as they possibly can. I told them, pretty plainly, that it’s not funny anymore and I brought out the vacuum cleaner and left it in the middle of the family room floor for them, as I always do. And they barely even glanced at it and then went and sat in the windows to watch the birds, as they always do. So we’ll see who breaks down and gives in first… Here’s a hint, though:

Me:

Them:

All righty!!

Actually, the main reason I hate vacuuming is because it scares the bejeezus out of all the cats. Even after all these years, they are still absolutely terrified of it. They dart everywhere and knock things over, and hide behind the dryer, which disconnects that big hose from the dryer vent, and then I have to move the dryer and reconnect it…

Stuff like that. Every time I vacuum. So, sometimes, I look at all the cat hair starting to accumulate again everywhere and I look at all the cats lounging around so blissfully, and I just sigh and say “fuck it.” But eventually, you know. Someone’s gotta do it. After all, I’m allergic to cat hair…

Yesterday, though, I ordered one of those little Black & Decker high-powered dust busters. You know, just flick it on and off, and not worry about having to constantly wheel that vacuum cleaner out of the hall closet and send everyone scurrying.  So we’ll see if that helps. Because, honestly, allergies aside, I am a bit of a cleaning freak. But I’m such a huge softy when it comes to not wanting to upset the cats!

All righty.  I heard from the Amish guys last night. Next weekend my new barn door will arrive!! I’m so excited.  A whole new era in living here will get underway. 24/7 access to my barn. How cool.

You know,  usually, on the rare times when I can get access to it, I am really reluctant to spend too much time in that barn. I don’t want to say that I sense spirits or energy everywhere I go, but I am sensitive to accumulations of energy. I think we all are, actually, but I just pay a lot of attention to it.

For instance, when you go house-hunting, you can just tell when the energy inside a house repels you. I always wait until I walk into a house and feel that rush of joy, that feeling of “home,” and then nothing will change my mind — I have to have that particular house.

I totally felt that way about this house — I wanted it from the moment I set foot in it. there are energies all over this house; really joyful, happy energies.

But the barn itself has like a sort of accumulation of energy. Intense. Not bad, or anything, but I always feel like I’m intruding on someone when I go in there. It’s very noticeable to me. I’m thinking that if I can spend more time in it, I will get more used to that feeling and I can finally have my gardening shed!

Well, okay. I guess I don’t really have much to say today. I need to get back to my writing. It’s just a really lovely day here. I’m looking forward to just sort of enjoying it.

Oh, before I forget, there was an alert yesterday from Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds that, starting in July, they’ll be uploading fan-made videos to the Bad Seed TeeVee channel. Submission guidelines are here.

Okay! I hope you have a happy Saturday, too, wherever you are in the world.  Thanks for visiting, gang!! I leave you with one of my favorite scenes from the old Walt Disney movie, The Aristocats — “Everybody Wants to Be A Cat.” You need to get at least one minute in before it really starts swinging!! It is quite jazzy!! All righty. Enjoy. And on that note, I love you, guys. See ya!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4rrXR6n0RTY

Grabbing the Brass Ring!

That illustration above is connected to my post from the other evening, Memory Lane.

In case you aren’t American or don’t know what a merry-go-round is, or why grabbing the brass ring was a fun thing to do, or why I would want to save it for something like 30 years… ??? So I saw this illustration and thought it may help give you a happy “visual”!

Okay!! Onward to today!!

I did indeed finish editing Peitor’s book yesterday and sent it back over to him. but it took me a lot longer than I’d thought it would — mostly because it was incredibly hot & humid here yesterday and so I was having the breathing problems again.  But eventually, everything got under control and I got everything done.

Today is ALL ABOUT finally getting back to Letter #8 (“The Choice to Kill”) for Girl in the Night: Erotic Love Letters to the Muse. Yay!

I’ve also started doing a good, old-fashioned aerobics routine around here. The tai-chi didn’t seem to be helping me at all with my metabolism. So between tai-chi and yoga, I was super flexible and super calm & relaxed, but not able to kick up my metabolism back to how it felt before I got the virus.

I’ve done yoga now for about 13 years, but I also always used to walk — a lot. After I began having hip joint issues, I became really tentative about doing too much walking anymore, even though the glucosamine supplements work great. They really do.

But, finally, the other day, it dawned on me to try going back to low-impact aerobics, which I used to swear by for years — many years ago. And, voila! It’s working!!

And even though maybe you’d think that the breathing issues and the high humidity (i.e., right now it’s 98% humidity and I can barely breathe) — you’d think that doing a bunch of aerobics would make the breathing more difficult, but I found that it’s the opposite. I actually breathe better when I’m doing aerobics and my heart is pumping more.

But since I can’t figure out, yet, how to sit at my desk and write (or post to the blog) while doing a bunch of aerobics, I’m sort of stuck with not breathing for most of the day — and praying for rain so that the humidity will disperse!

Well, okay!!

Let’s see. Right as I sat down at my desk, I got a text from Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds (to me personally — I feel certain that I’m the only one who got it!!) that a new video had been uploaded to YouTube. It’s an instrumental, soundtrack piece by Nick Cave and Warren Ellis — very atmospheric, really lovely: Far From Men 2

I don’t know if it’s being added to Bad Seed TeeVee or not, but more new content has indeed been added to that channel recently, so check it out!!

Also, Nick Cave sent out such a beautiful Red Hand Files letter today — it was Issue #100 !! (They are called “issues” but I think of them more as letters, but he answers questions that people ask him, so they are “replies.” So that’s why a lot of the time, I call them “thingies.”)

Anyway, this reply was so endearing. Really, just so sweet. It’s another very short one so you can read it in about 5 seconds if you so choose. It is here.  (And it concerns another type of ring that would have sentimental value!!) (Probably more so than a brass ring from the merry-go-round at Coney Island, though.)

(It all reminds me of a sort of sad story about one of my wedding rings — my second marriage. We got engaged at Tiffany’s — the main store, the one on 5th Avenue in NYC, so my engagement ring and the matching wedding band came from Tiffany’s and were very valuable.  But then, after I had left my second husband, and the man I was living with after that, and very much in love with, turned out to have a severe gambling addiction that suddenly reared its ugly head, and before I had time to even discover it, he had gambled away my life savings — along with a $9,000 check I’d just gotten from the insurance company (I know, this sounds like a Joni Mitchell song) — and as part of trying to not lose the house, I had to sell my Tiffany engagement ring and the matching wedding band. I was divorced, so I guess it wasn’t the end of the world, but it still really upset me to have to do that. A lot.)

Anyway. In keeping with the recent happier trip down Memory Lane… Here’s a photo of the wedding rings from my first marriage.  The yellow gold one was from Macy’s Herald Square, and it was the ring we used on our wedding day. The ring beneath it, though, even though it hasn’t been polished in decades, is actually more valuable. It’s white gold and was a wedding gift from my husband’s parents in Singapore. They bought us matching rings.

Well, okay!

I’ve gotta get started here, folks. I leave you with my last-night-and-breakfast- listening music from this morning!! The awesome George Michael smash hit from 1987, “Father Figure,” from the album Faith. I will not explain why I was suddenly thinking about this song after all these years!! It is sufficient to say that I love this  fucking song!! I hope you do, too.

All righty! Enjoy your Friday, wherever you are in the world. Thanks for visiting, gang. I love you guys. See ya!

 

“Father Figure”

That’s all I wanted:
Something special, something sacred
In your eyes.
For just one moment
To be bold and naked
At your side.

Sometimes I think that you never
Understand me (understand me).
Maybe this time is forever.
Say it can be, whoa.

That’s all you wanted:
Something special, someone sacred
In your life.
Just for one moment
To be warm and naked
At my side.

Sometimes I think that you never
Understand me (understand me).
But something tells me together
We’d be happy, oh, oh.

(baby)
I will be your father figure.
(oh, baby)
Put your tiny hand in mine.
(I’d love to)
I will be your preacher teacher.
(be your daddy)
Anything you have in mind.
(it would make me)
I will be your father figure.
(very happy)
I have had enough of crime.
(please let me)
I will be the one who loves you
‘Til the end of time (of time).

That’s all I wanted,
But sometimes love can be mistaken
For a crime.
That’s all I wanted:
Just to see my baby’s
Blue eyes shine.

This time I think that my lover
Understands me (understands me).
Please
If we have faith in each other
Then we can be
Strong.

(baby)
I will be your father figure.
Put your tiny hand in mine.
(my baby)
I will be your preacher teacher.
Anything you have in mind.
I will be your father figure.
I have had enough of crime.
I will be the one who loves you
‘Til the end of time.

If you are the desert
I’ll be the sea.
If you ever hunger
Hunger for me.
Whatever you ask for
That’s what I’ll be.

So when you remember the ones who have lied,
Who said that they cared,
But then laughed as you cried,
Beautiful darling,
Don’t think of me.

Because all I ever wanted…
It’s in your eyes, baby, baby.
And love can’t lie.
No.

Greet me with the eyes of a child.
My love is always tellin’ me so.
Heaven is a kiss and a smile.
Just hold on, hold on.
And I won’t let you go, my baby.

I will be your father figure.
Put your tiny hand in mine.
I will be your preacher teacher.
Anything you have in mind, baby.
I will be your father figure.
And I have had enough of crime.
I will be the one who loves you—
So, I am gonna love you—
‘Til the end of time.

I will be your father.
(I will be your…)
I will be your preacher.
(…father)
I will be your father.
I’ll be your daddy, whoa.
I will be the one who loves you
‘Til the end of time.

© 1987 George Michael

Gotta Be Brief, Gang!!

Okay, well, last night’s post — Memory Lane — is actually going to be today’s post, too! If you didn’t already read it, you can scroll down to the previous post (Memory Lane) or use this link.

I am almost done editing Peitor’s book, about 50 more pages to go, so I want to get that finished here this morning and get it back to him, then get back to work on Girl in the Night: Erotic Love Letters to the Muse.

But I wanted to alert you that, if you’re a fan of any of the stories linked up there in “From the Vault,” that whole section is being removed. I am doing new editions of The Muse Revisited Collection, including print-on-demand options to buy them in trade paper, so none of the stories will be available through the home page of this site. If you have direct links to any of the stories, they will still work, you just won’t be able to find them linked here.

So, just FYI.

Okay, I’m gonna close and get started here! However, I wanted to leave you with this very cool & very short video, for Nick Cave’s Stranger Than Kindness exhibit, FINALLY opening in Copenhagen on June 8th!! Enjoy!! Thanks for visiting, gang. I love you guys. See ya!!

Memory Lane!!

Okay, gang! Good evening!!

Peitor’s birthday is in a few days, and I went looking through all my storage boxes for a photo he took of us at a rooftop party in the East Village in June 1986 for his birthday that year.

It was a beautiful photo and I remember we both looked so genuinely happy in it. That year, he and I were both dating guys who had the very same name — first and last name. Totally different guys. But so weird, right?

Anyway. I know for sure I still have the photo stored away somewhere but I could not find it. Instead, though, I found a ton of stuff to share with you here on the blog!!

Quite an eclectic bunch of memories, but here we go.

Me with my date, Michael, getting ready to go to my first prom. May 1977. (It was his senior prom.) We’re in my driveway, getting ready to get into his car. I’m 16 here.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Here is the cork from a bottle of Moët Chandon champagne from my first wedding anniversary to my first husband (in NYC). April 1982.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Here is one of the very first publicity-type photos taken of me when I was a folksinger in Greenwich Village, in NYC. This was an advertisement for a special gig, but I don’t recall now why it was special. I am in a broken TV set with Frank Mazzetti — an older, more established folk singer, who “discovered” me at an open mic night at Gerdes Folk City. I am 21 here.

This is an ad from the Village Voice newspaper, where my really good friends (called here The Brunette Farmers, but that was not the name of their usual band) were opening for The Fleshtones at the Peppermint Lounge, in NYC. This is probably 1982  or 1983.

This is the (very rusty now) brass ring from the merry-go-round on Coney Island. I had spent a wildly intense and amazingly debauched day/evening there with the drummer from The Fleshtones (this was when they were famous — long after the gig at The Peppermint Lounge.) Bill (the drummer) grabbed the brass ring and gave it to me. I’ve kept it all these years, but I no longer remember when it happened.

 

 

 

 

Here is my best friend Paul who’s been dead now since 1999, when he was visiting me in NYC. I was already married to my first husband. Paul is fooling around with my electric typewriter. This was probably winter 1981. I still have this very same desk!! It was a wedding gift to me from my first husband. At this point in time, Paul was a set designer for an opera company but I don’t recall which one. He went on to become the set designer for the Woolly Mammoth in Washington DC (a famous theater company there), then for Hollywood movies.

Here , I have already separated from my first husband even though we remained married for a long time afterward (he moved to Honolulu to get a Masters Degree and I wanted to stay in NYC to pursue my singer/songwriting stuff). Paul was visiting for Thanksgiving and had bought me a Polaroid camera as a gift. This is the hellhole apartment in the tenement in the East Village. The bathtub was in the kitchen, but a previous tenant had built a makeshift privacy wall so that the bathtub wasn’t right next to the kitchen table. Here is Paul trying to take a bath in the really small, old, iron bathtub. I’m using my new Polaroid camera!! (Paul was very tall — about 6 foot 4 inches.) This is November 1984.

Here he has taken a Polaroid of me!! Same day. I’m 23 here. Paul was 24. (He was gay, by the way, and died from AIDS.) I am tall, too, so I never fit in the bathtub, either!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Here is that action figure of Keanu as “Neo” in the first Matrix movie. Remember how I was searching for this a couple weeks ago? I finally found it!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A really close friend of mine was at a restaurant in Midtown Manhattan once and saw Papa John Phillips and got his autograph for me. It’s the only autograph of a famous person that I have. (Papa John was the main guy in The Mamas & the Papas, and wrote all those amazing songs. He’s dead now.) This is fall 1988. At one point, I had made an art project out of this. I made a collage where the autograph (which says “Good Luck”) was surrounded by every little paper fortune I’d ever gotten from a fortune cookie (those cookies that come with Chinese take-out food).

The first postcard I received from the Southern writer/ poet, Rosemary Daniell. I had written her a letter after reading her poetry collection, A Sexual Tour of the Deep South, and she wrote me back and I was so thrilled!! I loved that book so much and still have it (I have all her books). She and I actually eventually became friends.  She lived in Savannah, Georgia. This was November 1984.

Here is the back. She talks about some of her other books.

Here is a photo of me in the recording studio, back when Marilyn’s Room, Inc. had launched. One of the partners in Marilyn’s Room was a 24-track recording studio in Midtown Manhattan, and this is where we recorded all the interviews with filmmakers, artists, poets, writers, and publishers who were featured on MarilynsRoom.com. And we taped the readings of the poets and writers here, too. I was the Executive Producer on all of that stuff. Even though I have a degree in audio engineering, I was not the engineer on any of it. I was, instead, the person who went insane trying to stay on top of everything. This is sometime in 1998. (I cannot believe how huge my glasses are!)

And here is something I’ve never shared anywhere. It is the first letter I received from the writer Hubert Selby, Jr (called “Cubby” by his friends). His famous book, Last Exit to Brooklyn, was the inspiration for my first book, Neptune & Surf, so when my book was published in spring of 1999, I sent him a copy, along with a letter telling him how much his book had inspired me. When I received this letter from him, it made my day!! Or week. Or year! He and I eventually became friends, too, and I had lunch with him at House of Pies once in Los Angeles. He has been dead now for a long time. But I have a whole collection of the letters he wrote to me. (He was a lot older than me — married, loved cats!). I’m letting you read the entire letter here. This is the first time anyone else has ever seen it.  I’m always very private with my correspondences. But since he’s been dead over 15 years now, I guess it’s okay.

Okay, gang. I hope you’ve had fun! Have a wonderful night. I love you guys. See ya.