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!
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.
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!!
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.
Well, yesterday was a really unfortunate eye-opening sort of day.
I was more than happy to participate in the black lives matter hashtag because I do believe, with every fiber of my being, that the civil rights of black Americans need to be respected without question, 24/7.
However, I also believe that about every American. There are, unfortunately, a whole lot of Americans who are indeed treated like second class citizens, at all times. That’s gone on for as long as I’ve been an American.
Civil liberties are extremely important to me, and because of that, I’ve learned the really difficult part of that — and that is that sometimes I have to support the rights of people I absolutely do not agree with but it’s the underlying foundation of being part of a Democracy.
It’s a really delicately balanced give & take, and because of that, America’s destiny has always been fraught with extreme emotions and outright violence. But I don’t support violence. I am a complete pacifist. And I don’t support racism of any kind.
I chose not to participate in the Black Out on Instagram yesterday because it felt a little like being forced by the Union to walk the picket line, even when you see some huge holes in the agenda that you can’t get on board with. For instance, the violence. And the underlying anti-white agenda that’s going on there, too. And the militant thinking, etc.
Not everyone is in all those camps, but all those camps were under the banner of that agenda yesterday.
Signing on for the Black Out meant you were supporting the whole kit & caboodle, and I’m not such a generally-sweeping kind of gal. I prefer to stand back and be a critical thinker and throw my support behind each specific thing that I truly believe in.
But standing back, allowed me to see some of the really inexcusable stuff that went on. For instance, people choosing to not participate in the Black Out but posting their own meaningful posts about nonviolence instead, were slammed as racists.
Sean Ono Lennon springs hugely to mind. He posted an incredibly thoughtful post, in line with his Buddhist beliefs in nonviolence, and that nonviolent revolutions bring on more substantial change, and instead of being praised for being his own person and having his own mind, he was treated like a racist by total strangers slamming him on Instagram.
So, that kind of stuff, I can’t participate in. Anything militant, I can’t participate in, regardless of nationality, race, gender, religion, etc.
But the hugest hole in all of this is that I wouldn’t vote for Joe Biden if you paid me. So where are all these protest leading?
Anyone with an ounce of critical thinking can see that Biden’s sleazy and ineffective — and yet much more controllable than any of the other candidates who were vying for the job — and, if elected, he will likely just be a puppet President for the Democrats to prop up and stand behind so that they can then get down to practicing their own brand of dirty politics, business-as-usual. Because Democrats are just as guilty of that stuff — Hilary and Obama seem to have led the pack during their final year in the White House, based on what seems to have come to light in the Senate Judicial Investigative Committee on Mike Flynn.
So where does that leave someone like me? Voting for an Independent candidate again, which means — in the eyes of many — a wasted vote. No Independent candidate is ever ever ever going to be elected President of the United States.
Anyway, my point is, the protests (which are beginning to become more peaceful in some cities), are only throwing way more voters into Trump’s lap. And leaving no strong leader-type candidate to oppose him. None. Zippo.
That’s a huge gaping leaky hole in that boat that’s organizing both violent and nonviolent protests all over the country. You know — what is all this massive (and justified) unrest leading to? Joe Biden? And is there going to be a Presidential debate between Biden and Trump? In what universe is Biden ever going to win that? Honestly, we all know he has trouble forming coherent sentences.
And so where does that really leave people like me, who are nonviolent, who don’t support racism, who do support the complex inter-balance of civil liberties across the board…
So, yesterday was not a pretty picture at all, in my opinion.
And then something else happened that appalled me beyond belief.
A white man connected to my play, Tell My Bones — a play about the 100-year-old black painter Helen LaFrance — was using Helen’s incredible painting, “Canning Peaches,” as his wallpaper during a Zoom meeting the other day, and he was accused of being a “white Master on a slave plantation” and told to remove the painting.
Is this really what we’re coming to in America? Such extreme intolerance between the races? Helen’s painting couldn’t be more magnificent — especially if you’re lucky enough to see the painting in person. Her use of light, of primary colors, and her unbelievable attention to detail and perspective just stagger the eyes when you really look at it. (And she’s a Memory Painter, which means, she paints everything from her memories — she uses no live models or actual landscapes.)
Are we really saying that only black people are permitted to stand in front of, or be depicted in front of, any of Helen’s paintings that feature black people in them? (And in the case of “Canning Peaches,” it’s Helen and her mother. They aren’t slaves or even sharecroppers. They’re in the farm house that Helen grew up in — on the farm her family owned.) So, really?
Well, it happened, gang. Just this week.
Canning Peaches by Helen LaFrance. Permanent Collection of Kentucky Folk Art Center at Morehead State University
You know, I wrote, first, the screenplay (Tell My Bones), and now the play, about Helen LaFrance because I fell in love with her paintings. And I wanted to try to help the world find out about her art.
And when I secured a chance to actually meet her in person (through Gus Van Sant, Sr.), I had a 15-year old beat-up car, with 150,000 miles on it, but I threw an overnight bag into it and just took off. By myself. And it was a 10-hour drive. Plus, back then, I was suffering from acute anxiety disorder and I had a dread fear of crossing bridges. But I had to drive over so many fucking bridges to get to the farthest south-western corner of Kentucky, where Helen lived (in a nursing home) — including the enormous bridge spanning the Ohio River just to get into the State of Kentucky.
But I drove and drove and drove. And drove and drove and drove. And crossed many, many bridges that made me feel like I was going to have a heart attack. And when I finally arrived in Mayfield, and the woman who handles all of Helen’s business affairs, took me in to meet Helen, Helen was not at all interested in talking to any white person. She was cold as stone, suspicious, and not friendly at all. (She was working on a painting and would barely look at me.) (She paints with her left hand now, because she is paralyzed down her right side.)
You know, some white people have been of great help to her career, but a number of white people have exploited her terribly. So she was absolutely unimpressed with me and my white girl enthusiasm.
But I stuck with it and eventually I guess she could see that I was genuinely in love with her art and that I wanted to write about her life. And by the time the trip was over, she had given me the Life Story Rights to write about her life, and the okay for me to have access to her handwritten journals.
So when this man told me on Tuesday that he was accused of being a “white Master on a slave plantation” because he used “Canning Peaches” as his Zoom background and being forced to remove it — Jesus. I didn’t know whether to cry or to scream or to shoot myself. (And this was an educated white person accusing him of this, btw.)
What has happened to critical thinking in this country? I just don’t know. But it really hurt when he told me that. It really upset me. Plus, it was so humiliating for him — he couldn’t be more in love with Helen’s paintings if he tried.
So. Anyway.
Now I will talk about Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds!
According to Instagram, today is the 35th Anniversary of the release of Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds’ astoundingly amazing album The First Born is Dead.
This is the record that totally blew my mind and made me a life-long believer in the utter genius that is Nick Cave. (I’ve written in detail about this before — getting off the subway train in Hoboken, NJ, to visit my girlfriend, finding that tiny record store along the way, which was filled with impossible-to-get (expensive) imports, and finding The First Born is Dead, taking it home, playing it, and becoming eternally stupefied.)
So anyway. Let us celebrate that, okay??!! Not so much my stupefication, but the album, over all. And let’s celebrate that it’s June, and that somehow, someway, everything always kind of works out all right. All things considered.
I’m gonna leave you not with the really, really famous song, “Tupelo,” but another favorite of mine from that album, “Train Long Suffering.” So listen and enjoy.
Thanks for visiting, gang!!! I hope you enjoy your Wednesday, wherever you are in the world today — regardless of your race, nationality, gender, sexual preference, religion, education level, or state of your bank account!! Yay! Seriously, though. Thanks for visiting. I love you guys. See ya!
“Train-Long Suffering”
Woo-wooooooo Woo!
In the name of pain!
(In the name of pain and suffering)
In the name of pain!
(In the name of pain and suffering)
There comes a train!
(There comes a train)
Yeah!
A long black train
(There comes a train)
Lord, a long black train
Woo-woo! Woo-woo!
Punched from the tunnel
(The tunnel of love is long and lonely)
Engines steaming like a fist
(A fistful of memories)
Into the jolly jaw of morning
(Yeah! O yeah!)
O baby it gets smashed!
(You know that it gets smashed)
O baby it gets smashed!
(You know that it gets smashed)
I kick every goddamn splinter
Into all the looking eyes in the world
Into all the laughing eyes
Of all the girls in the world
Oooooo-woooooh
She ain’t never comin back
She ain’t never comin back
She ain’t never comin back
She ain’t never comin back
And the name of the pain is…
And the name of the pain is…
And the name of the pain is…
And the name of the pain is…
The name of the pain is
A train long-suffering
On rails of pain
(On rails of pain and suffering)
There comes a train
(There comes a train long-suffering)
On rails of pain
(On rails of pain and suffering)
O baby blow its whistle in the rain
Woo-oo Woo! Woo-oo Woo!
Who’s the engine driver?
(The engine drivers over yonder)
His name is Memory
(His name is Memory)
O Memory is his name
(Woooooo-wo!)
Destination: Misery
(Pain and misery)
O pain and misery
(Pain and misery)
O pain and misery
Hey! Hey!
(Pain and misery)
Hey! That’s a sad lookin sack!
Oooh that’s a sad lookin sack!
And the name of the pain is…
And the name of the pain is…
Ooh the name of the pain is
A train long-suffering
There is a train!
(It’s got a name)
Yeah! It’s a train long-suffering
O Lord a train!
(A long black train)
Lord! Of pain and suffering
Each night so black
(O yeah! So black)
And in the darkness of my sack
I’m missing you baby
(I’m missing you)
And I just dunno what to do
(dunno what to do)
(Train long-suffering)
(Train long-suffering)
(Train long-suffering)
(Train long-suffering)
O she ain’t never comin back
O she ain’t never comin back
O she ain’t never comin back
O she ain’t never comin back
And the name of the pain is…
And the name of the pain is…
The name of the train is…
The name of the train is
Pain and suffering
All righty! Well, I’m a little bit late posting here today.
What a gorgeous day here in Crazeysburg, gang! I ran out of a couple things in the fridge so I decided to go ahead and drive into town and do the marketing this morning.
What an incredible day for a drive into town. Just lovely. And so now the marketing is done for the week.
I hope this finds all of you faring well during all the riots and unrest we’re having, Stateside. (And, I don’t know — if you live somewhere other than the States and are having riots and unrest, too, well I hope you’re okay, also!)
Here in Crazeysburg, all is well. And sometime this week (I think) I might be getting that brand new barn door!! I’m going to hear from the Amish guys sometime tonight to get the firm date. But I am so excited, gang!! I cannot wait. And I can’t wait to see Kevin’s face when he gets back from Montana in the fall and sees how great the barn will be looking by then!
And the other Kevin in my life — the director of my play, Tell My Bones — should be calling sometime today to go over the plans for the Zoom staged reading that we’re taping sometime this month. I’m excited to get the update on that, too. (And I’m going to try to persuade him and his husband to come out of lockdown and meet me for dinner one night soon at the Granville Inn!!! We’ll see what they say…)
And Peitor texted a while ago and wants to do more Abstract Absurdity Productions work today, so I said okay.
So between that, and the editing I’m still doing on Peitor’s book (more than halfway done with that), and any work I can get done on Girl in the Night: Erotic Love Letters to the Muse, my day is just about over!! Or so it seems…
On an unrelated note… loyal readers of this lofty blog will no doubt recall that I had to finally unfollow the Keanu hashtag on Instagram recently because it was literally jamming my feed with endless, endless, endless photos of Keanu. (And doing that has now allowed tons more photos of alpacas, bears, birds of the world, and the Rolling Stones to flood into my feed!!)
But interestingly enough, there is an “official” Keanu Instagram account that I discovered by way of the Johnny Depp official Instagram account — (and there’s also an actual Johnny Depp account that he personally posts to once in a blue moon and when he does, in a nanosecond 65,739 viewers have already viewed it…)
Anyway, I thought that was interesting. An official Keanu account. So I clicked “follow” and it turns out that they have to approve you! Clicking “follow” is merely a request. You don’t get to just follow him, willy-nilly!! (Probably because the average Keanu fan is just indescribably rabid about Keanu.) Well, the other day, I got approved! I now get to officially follow Keanu’s official account! And they only post maybe one photo every 3 days…. much better than that other stuff.
Okay, so.
Life here is just really good, gang. What can I say? Perfect weather. All my many projects are moving ahead again. My heart is as happy as can be right now. And my refrigerator is full of food!!
And my dad is slowly coming out of lockdown — he’s doing his own grocery shopping now. Throughout the first 2 and 1/2 months of the quarantine, his grocery shopping was done for him by people who work at the Nursing Home-compound-place where he lives. He still has to wear a mask and all that, because the virus is still really prevalent in the county where he lives, but he is really enjoying at least being able to go to the store now. And plus he gets some dinner invitations from friends, now, too. So that’s nice. (If you’re new to the blog — my dad is about 90 years old, and his wife of over 30 years died in mid-January. So not only was he alone in the quarantine, but he’s still grieving the loss of my stepmom. So all the isolation has been rough on him.)
But things are moving forward — at least, here in Ohio, they are. I hope it’s similar where you’re at.
All righty, on that note — it is now after 12-noon here, so I’m going to get started on the editing.
I hope you have a great Monday, wherever you are in the world. Thanks for visiting, gang! This morning, on the intothelightadventures blog, she mentioned a Cat Stevens song that I used to love that I hadn’t thought of in years (“Moonshadow”), so it got me into a Cat Stevens mood again. So, today I leave you with a really gorgeous “live” version he did of the song, “How Can I tell You I Love You?” (a song that means a lot to me, gang). So, I hope you enjoy it. Have a great day. I love you guys. See ya!
How Can I Tell You
How can I tell you that I love you, I love you
But I can’t think of right words to say
I long to tell you that I’m always thinking of you
I’m always thinking of you, but my words
Just blow away, just blow away
It always ends up to one thing, honey
And I can’t think of right words to say
Wherever I am girl, I’m always walking with you
I’m always walking with you, but I look and you’re not there
Whoever I’m with, I’m always, always talking to you
I’m always talking to you, and I’m sad that
You can’t hear, sad that you can’t hear
It always ends up to one thing, honey,
When I look and you’re not there
I need to know you, need to feel my arms around you
Feel my arms around you, like a sea around a shore
And – each night and day I pray, in hope
That I might find you, in hope that I might
Find you, because heart’s can do no more
It always ends up to one thing honey, still I kneel upon the floor
How can I tell you that I love you, I love you
But I can’t think of right words to say
I long to tell you that I’m always thinking of you
I’m always thinking of you….
It always ends up to one thing honey
And I can’t think of right words to say
Assuming, of course, that you’re not living somewhere that’s paralyzed by both the virus lockdown and now the riots.
What a mess.
Here, it is another cool and gorgeous day. However, by “cool” I mean that tonight it’s supposed to go way down to 42 degrees Fahrenheit — not enough to kill my flowers, but still pretty cold. So we’ll see how they manage.
Currently, if you’re into space travel stuff, the historic NASA SpaceX launch and DRAGON hookup is streaming live. You can watch ithere.
And aside from all the riots right now reminding me of Cleveland, all this NASA stuff reminds me of my childhood in Cleveland, too. We always watched all those Apollo launches on TV, and if the launches took place during a school day, we dropped everything and watched it on a TV in the classroom. Black & white, of course. (Back then, all of our classrooms had television sets, but it was primarily to watch PBS educational broadcasting. I’m guessing they don’t do that anymore…)
This is how our classrooms actually looked in Cleveland in the late 1960s. And notice the Girl Scout over on the right!! I’d forgotten that we always had to wear out Girl Scout uniforms on days when our troop had its meetings after school. Ah well. Yesteryear.
Oh! And in case you’re interested! Here is my actual Girl Scout sash from those long ago days. Considering I will be 60 in about 6 weeks, and that I was a Girl Scout when I was 9… this sash is pretty old. (And I sewed on each of those little merit badges myself.)
My Girl Scout sash, from Troop 1334. Circa 1969
Okay! So.
Yesterday, Peitor and I got some great work done on Abstract Absurdity Productions stuff. It really felt like we were back on schedule now. And like the lockdown stuff was really coming to an end. We shall see.
(Of course, now the riots in LA are sort of screwing all that up — mandatory curfews there again, etc.)
Here, in Muskingum County, the lockdown is essentially over. We have had a grand total of 40 cases of the virus so far, with no deaths (about 86,000 people live in Muskingum County) .
To give you an idea of how unlike most of Ohio this is, where my dad lives, they still get dozens of new confirmed cases every day, and have over 1000 people with the virus right now — just in his county alone (about 383,000 people live in his county — huge difference).
However, here in Crazeysburg — which, more & more, feels to me like some sort of dreamland — the gasoline prices are on the rise again ($2.09 a gallon), no one has to wear masks anywhere (in the town), and you no longer have to stay 6 feet apart from anyone if you don’t want to. And the local factory is back in business, but at 50% staff.
I still have to leave the county once a week to get my groceries — and even though I’ve had the virus already, I still wear a mask when I go into the next county, because I’m hugely paranoid about catching it again. But other than that, it at least feels completely normal around Crazeysburg now.
Well, all righty. I still have some book editing to do for Peitor — I’m halfway done with that. And then I want to spend the rest of the day working on that new segment for Girl in the Night: Erotic Love Letters to the Muse. So I’m gonna close this and get going.
Have a happy Sunday, wherever you are in the world. I forgot to mention a while back that the new Einstürzende Neubauten album did indeed come out (Alles In Allem). Over on the a1000mistakes blog out of Australia, he mentioned a song off the album today called “Wedding,” which I also like, so I’m leaving you with that today!
The song is in German. I have no idea what it’s about, except that I’m guessing a wedding factors into it somehow. (But with Einstürzende Neubauten, you don’t really know that for sure. You’d simply have to understand German to really know.) I just like how it sounds. I like the whole album, too. So listen and enjoy! Thanks for visiting, gang. I love you guys. See ya!
Wow, gang. The temperature dipped down into the 50s Fahrenheit, making for just a delightful little morning here. I could still keep some of the windows open during the night, but also get snuggly in bed. Perfect sleeping weather.
And now the sun is shining and the birds are chirping and it just feels like a perfect morning.
I got good work done on the edits of Peitor’s new book yesterday — still have a few days worth of work ahead of me, though. But he’s written a really cool book — a really engaging read, so I don’t mind editing it at all.
And when I wasn’t editing, I was continuing to read Sharon Olds’ collection of poems, The Father. And even though it is extremely well written, and some very arresting imagery is expressed (it’s a collection of poems chronicling the death of her father), I just kept going right back to Anne Sexton’s Complete Poems. She just inspires me to the moon and back, you know? And she’s really moving me along in Letter #8 for Girl in the Night: Erotic Love Letters to the Muse.
It’s weird because this is certainly not the first time I’ve read Anne Sexton’s poems, or even The Complete Poems — Wayne and I had that book, back when I was still married to him, back in NYC. And I used to read it. But for whatever reason, right now, I am totally hooked into it. Totally. Can’t put her poems down.
And even while she is not the aforementioned “Muse” I’m writing to (i.e., “erotic love letters to the Muse”), she is definitely “musing” me right along right now. And I am really enjoying that flow.
I’m reading the Sharon Olds collection specifically because I began reading an academic book that focuses on how the “confessional- style” poets Anne Sexton, Sylvia Plath, Adrienne Rich, and Sharon Olds deal with the themes of father-daughter incest in their poetry.
(After Anne Sexton’s death, a previous psychiatrist of hers, violating the mandate of doctor-patient confidentiality, released Anne’s private transcripts to the world (via a book about Anne’s life), revealing that she may have been the victim of incest with her father when she was growing up, and also that Anne herself had engaged in incestuous behavior with one of her daughters — with which that particular daughter concurred, later, in her own memoir.)
Sharon Olds doesn’t seem to have had that issue to contend with in her life, but some of the ideas she touches on in The Father poems could be construed as exploring a certain sexual energy, for lack of a better way of explaining it. But, to me, it feels more like a human energy, a “thought-exploration” that opens all kinds of doors inside a woman’s mind when someone she loves has died. I certainly wouldn’t describe it as “incest” or even truly “Oedipal”, for that matter.
I’ve read a lot of Sylvia Plath in my life, but not a lot of Adrienne Rich poems, for some reason. But I still found that academic book (mentioned above) highly interesting because the incest theme is certainly a huge part of my own life and my writing (my biological father, not my adoptive one). And the book did sort of indicate that, in regards to that specific theme in my life, I definitely seem to have never grown up. (I am paraphrasing, hugely.) But in that same regard, based on the author’s conclusions about Anne Sexton and Anne’s approach to that topic in her own work — and drawing from Freud and that whole crowd — neither one of us really grew up.
It could be that my intense immaturity is why I find Anne Sexton’s poems so inspiring! (I do, of course, jest.) (I think.)
Anyway. I appear to be deep into some sort of digression here. Not sure how that happened. One minute, I was talking about the lovely weather, then the next minute, I was talking about incest…
But that’s just the splendiferous joy of spending time in Marilyn’s Room. We never know where my digressions will take us!!
Meanwhile…
Wow, I really enjoyed that movie I mentioned yesterday Behind the Curtain (1929). I finished streaming it last evening, and it did indeed have Charlie Chan in it — midway through, the location switches to San Francisco and that is where Charlie Chan is living at that point. AND, I might add, they had an actual Chinese actor playing Charlie Chan!! Something they don’t seem to have ever again done, until some remake in the early 1980s, or something like that.
Plus, Boris Karloff puts in an appearance, as well — playing a Persian manservant (!!). But overall, I just felt the story was really good, really engaging. I mean the morals are outdated, but the storyline was really good for its era. It was certainly a much deeper film than any of the Charlie Chan one-hour movies that Hollywood began making in the 1930s, when Warner Oland began starring as Charlie Chan. (And the Charlie Chan movies get even more formulaic after Warner Oland died and Sidney Toler was playing Charlie Chan — well in the 1940s. It gets to the point when I can no longer even watch them; they just become paper-thin.)
Anyway, Behind the Curtain was a nice surprise.
Overall, I had just a wonderful day and evening yesterday. Today, I’m scheduled to work again with Peitor on Abstract Absurdity Productions stuff. Plus chat with Valerie about design-related stuff for my upcoming novel The Guitar Hero Goes Home.
Which reminds me… I was chatting on the phone with my ex-husband, Wayne, in NYC, the other day. And he was commenting on a sample of the cover art I had texted him for The Guitar Hero Goes Home. Apparently, he had gone onto Amazon to see if the novel was for sale yet, and he told me he was kind of astounded by how many of my books are for sale on Amazon…
Well, this astounded me because nowadays I have only two-pages on Amazon, mostly for out of print books or for eBooks. Whereas, even just a few years ago, I had a couple dozen pages, and most of my books, from all over the world, were still in print.
Wayne commented to me, “Wow, you’ve really done a lot of writing.’
And then I thought, like: Wow, where were you the entire time we were married? You know? I was publishing tons of stuff the entire time we were married. I was winning literary awards all over the fucking place. Giving readings all the time — and not just in NYC, but in Boston, Cambridge, LA, London, Paris. I was using my advance money from publishers in Europe to take us on great vacations. And I was always, always, always working on one publishing project or another the entire time we were married.
It felt shocking to me that he seems to have no recollection of this. And it makes me wonder who he remembers being married to for 14 years, you know? It was actually kind of upsetting to me, but I didn’t say anything. We’re not married anymore, and haven’t been since 2007. There’s no reason to even go there, right?
However, it did sort of renew that feeling in me that the work women do is never deemed as important as what the men are doing. At least, in my marriage it felt that way.
Although, when I left Wayne and began living with Mikey Rivera, it was just so different. Mikey was unbelievably supportive of my writing — of every single thing I wrote. He was an under-educated Puerto Rican plumber, raised in a Brooklyn ghetto, but he was just so proud of my being a writer. And during those early years with him, I really began to write some of my best work.
Anyway. Life goes on.
So, I’ll close this now and get Saturday happening here! Thanks for visiting, gang. I was listening to the Essential Nina Simone last night while drifting in and out of sleep — and, eventually, I was dead to the world as it played on into the darkness and turned itself off.
What a great collection! I’ll just randomly leave you with her version of a BeeGees’ song I’ve always loved, “To Love Somebody.” Listen and enjoy, but the entire selection is just stellar. And have a great Saturday, wherever you are in the world, gang! I love you guys. See ya!
Well, the news continues to disturb and distress, doesn’t it, gang?
You know, if you aren’t American and have no idea where or what Minneapolis is — it always seemed to me to be a city that had a very open-minded and tolerant reputation. And it’s a northern city, to say the least. (Northern cities usually have a reputation of being more tolerant, in general, and Minneapolis is probably the largest northern city we have.) (Of course, I grew up in Cleveland, which is also a northern city, and all throughout my childhood, there were violent race riots and massive protests and the National Guard being sent in and fires set all over the place that destroyed lives, etc.)
I don’t know. Maybe Minneapolis’ reputation for tolerance was a little erroneous, or even subjective. Or maybe the tension of the lockdown on top of the tragic, racially-charged killing, just caused the whole city to explode.
Just a great big horrible, awful mess. (And it’s interesting that so much of Instagram wants to blame Trump for what happened. I seem to recall all kinds of similar awfulness happening throughout Obama’s reign. And of course, I just mentioned how, nearly 60 years ago, this kind of awfulness was happening all the time, and Trump was still growing up out in Queens, so… It gets hard to follow the regrettable chain of ideas that springs simply from hate.)
A well-known writer from the rock & roll days that I follow on Instagram is a serious Trump hater. Like, beyond your ability to comprehend. He blames Trump for absolutely everything imaginable. He even made a statement the other day that Trump dodged COVID 19 the same way that he dodged the Vietnam War. What the heck? This writer is old enough to have served in Vietnam, too, and didn’t, so, like why’s he even bringing that up?
I guess to give the impression that he’s blinded by hate.
And even though I’m not a Republican — although I am definitely no longer a Democrat, since they became the Party of Supreme Intolerance — I have no issue with how Trump handled COVID 19.
During the peak of the crisis, even while I had the virus, I watched the President’s press conference every single night. The Federal Government seemed to be doing an amazing job of staying on top of the horror, daily — and it was intensely revealing to see how these alleged “journalists” would take the President’s answers to their intensely-politically-motivated questions and then turn the answers into headlines the following morning that were meant strictly to incite emotions and to not deliver actual facts.
I saw it happen again and again in the NY Times and with CNN — two news outlets that I used to swear by, you know? I saw it with my own eyes; heard it with my own ears: Wait, I saw that press conference and that’s not what the President said.
It was scary to see all that hate heaped into the NY-based news outlets by “journalists,” while all those New Yorkers were trapped in the quarantined epicenter and already struggling against so much tragedy caused by that Virus. (New York City is also the epicenter of Trump-haters — followed closely by Los Angeles– so the headlines seemed to just be exacerbating the city’s fears.)
Anyway, here was this NYC-based rock & roll writer, spewing so much hate in his Instagram feed, while I was actually faring just fine with the Federal Government’s handling of the pandemic.
Because I’m a writer, I have to file a Schedule C every year with my taxes, meaning I am also responsible for paying for my own healthcare, at a premium rate.
Health insurance is ridiculously expensive in America — most Americans simply cannot afford it without assistance of some sort, myself included. And I don’t believe in health insurance — while I do believe that it is unconstitutional to force Americans, by law, to buy health insurance. That was Obama’s legacy, btw, and he was allegedly a Democrat (that I voted for) (but he was actually a Socialist).
Anyway, because Obama forced into law something that was unconstitutional, I joined a Christian healthcare cooperative, that costs me next to nothing every month and keeps me within the law. But because we were in lockdown, the Federal Government started sending out special weekly payments to people like me who are alone and have to handle all kinds of expenses — i.e., ridiculously expensive health insurance — with next to know opportunities for money to come in until the lockdown is completely over.
Because of the Federal Government, I have survived just fine — but, then, I don’t have to pay for health insurance. The pandemic has been beyond “regrettable,” but Trump didn’t cause it — Trump, a Republican whom I didn’t vote for. (Whereas Obama, a Democrat whom I did vote for, did in fact create this horrible economic situation where Americans are forced by law to have health insurance that most of them cannot possibly afford, with or without the added awfulness of the pandemic.)
So it is, indeed, a great big mess for a lot of people right now. But I do honestly believe that a huge portion of the national media makes things a whole lot worse — purposely feeding people emotionally biased “news,” intentionally manipulating them, until feelings and facts have become hopelessly blurred.
And unfortunately, I have found that I did have to jettison CNN and the NY Times, in order to find out what was actually going on in the world.
So, well, I guess that’s how I feel about that. (“And other than that, Mrs. Lincoln, did you enjoy the play?”)
Oh — and here’s something I realized the other day — when Abraham Lincoln was heading by train to Washington DC for his inauguration as President, he traveled on the Baltimore & Ohio rail lines, and stopped overnight at the Buxton Inn in Granville, Ohio. (The Buxton Inn is across the street from my beloved Granville Inn –itself a National Landmark, but nowhere near as old as the Buxton Inn.)
But it occurred to me the other day that, even though my house wasn’t here back then, the railroad tracks were, and Crazeysburg was already here, and I’m thinking that Lincoln’s train probably was on those very train tracks that are outside of my house! Just so cool, right?? (Assuming you don’t also hate Lincoln — a Republican– which I don’t.)
Well, all righty!! I know I try not to get political on this blog, but some days I just have to give in. It really just gets to be too much sometimes — how all the faces change, and the sides rearrange and the issues have different names, but the bad news stays exactly the same.
Today is going to be full of thunderstorms, so that should be suitably dramatic and will see if my breathing becomes once again affected by the intense humidity of thunderstorms. I still have to do a ton of editing on Peitor’s new book. Then meet with him for a few hours over the phone and work on Abstract Absurdity Productions stuff. And then also do some more work on Letter #8 for Girl in the Night: Erotic Love Letters to the Muse.
I’m guessing the day will be over in a heartbeat. Currently, I’m streaming Behind the Curtain — a movie made in 1929, which is technically a Charlie Chan movie, but I’m halfway through it and so far, Charlie Chan hasn’t put in an actual appearance. It’s more about Scotland Yard getting help from Charlie Chan, via overseas letters, in solving a local murder. It is actually a really good movie. And it’s “pre-Code” so it has its salacious elements right out front. No innuendo needed.
Okay. I’ll close this and get on with my day, gang. Thanks for visiting. I hope Friday is okay to you, wherever you are in the world. I leave you with something I happened to see on Bad Seed TeeVee last evening and then was reminded of on Instagram this morning! Rather timely, as it were. I sure hope the tragedy in Minneapolis can find some sort of balance before more people die and the whole city goes up in flames. Okay. I love you guys. See ya.
“In The Ghetto”
As the snow flies
On a cold and grey Chicago morn
A poor little baby child is born in the ghetto
And his mama cries
Cause there’s one thing that she don’t need
Is another little hungry mouth to feed in the ghetto
Oh people don’t you understand
This child needs a helping hand
He’s gonna grow to be an angry young man some day
Take a look at you and me
Are we that blind to see?
Do we simply turn our heads and look the other way?
And the world turns
And the hungry little boy with the runny nose
Plays in the streets as the cold wind blows in the ghetto
And his hunger burns
So he starts to roam the streets at night
And he learns how to steal and he learns how to fight in the ghetto
Then one night in desperation
The young man breaks away
He buys a gun and steals a car
He tries to run but he don’t get far
And his mama cries
A crowd gathers round an angry young man
Face down in the street with a gun in his hand in the ghetto
Oh people don’t you understand
This child needs a helping hand
He’s gonna grow to be an angry young man some day
Take a look at you and me
Are we that blind to see?
Do we simply turn our heads and look the other way?
And as her young man dies
On a cold and grey Chicago morn
Another little baby child is born in the ghetto
Marilyn's Room 