Tag Archives: Abstract Absurdity Productions

The Joys of Teeny Tiny Movies!!

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Wow. I’m going to start right off with a digression.

Valentine’s Day on Instagram is quite a fertile little world, in and of itself. The things people choose to post can be just really illuminating.

A poet I follow who lives in Canada — I actually know her, but we haven’t worked together in years. She seems to have quite an eclectic assortment of vibrators. And they also seem to have some sort of seasonal appeal. Meaning — much like me and my dishes — she has favorites for various times of the year and she photographs them (just the vibrator itself) and posts it to Instagram.

Yesterday, of course, she posted a photo of her Valentine’s Day vibrator. (It was red and looked almost sort of like a heart – in a Salvador Dali kind of way).

It would never, in a million years, occur to me to post anything like that to Instagram (or anywhere, actually). (Not that I have an eclectic assortment of vibrators. I’m just saying.)

But I guess, in a way, that’s art. Or perhaps visual erotic poetry, or something like that. (When she’s not photographing vibrators for the various holidays, she photographs chairs — all sorts of chairs that she sees abandoned on the streets.) (There are quite a huge amount of chairs abandoned on the streets in Canada, in case you were curious.)

Of course, Dana Petty posted a beautiful photo of herself with Tom, and said something about love, quoting Anais Nin. And then, moments later, one of Tom’s daughters posted a photo of Tom with his first wife, Jane. (So the step-mother-daughter feud seems to be alive and well out there in LA.)

Tom, of course, didn’t post anything at all to his Instagram page this year because he’s dead.

(Although his “official page” is still alive and well.) (And kicks into high gear whenever there’s something new from WB Records to merchandize — to make money off of him, posthumously.)

(Which only always makes me think of that staggering song he wrote, “Joe,” from The Last DJ album in 2002: So burned out Johnny thinks the books are shifty/ What good’s that alky to me when he’s fifty?/ Well we could move catalog if he’d only die quicker/ Send my regards to the gig and a case of good liquor/ He gets to be famous, I get to be rich/ He gets to be famous, I get to be rich…)

Then there was the usual assortment of really, really cute animal videos for Valentine’s Day.  (And I mean, really cute, gang. From owls to koalas, to tiny kittens playing with baby pigs. Just too fucking cute.)

And, of course, the veritable deluge of Keanu photos for Valentine’s Day. Currently, they are mostly of him with his mom at the Oscars (his fall-back female when he wants the paparazzi to fuck-off). (He has taken his mom to many, many, camera ops over the decades. And she always looks so fucking good. That mom of his doesn’t age at all.)

Image result for keanu with his mom at the oscars
Keanu in 2020, at age 55; Mom, ageless

(I’m seriously hoping that he and that really cool artist woman haven’t broken up, and that her absence was only a case of her saying “no way am I ever appearing with you in public again, dude, ever” — because she seriously got eaten alive by the tabloids after that last thing at the LA Art Museum-Gucci thing.  They just seemed so fucking happy together, though, so I would really hate to think they broke up. And he still looked really happy at the Oscars — (not that I watched it, I see the world through my Instagram feed!) (I hate awards shows) — I don’t think he’s got any kind of a broken heart or anything; I think maybe he just enjoys fucking with the tabloids.)

Anyway. A lot gets revealed on Instagram. Especially on Valentine’s Day. Or perhaps even very early the following morning. I, however, only ever post photos of my various cats or what the weather looks like outside of my various windows, or if there’s a full moon over Basin Street. Always the same sort of non-committal thing. (The blog is revealing enough, I think.)

Oh, and the official Nick Cave page posted a promo for his upcoming art exhibit in Copenhagen that was very humorous — and extremely short. I watched it 3 times before I realized I was watching the same clip over & over. But it was funny.

It had all the elements of an Abstract Absurdity Production, in fact!!

Which actually was what I wanted to post about today. All that stuff up above this is just a massive digression.

Peitor and I got such great work done on the “Lita” script yesterday! And I know this will sound perhaps absurd and abstract in and of itself, but we still only got 3 scenes onto the written page. And those scenes will each last 45 seconds or less. Still, it was great work. And even though it took hours, we were really, really happy with what we had accomplished when we were done working for the day.

(And then Peitor texted later in the evening, to say that we needed a shot of “the desk against the wall once we hear the keys in the door” and, once I thought about it, I saw that he was completely correct. I know that we probably seem insane, but this movie is going to be so fucking cool. Totally absurd and abstract and even a little erotic and disturbing and also quite lovely to look at!)

(And our micro-micro-micro shorts are going to be completely awesome, gang. Every time I think about them, I can’t help but chuckle out loud. We are planning to shoot 2 of those this year. I don’t think we’ll be shooting the “Lita” script this year, or, if we do, it will be very, very late in the year– yes (!!), probably when The Guide To Being Fabulous is premiering in Toronto. Because we refuse to even consider beginning shooting “Lita” until I get that specific A-list actor that I want for the key role. I’m so absolutely serious about that, gang.)

Well, we are planning to have the Abstract-Absurdity web site launched on April 1st, and a couple of the micro-shorts will be streaming there. So, I’ve gotta  lot of work to do there. But I will, no doubt, keep you posted.

Today, I am either going to work some more on In the Shadow of Narcissa — OR — write something Thug Luckless-related! Yes, gang, he’s pushing against the insides of my brain, trying to get onto the paper, too! So we’ll see.

And I spoke at length with Sandra yesterday — she’s up in Canada, now. And, based on her rehearsal schedule up there,  it sounds like the table-reads for Tell My Bones will begin in NYC in March. Shit. So — yeah. I gotta get my mind around that. March is, like, 14 seconds away. Thank god I don’t have to cast that thing. All I have to do is show up.

(And — NO! — even though it is super-duper incredibly easy to get to Copenhagen from JFK, I am not going to try to fit in a micro-short trip to Copenhagen to see the Nick Cave art exhibit! It is not going to happen, because it will only complicate my schedule, my work, my bank account, my life — so it ain’t happening. I’m not even going to think about it, or so much as ponder the logistics of it. And all the airline-booking-deal-alerts that pop onto my computer to tell me what flight deals might be lurking in the direction of Copenhagen will simply be ignored!!)

Yep. Absolutely.

And on that note!!! I’m gonna get started here, gang!! Have a wonderful, wonder-filled Saturday, wherever you are in the world!! Thanks for visiting, gang. I’m not gonna leave you with “Joe” today, even though it is an intense little song — it’s a bit too jaded and acerbic for my tastes here this morning. But I will leave you with something else from The Last DJ (such a great album, gang): “Have Love, Will Travel.” So fucking beautiful. All righty! I love you guys. See ya!

“Have Love, Will Travel”

You never had a chance, did you baby
So good-looking, so insecure
And now you say you can’t remember
When the lines you drew began to blur

Yeah, when all of this is over
Should I lose you in the smoke
I want you to know you were the one

And may my love travel with you everywhere
Yeah, may my love travel with you always

Maggie’s still trying to rope a tornado
Joe’s in the backyard trying to keep things simple
And the lonely DJ’s diggin’ a ditch
Trying to keep the flames from the temple

Oh, and if perhaps I lose you
In the smoke down the road
I want you to know you were the one

And may my love travel with you everywhere
Yeah, may my love travel with you always

How about a cheer for all those bad girls
And all the boys that play that rock and roll
They love it like you love Jesus
It does the same thing to their souls

And when all of this is over
Should I lose you in the smoke
I want you to know that it’s all right

And may my love travel with you everywhere
Yeah, may my love travel with you always

c- 2002 Tom Petty

I Love You Guys!!!

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This is gonna be a really short post because I want to do Booty Core before I start working with Peitor this morning.

We are on an accelerated course now to achieve the impossible!! Yes! To eventually finish the script for our 8-minute masterpiece, Lita måste gå!!! (sometimes known as: Lita’s Got to Go!!)

However!!!!!

My favorite way to spend Valentine’s Day!! Coffee in bed!! (Wait, no — that’s my favorite way to spend EVERY day!!)

But I did want to wish you a really, really Happy Valentine’s Day, gang! Wherever you are in the world. I hope it’s filled with wonder and delight and maybe even some snow!! (It’s snowing here again, even as I type!)

Okay. I love you guys! I leave you with one of the best love songs, ever!! Play it loud & dance around with Ronnie!!

Bunches of love, gang. See ya!

Let’s Try That Again!

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So, today, I’ve been awake since 3am. No fears of oversleeping today, I guess.

Late last evening (my time zone, anyway), I got a text from Peitor, saying that he was on his way out to have a meeting.  I know the person he was meeting with and it was sort of a big deal, so that sort of stressed me a little. (See last evening’s post.)

He and I are very different in that way. When something in my life blindsides me, I sort of retreat to my little cave, re-group mentally, try to see where I’m coming from spiritually — you know, get a feel for what’s motivating me — before I do anything like take any meetings. I’ve known Peitor forever now, and he is the exact opposite from me in that regard. So I didn’t say anything. I trust him. But it still stressed me out. So I went to sleep kind of early. Hence, wide awake at 3am.

But I did see — upon scrolling through Instagram in the dark at that ridiculous hour — that for the first time in over a year (and I mean that literally), Susie Cave posted a sort of happy song in her Instagram feed. It’s literally been over a year. And not only have the songs she’s posted over the past year tended to be unhappy ones, but often they seemed so unhappy that they’ve made me actually gasp. So I think maybe this is a good sign? Something hopeful?

(Well, that, or she’s using Ghosteen just to sell dresses and I seriously don’t want to believe something like that.)

Well.

We are inching toward the Lenten season. I don’t always observe the Lenten season, but when I do, I follow the Franciscan prayers. I’m a big believer in St. Francis — I pray to him every day because he is the Patron Saint of animals. And even though I know he can’t protect all the animals, I pray to him to also help sustain my heart, to help it find strength and a way to heal, in the event that animals are suffering anywhere around me.

I haven’t wanted to post this to the blog, because it was such an open sore for me, but several months back, that favorite pasture of mine with the dozens of happy cows that I had to drive past to get into town? The guy there sold all of his cows to slaughter on the very same day. All of them. Cows, bulls, frolicking little calves. Gone to slaughter. A few dozen. Those cows always made me so happy.

I was of course driving when I saw this and I really just didn’t know what to do. I was just devastated, but I was behind the wheel of a moving car and fellow drivers all around me are counting on me not to lose my fucking mind.

Well, it’s at times like those when I really need St. Francis to figure out how to pull me through. Because I just don’t understand why people don’t think that animals’ lives are just as sacred as our own. I just don’t get it.

Anyway. A whole heck of a lot of people don’t agree with me on that, or that any lives are sacred, really, so on we go.

Lent. With or without St. Francis, I don’t always practice Lent. Mostly because, during some years, I don’t have it in me to have the Holy Week under a microscope. One of the very, very few things about Jesus of Nazareth that ancient sources agree on is that Jesus was crucified by the Romans. And that still makes me physically ill.

Why he was crucified is certainly debated. What happened to him immediately after that is the stuff that entire religions are crafted from! But the seeming fact remains: Jesus was crucified. (As was one of his brothers, and one of his great-great-great grandsons (or great nephew); and his other brother, James, had his legs broken by the High Priests and was then stoned to death. Basically, any men they could find who were still walking around that had even a shred of Jesus’s bloodline in them were systematically done away with. And while this isn’t proof that Jesus was considered the bloodline contender for King of the Jews, it does lend credibility to that theory. Because having a “fake” appointed king (Herod) opposed by a traditional (bloodline) king (Jesus) was going to be a real problem in Jerusalem for the Romans. And by “King of the Jews,” I’m referring to the traditional Hebrew belief that the next King (or Messiah) would be, in fact, two men — one who could trace his lineage to Aaron and the priesthood; and the other who could trace his bloodline to David, the king. And both men had to appear at the same time and within the same family, basically. And James was certainly a priest. That is well understood — even Paul could not completely wipe James out of the history books. But, to be fair, Paul was more focused on deifying Jesus and on making Jesus palatable to the Pagans, and on that score he was wildly successful. But I’m saying that from two thousand years of hindsight; I’m guessing that when Paul was (allegedly) beheaded by the Romans, he wasn’t feeling wildly successful. However, James was not of the recognized “High Priesthood” in Jerusalem, because those men were strictly appointed by the Romans, once Herod was declared King of the Jews by the same Romans. So, it’s Roman regulations versus traditional Hebrew beliefs and the Romans, of course, won through oppressive violence and bloodshed and all of that and, hence, the crucifixion — whether or not Jesus got back up three days later.) Anyway.

That all breaks my heart. Even these couple thousands of years later. I don’t always have it in me to have that be something I’m focusing on, daily, for several weeks (up until, you know, the Glory of the Resurrection, which, obviously, I don’t necessarily believe. In that specific way.). So, some years, I just can’t focus on it. But I haven’t made up my mind yet about this year.

I do love Easter, though. God knows.

Okay.

I am going to try to get back to work here on Girl in the Night: Erotic Love Letters to the Muse. That’s front & center on my plate. Nothing else is on the horizon today except booty core. And I hope it stays that way. (Although methinks I will likely hear from Peitor about how the meeting went…) (Heavy sigh)

So I’m gonna get to it here. Well, I’m going to leave you with 3 things today. Oddly enough, this morning, I reached for the breakfast set that’s made of glass: bowl, coffee mug, juice glass. All sparkling glass. Normally, I don’t choose glass. I either use porcelain or ceramics. Today, I chose glass. I don’t know why.

And I thought about the Blondie song, “Heart of Glass,” and wondered, was this telling me that I had a heart of glass? I really didn’t think so. Normally, I’m more of a “Tide is High” kind of gal if I’m going to define myself strictly through Blondie songs. (Not something I, you know, ever do. But there is always a first time to start doing something really weird.)

Did I have a heart of glass? Was I no longer a “Tide is High” kind of gal?? (Meaning, a gal who was gonna hang on to love, come hell or high water.) Well, I’ll let you decide that here this morning: what I ultimately am. You can listen to both songs if you so choose. (And/or you can choose to listen to only the final song posted here, which is the song I actually listened to at breakfast and which, I believe, once again illustrates that I am a simply huge believer in love. Come what may.)

All righty. Thanks for visiting, gang. I love you guys. See ya.

Wow, that’s a Day that Went South

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And I don’t mean south to sunny Florida, or anything like that. Although it did stop snowing…

My meeting with Peitor was really, really productive. Even though we didn’t work on the script. It was more business stuff that we were trying to –well, as he put it; “Marilyn, you’re very good at getting all the ducks in a row.” And I actually am. So we did that. So that we can accelerate our schedule, have a couple of micro-micro shorts completed, have our business plan together, etc., and start getting the meetings he wants.

I can’t stress enough how well connected he is, but I also can’t stress enough how  much I believe in the effectiveness of setting schedules and sticking to them. Not going on for years, finishing one short script.

So, we were in a really good place. And then right at the end of the meeting, Peitor says: “Okay, well, let me tell you a little bit about what’s going on over here.”

And then he proceeded to tell me, and it was all I could do to keep myself from sobbing. Because I know that tears aren’t going to help anything. Or anyone. Not even me.  But sometimes I can’t just keep getting lost in my work, or in my projects — which is where I always “go” when the life around me seems hopeless. I hit the wall of futility.

I know nothing is actually futile, until you actually give up. But sometimes it is just how I feel. And so I have to work hard, hard, hard at not giving in to that feeling.

This is stuff stemming from Peitor’s dad dying last week, and other things not related to the death but that are equally intrusive and disruptive and unforeseen.

And I know I have to be an empowering friend, not a crybaby friend. So I find the best possible words to say out loud to him, while inside I feel like crumbling to the ground.

And when we got off the phone, I went to the dollar store and found ice cream that had even less calories than the last kind I bought and was still, you know — it has flavor, anyway, and it’s not terrible for you.

I realize that ice cream doesn’t solve anything. And I still did my booty core — and I’m actually losing weight, although I’m still getting those curvy-wurvy things that annoy me a bit.

But anyway, I ate ice cream. And I let myself get angry. And I cried a little bit at the kitchen table. And I texted him and I said, “Should we push the schedule ahead by a couple months?” And he texted back, no, that he wanted to stay on schedule. So on we go.

But inside, I still feel angry and defeated — a little bit anyway. At the sort of “nebulous” world, I mean. Not at Peitor.  I just get tired of life. You know me by now. That’s my fall-back position: I’m done with this. Life sucks. However, I can’t actually allow myself to feel that way because Peitor is counting on me to be the exact opposite.

So I give up — but I can’t actually give up. And I hate everybody — because people suck, people are lousy, people are self-motivated and full of fucking stupid fear — and yet, what I actually feel is love for every fucking person on the planet. (Which is why, when people suck, it hurts so much, you know?)

Anyway. I haven’t been able to get any of my own writing done yet today. The night is still sort of young, so I’m going to keep trying.

Oh, and then the upstairs toilet broke. It’s one of those low-flow, water-saving things and that center thingy in the middle of the inside of it, just stopped. Thank you very much. So now I have to try to locate a reputable plumber who’s willing to come all the way out to Crazeysburg (and I guarantee you, that is not easy; no one knows where the fuck this place is. But all you have to do is set your GPS to the Land that Time Forgot and you will find me, easily!!). I know it’s a simple fix once you buy the new part, but not so simple if you aren’t a plumber…

So, I’m super excited about that.

And I’m hoping that tomorrow, I will wake up and feel just better about everything, for some as of now hard to fathom reason.

Well, on another topic entirely — Nick Cave sent out a Red Hand File thing this morning. It was just another one of those amazing ones. You can read it here.

I’m gonna go.  See what I can do about convincing myself that I’ll figure this all out at some point and everything will make sense. And seem okay. Okay? I hope you’re having a good night, wherever you are in the world, gang.

I leave you with this lovely hymn that my birth dad’s mom used to sing. I love you guys. See ya.

“Farther Along”

Tempted and tried, we’re oft made to wonder
Why it should be thus all the day long
While there are others living about us
Never molested though in the wrong

When death has come and taken our loved ones
It leaves our home so lonely and drear
Then do we wonder why others prosper
Living so wicked year after year

Farther along we’ll know all about it
Farther along we’ll understand why
Cheer up my brother, live in the sunshine
We’ll understand it all, by and by

Faithful ’til death, said our loving Master
A few more days to labor and wait
Toils of the road will then seem as nothing
As we sweep through the beautiful gates

Farther along we’ll know all about it
Farther along we’ll understand why
Cheer up my brother, live in the sunshine
We’ll understand it all, by and by

c- 1911, disputed authorship

Nothing Says ‘Happy Tuesday’ like More Snow!!

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Yes, indeedy. It’s snowing again! Those big fat fluffy flakes. Just the best.

(Wow. Well, I decided to take a photo of the snow outside the upstairs window at the end of the hall and guess what??!! Another ladybug!! That’s the little dark spot on the window there.  My house is just a ladybug factory this winter!! So auspicious, right?)

Another ladybug — on the window, there at the top of the tree!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Well. Man. Did I oversleep this morning. I didn’t get out of bed until nearly 8am!! I hate that. I feel like the morning’s half gone. So I didn’t meditate after breakfast; just did the Inner Being journal thing and then went straight into laundry mode.

I feel like I’m drunk, or something. You know that feeling? You sort of lurch yourself from sleep and you can’t get your brain to really focus? You’re sort of reeling around? Perhaps looking normal on the outside, but teeter-taughtering on the inside. (Too funny! Spell check advises me that I might really want the term “teeter-slaughtering” here. Wow, really?? I’m not sure I even want to know what that term might mean. I’m guessing the word I really want here, though, is teeter-tottering. Anyway.)

Peitor and I are working on Abstract Absurdity stuff today, so I’m sort of scrambling to force my brain into feeling creative here because I would really like to get some more work done on Girl in the Night: Erotic Love Letters to the Muse before he calls. (Meaning, Peitor is going to call — not the Muse.) (Well, the Muse always calls!!! Just not on the phone…) (Sadly.)

OMG! I just had the most amazing detour here, gang. I got the very best inspiration for a micro-short video series just now, that’s based on a musical comedy stage show that Peitor and I are also working on, so I had to text him!!! (Hopefully, I didn’t wake him. It’s only 6:30am where he’s at, and he’s a really light sleeper.)

Well, here’s hoping, gang. But I couldn’t risk forgetting to tell him the idea I just came up with. (I realize that there’s this thing called “jotting it down on a piece of paper…” But the lure of texting is sometimes just too great, isn’t it?)

Sometimes it gets a little overwhelming — the amount of projects that are piling up. Well, it’s actually always overwhelming, but I usually try to just focus on one thing at a time. But I’m getting into one of those phases where a number of my own projects are starting to vie for my attention all at once again, and then I feel like there’s just not enough time in the day. And so, then, when I oversleep, and the brain refuses to kick into gear — wow, it makes me feel so impatient. So frustrated.

(Oh, wow. I just came up with another great idea, based on something else Peitor and I are already working on – it would sort of jump-start the whole project. This is sort of incredible. I think the Muse is banging speed today or something.) (Of course, I would have a Muse that abuses recreational drugs…)

I am just in the weirdest frame of mind here this morning. I don’t know what’s up with me.

Well, on another topic.

I went to a baby shower over the weekend. I was not the oldest woman there but I was in the upper echelon, for sure. (And I also know for sure, that in that elite few, I was by far the least mature…)

Well, I brought this gift that I guess is sort of old-fashioned now, because no one at the shower had ever seen anything like it before. I was stunned. (A set of little pewter boxes for saving the baby’s first tooth and the first curl. This particular set was in the shape of a little horse-drawn carriage.)

Most of the women there were young mothers, and they were sort of gushing over this gift because they wished they’d had it for their own kids. They’d never seen anything like it. And it just made me feel a little like I was from some distant outer-space old-person land.

And, also, there was a young woman there with really long, full, thick hair, and she’s in the process of stripping out her hair color so that she can have it dyed “silver.” And she said to me, “Like your hair, actually! I want it to look just like yours.”

And of course, I was quietly thinking: Jesus Christ, why would you want to rush that along? What I wouldn’t give to have my long brown (non-thinning) hair back. I know it’s a trendy color now — a sort of luminescent silver. She’s actually not the first young woman who has said that to me about wanting my hair color. But it’s just funny. This woman couldn’t have been more than 25, already a mother of two toddlers, and wanting silver hair. Already.

Well.  I guess I’d better scoot. Try to get started here. Thanks for visiting on this snowy Tuesday morning, gang!! You probably won’t believe what I’m leaving you with today!! But don’t just dismiss it out of hand! Listen to it!! Because it is awesome. Roy Rogers — yodeling his way through some Texas Swing!! Here, with the Kentucky Headhunters from , like, 1990, or something,”That’s How the West Was Swung.” If you are feeling at all gloomy or sluggish, this will knock it right out of you. I’m so serious. All righty. I love you guys. Maybe I’ll check in again later.  Meanwhile — see ya!!

(Listen to this!! It will make you happy!!)

It’s All Just Pretty Darn Good Around Here!!

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Well, oddly enough — and as difficult as it is to believe — I had absolutely nothing to say yesterday. Isn’t that weird?

So I didn’t blog.

I took a break from booty core yesterday, too. Just because my muscles were worn out. What has it been, like, 10 days or something? I still can’t believe the difference. But I’m also thinking: Oh man, I’m going to have to do these exercises for the rest of my life. If I want to keep walking across the floor, that is.

But, seriously, I hadn’t realized that simple things had gotten even a little bit difficult. I just wasn’t aware. I did my yoga and things seemed fine. But now, when I bend down to pick up something simple like a cat food bowl — it’s just amazing how easy it is on my knees. It’s just effortless. And of course my posture is better, and now I can’t believe what a difference the better posture has made in my neck!

Which reminds me that,  late last night, just as I was falling to sleep, the man who died that I was in love with, came to visit. Just like that. He was just “there.”  In spirit. Just saying hello. It made me feel so happy. And I told him that I missed him so much but that I was doing really good now. Just so good. And I am, gang. I really am. And then I fell right out. Just gone. Sound asleep. So I don’t know if I went off with him to some other dimension, or what.

But, anyway, he always used to tell me that he was worried about my neck. He was really concerned about the angle of my neck in bed all the time because he didn’t want to accidentally break my neck. I didn’t want him to break my neck, either (!!), but it was just absolutely regular sex. To me, it was impossible to imagine that it would break my neck. And it sort of made me feel a little old, you know? That he worried that my neck might be that fragile. (And it also made me wonder, like: have there been a lot of women in your past that you’ve had intercourse with and it caused them to break their necks? But it did make me feel old when he said that.)

And then, this past summer, when I got the new laptop, it’s much larger than the other one I had and I found I was suddenly having severe neck issues.  So I focused on certain yoga stretches that helped a lot, but now with booty core, my posture has improved so much that my neck is really strong now. It’s just so weird that all of this strengthening has happened in such a short time. But then it also makes me see that I’m going to have to keep doing this forever. (And it actually is hard work, gang, so I’m super happy about that!) Anyway. I’ll mix it up with the yoga, but I’m thinking now it will be more core stuff with less yoga, and not the other way around.

Well, that was some sort of extreme digression, there. I didn’t know I was going to go into all that. (Oh, but since I’ve gone off on a tangent, I’ll also mention that the hair serum stuff really, really works. It’s incredible stuff. But I’m gonna have to use that now, too, for the rest of my life. ) (At this point, though, I’m thinking it will probably be best to live to be about 61 and a half and not 104, otherwise, it will be just too much stuff to try to keep track of around here.)

Actually, last night, when I got out of the shower and was using all 723 million of my various stay-youthful products, I was beginning to wonder what would happen if I lived, say, another 40 years and the company in France went out of business or something.  Oh my god, I didn’t even want to think about it! If they went out of business, I would get old, like, overnight. I’ve been using their products now for over 20 years!

Okay, well. I overslept this morning because I was having these endless, endless dreams. They were weird, sort of unpleasant, even bordering on nightmarish. And it literally went on for hours, because I would wake up for a moment and see the time, and then be out for another hour and a half. So it really was going on forever. And the weirdest part was that in every single dream, there were only women. Just women, women, women. And all kinds of women, of all different ages. Some of them I cared about and some of them unnerved me and some of them outright upset me. But so weird, to just dream on and on like that, only about women.

And the dreams took place in hospitals, and in parking lots, in public buildings, auditoriums, subway stations, apartment buildings — everything. And only women, everywhere.

The best dream was when I was in the front seat of a car with two other women. It was night time and we were just sort of relaxing there together, sort of stretched out on each other in this front seat — the stars were out. It was sort of magical. I know that the woman to the right of me was Blaire (of Blare N. Bitch fame, out in LA now). I don’t know who the 3rd woman was, but we were all just happy and blissed out. But during that wonderful dream, the cats woke me!! Darn cats!! Because, the other women in the other dreams — I’ll tell you, I was not really digging them.

Sort of weird that it came on the heels of that awesome dream about the bird and freedom and the male energy from the other night. And then to be stuck in hours-long dreams about women. Who the hell knows what’s going on with me, but it seems like something is.

Oh, I saw the young deaf boy again and he told me that he told his mom he was bisexual and that she was really supportive of him. He was so happy, you know? And I was so happy for him. As I was walking away, he stopped me and he said, “I hope you find someone to love.” Which was so sweet. But I’ve got it going on, you know; I’m intensely in love (from afar) with one man who is totally unavailable and intensely in love with another man who is totally dead. So no worries here!

But, actually, I am really happy, regardless. To “love,” itself, is the thing.

Okay, so I’m gonna get moving here! As I said, I overslept this morning. Hugely. I have tedious paperwork stuff to do for Abstract Absurdity Productions before my phone meeting with Peitor tomorrow. And God knows, I have Booty Core to do!! And I’d also like to get a little writing done, too. So, onward!

Thanks for visiting, gang! I leave you with the song I was playing nonstop yesterday – yes, that very same day wherein I didn’t blog at all! A very, very favorite song from my wee bonny girlhood — I tell you, I just loved this song! Glen Campbell, “Gentle On My Mind.” A huge hit song from, like, 1967. (And, honestly, gang; I really do believe that songs like this are what helped me develop into this sort of person who is just, well, I guess really independent when it comes to love. Is that the way to say it?)

I can recall so clearly, a car trip I was on with my family. I was 7. My dad always played the AM radio when we were in the car. I was sort of curled up in the backseat, because we didn’t have to wear seat belts back then. My older brother was next to me, but I don’t remember what he was doing. But I was always just so day-dreamy. Always a million miles away in my mind. And this song came on the radio, and I remember my whole heart just melting and mind opening right up; my whole soul just soaring. I loved this song so much.

And I still do, apparently!

Okay! Have a super cool Monday, wherever you are in the world!! I love you guys. See ya!

“Gentle On My Mind”

It’s knowing that your door is always open
And your path is free to walk
That makes me tend to leave my sleeping bag
Rolled up and stashed behind your couch
And it’s knowing I’m not shackled
By forgotten words and bonds
And the ink stains that are dried upon some line

That keeps you in the backroads
By the rivers of my memory
That keeps you ever gentle on my mind

It’s not clinging to the rocks and ivy
Planted on their columns now that bind me
Or something that somebody said
Because they thought we fit together walking
It’s just knowing that the world will not be cursing
Or forgiving when I walk along some railroad track and find

That you’re moving on the backroads
By the rivers of my memory
And for hours you’re just gentle on my mind

Though the wheat fields and the clothes lines
And the junkyards and the highways come between us
And some other woman’s cryin’ to her mother
‘Cause she turned and I was gone
I still might run in silence tears of joy might stain my face
And the summer sun might burn me ’til I’m blind

But not to where I cannot see
You walkin’ on the backroads
By the rivers flowing gentle on my mind

I dip my cup of soup back from a gurglin’
Cracklin’ caldron in some train yard
My beard a roughening coal pile,
And a dirty hat pulled low across my face
Through cupped hands ’round the tin can
I pretend to hold you to my breast and find

That you’re waiting from the backroads
By the rivers of my memories
Ever smilin’ ever gentle on my mind

c – 1967 John Hartford

Her Dreams Are Always So Darned Prophetic…

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Yes, I am going to tell you about the dream I had right before I awoke this morning, but first–

Sandra has now gone off to Stratford (Canada), where she begins rehearsals for the musical “Chicago”. And now, for almost the rest of the year, her life is going to be about flying back & forth and back & forth, to fit in the round tables and revisions and rehearsals in Toronto, as well as round tables and table reads and staged readings and rehearsals in NYC.

I’m only bringing this up because my schedule now has to piggy-back on her schedule for the rest of the year. Wherein, I will have to be flying back & forth and back & forth, to fit in the round tables and revisions and rehearsals in Toronto, as well as round tables and table reads and staged readings and rehearsals in NYC.

It’s going to be exceedingly interesting, gang. I’m going to try to stay flexible and not lose my mind or anything. But knowing Sandra as I do, I get the impression that, for instance, two and a half minutes before I have to be in Toronto for something, she’s going to text me to let me know that in two and a half minutes I have to be in Toronto — that kind of thing.

I used to travel a lot. Flying, I mean. I always had separate bags for flying that were always packed with whatever essentials I needed, so that I could just throw in some clothes and go. But this was when: a.) I lived in NYC and it was so much easier to get direct flights to places all over the country and in Europe; and b.) 9/11 hadn’t happened yet and airports and planes were still really fun things.

I was in an airplane, in fact, in the process of landing at LaGuardia in NYC, back in early 1981 — I was reaching up to get my overnight bag out of the overhead compartment thingy, when I decided to accept my first husband’s marriage proposal. Isn’t that funny that I remember that? I have no idea where I was flying back from, but I recall flying over the Statue of Liberty and getting up to get my bag ready, and thinking, “I’m gonna go ahead and marry him. I’ll call him when I get back to the apartment.” And I did.

He had proposed to me in the strangest way. I was actually living with another guy at that point. But Foun Kee considered the other guy to be completely inconsequential.  “He is just a boy, Marilyn. He has no ambition. He is not like you at all.” (Bold move. Yet he was correct.)

But you also have to factor in here that I was only 20 years old and that Foun Kee had the most amazing accent I had ever heard. He was Chinese, from Singapore, but he was from the aristocracy and spoke English with a pronounced British accent.  He was really conservatively educated and spoke precise and perfect English, which was daunting enough (i.e., he doesn’t use the ‘f’ word — ever). But that mixture of a Chinese/British accent was really just the coolest thing I had ever heard. And then, if for some reason, he was sort of angry about something, he launched into pure Mandarin, which I didn’t speak yet, so that was also just amazing to me. I was just a girl from Ohio, you know? Before there was even cable TV. Nothing at all was “global” yet.

ME: “Wow! You speak Chinese!”

HIM (not amused): “Yes, I do.”

ME (ever eager): “Will you teach it to me?!”

HIM: “No.”

Anyway, his accent was not why I married him. (And I should add that two years into the marriage, he began calling me “Marilyn dearest”, in that same accent of course, but I always felt it was sort of derivative of Mommie Dearest and so it always used to get under my skin.  And yes I have a temper, but I don’t consider myself quite as off-the-charts as Joan Crawford was so I didn’t think it was funny.) Anyway.  So he came over to our apartment in Hell’s Kitchen (back when it was Hell’s Kitchen and still really bleak and dangerous) one rainy Saturday afternoon while I was there alone. He was impeccably dressed. He even had his long, black umbrella and a slim briefcase (very British), and he sat down on the sofa, and took out a yellow legal pad that had several hand-written pages, detailing, in bullet points, all the reasons why I should marry him.

I am so serious.

I sat across from him in — yes, a desk chair!! And I was just astounded, you know? I was not interested in getting married. At all. To anyone. I was only focused on getting something happening with my singing and my songs. And he put his legal pad back in his briefcase and said, “Well, just please give it some thought.” And apparently, I did. (Because, you know, he also said things like, “You are so beautiful and I have dreamed all my life of having a woman like you for my wife.” I have a huge ego to go along with my lovely (Irish) temper.) (But I did absolutely adore him, gang, from the very moment we met. I have always loved an audacious man and he definitely was one.)

But anyway. I digress.

My point was that now I’m thinking that I should get that travel bag together again and just keep it ready, so that it’ll be easier to just go whenever I have to from now on.

Which reminds me that the phone call with Peitor yesterday in LA was several more hours of business stuff. And starting next week, we’ll have two meetings a week — one of which will always be devoted to working on whichever script, so that we can try to get everything moving forward at the same time. So life is definitely inching toward “crunch” time for me, as far as projects vs. time vs. travel.

Okay, so let me tell you about my dream! I realize that dreams are full of highly personal symbolism and might not easily resonate for anyone else. But this dream just astounded me — mostly because I don’t know why I dreamed it.

I had this sort of really large microwave oven that was also an incubator and a little bird was in there, in a sort of box, getting ready to hatch.

I was with a “guy” — I have no idea who, because he was just a form, a sort of energy. But definitely male.

When the bird came out of the incubator, it was going to be sort of like a  movie — but like a hologram, in that it would be completely 3-dimensional. And I sat down on the couch, really close to the guy because we were clearly “a couple”, and I told him what would happen — like giving him a synopsis of the movie — saying that the bird would come out and then get really, really large and sort of take over and become part of everything, and be really powerful. (Like a “super hero” type movie.)

And the guy said, “I don’t really want to see that.” And I really wanted to please the guy, so I said, “Okay, well, I’ll just try to get the bird to go back into the incubator.” (The bird had already come out of it.)

I got up off of the couch, went over to the incubator, and my right hand sort of went out in front of me, and suddenly the bird flew right over to me and perched right on my finger. It really gripped me but it didn’t hurt at all. And I was astounded by the power in the bird, and that — even while it wasn’t tame — it still knew how to perch right on my hand.

And I sort of shook it off, and then put out my hand again, and it flew right back and perched on me again and gripped me really tight. And I couldn’t believe how incredible that power felt.  And I instinctively knew that the bird symbolized freedom to me. So I decided to keep the bird. And then the whole apartment thing was gone, and the guy. And I was in a sort of professional building where a really big conference was going on — men & women, both. I didn’t go into the auditorium, even though they were waiting for me, specifically. But I did open the door just a little and let the bird fly in there and teach them.

Isn’t that an amazing dream?

I have to say, I pondered that dream all through breakfast. I don’t  think that men don’t equal “freedom,” but it was so interesting that my first mindset was that I really just wanted to please the guy (which is actually what I’m really like), but then once I felt the power of real freedom, I couldn’t go back. Plus, I really wanted to share it with people who wanted it. (And the “freedom” thing could also mean that I’m more committed to being a writer than to being in a traditional relationship, and that I can share my writing, my freedom, with all sorts of people without even being in the same room with any of them.)

I guess that was the dream that just explained my whole life to me and that later today, I’ll probably die!

Just kidding. (I hope!!) I’m thinking it’s more this Super Moon thing — a revelatory dream brought on by the moon.

Okay. I’m gonna scoot.  Enjoy your Saturday!! Wherever it finds you. (It’s snowing here again! Yay.) I think I’m going to work on Girl in the Night: Erotic Love Letters to the Muse today because Wayne still has not gotten back to me with his comments about Tell My Bones so I give up; I’m done waiting — onward!

Thanks for visiting, gang! I love you guys. See ya.

 

 

 

Crazeysburg in Tomorrow Land!!

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Oddly enough, even though it snowed most of the night and was still snowing this morning (and will apparently continue most of the day), my iPhone never once alerted me that it was snowing out (see yesterday’s frustrated post).

But here is a look at 1st Street from out one of my bedroom windows as the “sun” was coming up:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And on a different but still rather peculiar note, I was having the weirdest dream when I woke up this morning. I had an electric razor for shaving my legs that was made out of 2 different styles of razors and the Tammy Wynette song “D-I-V-O-R-C-E.”

Isn’t that weird — how dreams defy physics in the oddest ways? That I was able to shave my legs with a song?  And yet when I’m sleeping, it makes perfect sense.

I love that song, though. And of course, I started singing it the minute I awoke and was remembering my dream and trying to figure out what it meant. (I’m not sure I need another divorce, since I’m not married anymore, but I definitely do need to shave my legs. There is no doubt in my mind about that.)

Okay, well.

This is going to be a really short post. I can’t tarry on the blog today because it’s Friday and I have my phone meeting with Peitor out  in glamorous West Hollywood this morning!! (I’m not going to West Hollywood — he lives there.) (Crazeysburg is glamorous enough for me right now, thank you!)

It will be interesting to see what we get done today. It would be nice if we could finish our micro-script, of course, but I feel pretty confident that that won’t happen! Finishing scene 4 is probably the most we can hope for (a 90-second scene that is almost done — we’ve only worked on it for 3 sessions already.)

But if he wants to focus on more business stuff, as we did last time, then we’ll do that. Eventually, we’re going to have to work more than once a week or we will simply never get anywhere…

But I was also hoping to get in my half-hour session of Booty Core before the phone call, so that I can have that out of the way.

(My body is definitely changing, gang. Even after only one week. I’m now curvy and wurvy! But its also increasing my appetite. Which annoys me, because, you know, I don’t want to put on weight; I just want to walk across the floor.  However, I will just play all of this by ear because the fact of it is that my hip joints already feel so much stronger now. And I think that has to be more important for now than the fact that I want to eat 3 meals a day now instead of two.) (Plus, I also want to see how many times I can use the word “now” in a single paragraph.)

All righty! I’m gonna scoot. If you’re also getting snow where you live — enjoy!! Otherwise, just, well — enjoy!! I might post again later. Meanwhile…Thanks for visiting. You know what I’m leaving you with!! If you’ve never heard this song, it’s a true Country & Western classic from 1968.  Give it a whirl. It’s awesome! Tammy Wynette at her peak Tammy-Wynette-ness!! Okay. I love you guys. See ya!

“D-I-V-O-R-C-E”

Our little boy is four years old and quite a little man
So we spell out the words we don’t want him to understand
Like T-O-Y or maybe S-U-R P-R-I-S-E
But the words we’re hiding from him now
Tear the heart right out of me.

Our D-I-V-O-R-C-E; becomes final today
Me and little J-O-E will be goin’ away
I love you both and this will be pure H-E double L for me
Oh, I wish that we could stop this D-I-V-O-R-C-E.

Watch him smile, he thinks it Christmas
Or his 5th Birthday
And he thinks C-U-S-T-O-D-Y spells fun or play
I spell out all the hurtin’ words
And turn my head when I speak
‘Cause I can’t spell away this hurt
That’s drippin’ down my cheek.

Our D-I-V-O-R-C-E; becomes final today
Me and little J-O-E will be goin’ away
I love you both and this will be pure H-E double L for me
Oh, I wish that we could stop this D-I-V-O-R-C-E.

c – 1968 Bobby Braddock, Curly Putnam

The Better it Gets, Gang, the Better it Gets!

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Okay, well. Yesterday was amazing. Peitor and I worked for hours (on the phone) but we got nothing new done on the “Lita” script because we wanted to start getting our Mission Statement down on paper for Abstract Absurdity Productions and figuring out how we wanted to approach the layout of the web site, etc. (which is my job to execute in my “spare” time!!).

And then, while in the midst of that, we wrote three new micro-micro-shorts. I’m so serious. It’s, like, insane. How creative we are together. And the stuff is so funny that, once again, I ended up crying.

And it’s not the kind of thing that a viewer would necessarily see as “funny.” More, like — hm. that went someplace I didn’t expect. And even though the micro-micro-shorts are under 60 seconds in length, they are complete stories and are just really complex as far as filmmaking and ideas and sound, which, to Peitor and me, is a large part of what makes it so funny.

But it did, again, become extremely apparent that I’m going to have to spend a lot more time in Los Angeles. And I’m super hoping that my birth mom is going to be okay with practically living here when the time comes.

It is her birthday today, btw. She is 73. And it also would have been my stepmom’s birthday. So I called my dad first thing this morning and he’s not doing so great today. But overall, he’s managing.

And oddly enough, Peitor’s dad died yesterday morning. But that’s sort of really personal to him so I can’t comment on that. I can only say that we were off-the-charts creative yesterday. And just all day and on into the night — when I wasn’t thinking curiously about Nick Cave’s final Conversation in Brussels and wondering how on Earth I would live the rest of my life without knowing where he is, what he’s wearing and what he’s talking about, I was thinking about one specific story Peitor and I had thought up yesterday and it would just make me laugh out loud.

Which leads to the topic of the final Conversation in Brussels last night. Only a couple of photos of Nick Cave were posted to Instagram, but quite a few photos of the enormous sign in the theater lobby stating that phones weren’t allowed during the performance were posted. So, people in Brussels apparently have a strong belief in the truth of signs.

[mini update: as the morning went on, tons of photos and videos got posted, including him singing “15 Feet of Pure White Snow”!!!! Yay!!]

[another update — it looks like someone got engaged on the stage in Brussels last night!?]

I know, I know. I really and truly hate when people take out their phones in any type of performance space. I really do. And it’s really great that some people somewhere still know how to experience their lives without their phones. I’m actually that way myself. I would rather revisit what’s in my mind than what’s on my phone. Still… man, Jeez. Well. Okay, I’m not gonna go there. Don’t use your phones when you’re not supposed to!

The director of Tell My Bones texted yesterday saying that by Sunday night, he would have time to read the script and have comments for me re: the new character arc. I know I still want to work on the final bit of dialogue before the final song, but I am really eager to hear what he thinks of the new stuff. Because, honestly, I think this play is just about almost entirely finished!!!!! (Until it goes into actual table-reads…)

But this also means that I have all of today and tomorrow to either get to work on the new website, or even maybe take a little break and just do Booty Core (see yesterday’s post) and then relax!! Who knows? We shall see.

Meanwhile, have a happy Saturday, gang, wherever you are in the world! Thanks for visiting. I leave you with my breakfast-listening music from this morning. I just love the atmosphere of this entrancing song! From 2009, “Listen the Snow is Falling” by Thea Gilmore (but it’s from the Lennon/Ono Wedding Album, originally, but this version is just so hypnotic.). All righty. I love you guys. See ya.

“Listen the Snow is Falling”

Listen, the snow is falling over town
Listen, the snow is falling everywhere
Between Empire State Building
And between Trafalgar Square
Listen, the snow is falling over town

Listen, the snow is falling over town
Listen, the snow is falling everywhere
Between your bed and mine
Between your head and my mind
Listen, the snow is falling over town

Between Tokyo and Paris
Between London and Dallas
Between your love and mine
Listen, the snow is falling everywhere

Snowdrift, snowfall, snowfall
Listen

c – 1969 John Lennon & Yoko Ono

Oops! Another One That I Forgot to Title!!

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You know, I started working out religiously when I was 12 because, culturally, it’s just what you did. You were supposed to stay fit. Not because you needed to be “fit” at age 12, but because you were setting up good habits for the rest of your life. (Seriously.) (And this was before junk food and fast food took over the whole nation. I actually did not know anyone, yet, who was overweight.)

It’s sort of weird, right? How my entire life seems to have been about making sure I look really good when I finally die.

But, anyway. By “culturally” I’m talking about upper-middle-class white Midwestern America, because that’s what we were when I was 12. In 1972.

And I wouldn’t have dreamed of not working out. I was told to work out, so I did. Back then, it was calisthenics.  In fact, when I was 11, I won one of those  President’s Physical Fitness awards in gym class, which was all about calisthenics. The award was a congratulatory letter from the President of the United Sates and a patch that looked like this (mine was a “1” not a “3”). And when I won mine, guess who was President??!! Nixon. (Man, I wish I’d kept that letter!) Anyway, it looked like this:

Image result for the president's award for physical fitness"

So, from a wee bonny age, even the President of the United States, marred as he was by scandals that seem so harmless nowadays, urged me to get off my tiny butt and stay in shape!

And so I’ve just always done that. For a long time, it was calisthenics. And I mean, a really long time. And then, in the 1980s, it was aerobics. That was the craze. I did that for years, and that was actually really fun. In fact, Cher made a couple of aerobics videos that were really great. I loved those.

I also got into “the gym” stuff–free weights, rowing machines, stationary bikes, treadmills. I loved all that stuff. (Except when it came time to get rid of them. That part is never fun.) (And I recall one afternoon, when I was still living in the hellhole tenement apartment on E.12th Street in the East Village, one of my 5 lb. free weights accidentally rolled out the open 5th-story window, and as I was racing down 5 flights of stairs to get to the street, I’m envisioning someone dead on the sidewalk with a fractured skull, and me facing Manslaughter charges and a trip to Rikers Island, all expenses paid by the City of New York… but what I found, thank god, was a little Puerto Rican boy, walking off with it and I had to beg him to give it back, as he loudly proclaimed the “finder’s keepers” rule.)

Anyway!!! Yes. So, I have been doing yoga now for about 13 years. It has kept me sane and it also helped me stop drinking myself to death, back when I first moved back to Ohio to look after my ailing adoptive mother, and then found out that I had made just a horrible error in judgment. Moving back here was just a terrible, terrible mistake.

And since the ill-advised move back to Ohio coincided with the man I loved turning out to have a horrible gambling habit that wiped me out of my entire life savings — including a $9000 check from the insurance company to get a new roof put on my house (as much as you might truly love somebody, you know, think really, really hard about giving them one of your ATM cards. Seriously. Or, if you do, then check your bank balance, like, every 5 minutes.). And that horrible thing happened right when the world economy tanked and ravaged the publishing industry, putting 4 of my primary publishers out of business on the very same day…

Yes, when all of that happened at once, and I woke up every single morning wanting to commit suicide (and I continue to give thanks to the beautiful and gifted writer/publisher/editor Sean Meriwether in NYC — of Velvet Mafia fame — for taking so many of my distraught phone calls back then and helping me not kill myself) — well, I ultimately chose heavy drinking instead. And, you know, that’s gonna kill you, too. So truly, yoga saved me. It did. A couple of my girlfriends back in NYC who were really worried about me persuaded me to at least try yoga, and I wound up loving it on so many levels and it did really save my life.

So I’ve been a yoga-type gal for 13 years now. But yesterday, for whatever inexplicable reason, I decided to buy a 21-day video Pilates-type workout program, called Booty Core. I’m not sure what possessed me to suddenly switch it up — I’m not, like, obsessed with my butt or anything. I’m not even obsessed with working out; it’s just something I’ve always done. But you know what? I’m pushing 60 now, and back around the holidays, I was hanging out with a female friend who is 32. And a pen rolled off the table and down to the floor and then under the bar a little bit. So I got down on the floor — actually knelt all the way down and reached under the bar and got the pen. And she was literally aghast. She said, “How did you do that? At your age?”

I was, like, mystified. “How did I do what?”

“Get all the way down on the floor like that and then get right back up?”

Jesus, you know? I just found that so weird.  And then she said, “I can’t even do that!” And she’s only 32-fucking-years old! It was just so weird. And I guess I thank god for President Richard Milhous Nixon and all the good habits he instilled in me — and trust me, that’s not  a thing I ever thought I would find it in me to say.

So. I’m gonna try Booty Core for 21 days and see if maybe I can pick up a lot more pens from the floor!

On another topic.

Only a couple of photos posted to Instagram last night from the first Conversation in Brussels with Nick Cave. Although there were quite a few posts, but only, like, 2 people actually took photos during the show. But everybody who posted, of course, loved it. And it sounds like maybe he’s doing a few songs from Ghosteen now. (?) Tonight is the last night of the Conversations tour. I’m guessing he will continue to have conversations,  but none that we are invited to attend (even if we pay him!!) and that just sucks!

I’m sorry, I don’t have a photo credit for this. I grabbed it from the ticket sales site in the Netherlands.

I am going to go out on a limb here and encourage you to never attend a Conversation with Nick Cave. Because then you will never, ever want it to end. (And if you slavishly follow the posts on Instagram, as I do, you will see that I am not the only one who says this!!) I imagine that, if for some inexplicable yet heavenly reason, I ever ran into him on the street, I would dig out whatever loose change I could find in my pockets, hand it to him and try to get him to answer a question for me. Any question. (ME: “Here!! I have 14 cents. Will you please tell me what it was like the first time you had –“)

Because his answers are awesome.

Which reminds me, that the very moment I posted to the blog here yesterday, Nick Cave sent out another one of his Red Hand Files letter things. And it was uncanny. Whoa, like, it made me want to go right back to the blog and remove my post. If you recall yesterday’s post, it was all about my trying to come to terms with how fucking strange my writing always is.  And yesterday’s Red Hand Files was all about whether or not you had to be mentally ill to be a great artist…

Anyway… my own fucking insanity aside, it was another really great Red Hand Files, because he is just so eloquent.  And I’m just so frustrated that his In Conversations are going to end. Again.

Okay. I really gotta get moving here. Peitor will be calling from West Hollywood momentarily because we have to work on our micro-script and, of course, now the pressure feels sort of intense. Like, you know, we actually have to finish this darn thing, make the video, then make about 8 more…(!!)

For whatever weird reason, this song was in my head the moment I woke up this morning, and so I played it throughout breakfast and I’m leaving you with it today!! From the 1960 Broadway musical Camelot. (Yes, the very year I was born.) “How to Handle A Woman.” As sung here by Richard Burton. Okay, thanks for visiting, gang. I hope today is good to you, wherever you are in the world!! I love you guys. See ya.

“How To Handle A Woman”

“How to handle a woman?
There’s a way, ” said the wise old man,
“A way known by every woman
Since the whole rigmarole began.”
“Do I flatter her?” I begged him answer.
“Do I threaten or cajole or plead?
Do I brood or play the gay romancer?”
Said he, smiling: “No indeed.
How to handle a woman?
Mark me well, I will tell you, sir:
The way to handle a woman
Is to love her… simply love her…
Merely love her… love her… love her.”

c – 1960 Lerner & Loewe