Tag Archives: DCI Banks BBC

A Windy, Grey Day

After having a couple of really lovely hours yesterday evening — up in the 70s Fahrenheit, sunny, warm, gorgeous — the temperature is plummeting now, down to the 40s. And it is now cloudy, windy and grey.

But it’s okay, because God knows, I’m not going anywhere.

I can’t tell yet if I feel better today. I’m breathing better, but I am ridiculously tired. My main complaint remains the short battery life of my blue tooth speaker.  The hard-wired speakers for my iPad are down in the kitchen. And up here in bed, I rely on a cute little blue tooth speaker that, while aesthetically pleasing because it is a pretty frosted pink color with a really pretty blue light, it in fact cost me all of five dollars and, you know, needs re-charging quite frequently and, of course, the outlet is a mile away from the bed.

I have finished watching all the episodes of DCI Banks, and am now working my way through the most recent Agatha Christie re-makes from the BBC. And even though this current batch of remakes are my least favorite adaptations of Agatha Christie novels that I have ever watched, they still draw me in because the acting and the sets are incredible, but  — truly — as if on cue, the very moment the episode reaches its zenith of suspense, the little speaker shuts off and needs to be re-charged.

It’s actually funny, its that reliable.

Anyway. So I’d already watched The Pale Horse before I got sick, then I watched The ABC Murders — and even though I love John Malkovich just generally, it was my least favorite Poirot adaptation of all time. There was way too much bloody murder and lurid sex in it! I know — normally lurid sex is a deeply wanted commodity, but not in Agatha Christie, for godsakes!! It’s like an affront to the senses. I really found it incredibly annoying, although the very same scenes in some other writer’s TV-movie adaptation would have been really desirable and I would have thought: Wow, that scene was really well done (because, actually they were really well written, dark and troubling sex scenes, just not for Agatha Christie…).

And now I am watching Ordeal By Innocence (2018), which, so far, is the best of the lot.  I am trying to pace watching it with my constant need to sleep, so that the blue tooth is re-charging while I am doing the same!

All righty. That said, I need to go collapse in bed again. I leave you with another John Prine song, Spanish Pipedream (aka Blow Up Your TV), from off his debut album in 1971. (John Prine died late Tuesday night from complications with COVID 19. He was 73.)

Even though the song is really old, I identify with this particular song a lot at this stage of my life — and not because I identify with strippers, or Vietnam War draft-dodgers on their way to Canada, or with peaches, or having lots of children. I identify with this song because when I moved out here to the country and bought what I consider to be my first true home ever, I gave up my ministry. And I also got rid of my TV service.

Before I moved here to Crazeysburg, I had my little black shirt with the white collar, and I used to work a lot with the elderly, make home Communion visits to the housebound (or in nursing homes), and counsel people, mostly for grief & loss.  But I knew that the path I was on with Jesus was leading me farther and farther away from what “regular” Christians needed from me as a minister — and that is putting it mildly.

Out here in the middle of nowhere, with no more formal ministry of any kind —  I have done a whole lot of communing with Jesus privately, wherein I don’t have to answer to any established dogma.

So I love how the chorus of this song sort of  reflects what I personally went through when I moved out here to the country. It’s such a joyful song.

All righty. Thanks for visiting, gang. Enjoy your Maundy Thursday (Jesus’s Last Supper) wherever you are in the world!! I love you guys. See ya.

“Spanish Pipedream (Blow Up Your TV)”

She was a level-headed dancer on the road to alcohol
And I was just a soldier on my way to Montreal
Well she pressed her chest against me
About the time the juke box broke
Yeah, she gave me a peck on the back of the neck
And these are the words she spoke

Blow up your TV throw away your paper
Go to the country, build you a home
Plant a little garden, eat a lot of peaches
Try and find Jesus on your own

Well, I sat there at the table and I acted real naive
For I knew that topless lady had something up her sleeve
Well, she danced around the bar room and she did the hoochy-coo
Yeah she sang her song all night long, tellin’ me what to do


Well, I was young and hungry and about to leave that place
When just as I was leavin’, well she looked me in the face
I said “You must know the answer.”
“She said, “No but I’ll give it a try.”
And to this very day we’ve been livin’ our way
And here is the reason why

We blew up our TV threw away our paper
Went to the country, built us a home
Had a lot of children, fed ’em on peaches
They all found Jesus on their own

© 1971 John Prine

I Suggest Cigarettes, Whiskey, & Sleeping Pills!!

“‘A sex-crazed whore who sings of her own wantonness,’ one theologian wrote…”

NO! Not about me, he wrote that about Sappho.

I spent yesterday reading a wide-flung bunch of stuff.  In particular, some fragments of Sappho’s poems. These translations were in an early-20th Century literature collection, and so it was interesting to read the preface to Sappho’s poems, wherein the editors were taking that really odd approach (in my opinion) to the life and works of Sappho — downplaying any homoerotic references in her work, attributing it to some sort of Greek custom where young women had erotic relations with each other in order to prepare them for marriage and motherhood.

Okay… hmm. (Is that, like, every guy’s dream or something?)

If you read the huge amount of endless stuff written about Sappho, you will find all of man –& woman –kind, coming up with all sorts of strange and sometimes seemingly farfetched ways to explain the life and times of Sappho. (And it’s interesting to note that here in contemporary times, where we value and identify with the individual, and so we believe that she was simply writing about her private erotic longings for other women, we could be furthest of all from understanding Sappho, who lived in an ancient era where the “group” was what personally identified people, not the individual.)

Anyway. I found it interesting that the particular translations of Sappho that I read yesterday were well-written but lacking in some of the intense passion I’ve read in other translations of her poetic fragments over the years.

And then in the same book, I read some translations of Baudelaire that I thought were awful. And they were translations written by Edna St. Vincent Millay, who was, you know, a substantial poet in her own right. But I found her translations to be the least moving translations of Baudelaire’s poems that I had ever read.  (My favorites are Louise Varese’s translations from the 1940s.)

And then, of course, I had to once again confront how we are sort of prisoners to whoever is translating the work we’re reading.

A few days ago, I once again took Love in the Time of Cholera from the bookshelf and toyed with the idea of reading it (I am still in love with that person I really should not be in love with and sometimes I’m okay with it and sometimes it just feels devastating).  And since we are in this unprecedented pandemic and since I am so incapable of not loving with every cell of my entire being, it seemed like an appropriate book to get lost in.

However, I didn’t want to break my heart even more…

But I am daily confronted with the fact that I simply cannot write right now. I can’t focus. I can’t find a thread in to any of my work. I can’t find the inspiration to begin something perhaps brand new. I am stuck. Completely. Day after day. Hour after hour.

This morning, I awoke at 4:29 AM and I was already crying.  And I cried all through breakfast.  I felt like I was never going to write again and that, based on what I had written so far (45 years worth of stuff), I was a complete failure. Whether or not it’s true, when you’re feeling that way, it’s real. And I cried through my little journalings at the kitchen table (my Inner Being dialogue today was brief and to the point: they told me to “step back, breathe” and: “do NOT dismantle your desires; step back and let them BE.”)

But still I cried when I began my morning meditation, which, you know, is not really the most productive frame of mind to go into meditation with, however, it actually was an incredible meditation. By the end of it, I had new tears, but they were of joy. I had a complete transformation.

Last evening, I actually had begun reading Love in the Time of Cholera because I simply could not resist the pull of it any longer, even though I have brand new books here waiting to be read, ones that I just bought. And this morning, it became apparent that I’m just going to have to ride out this pandemic in whatever way it finds me each day.I don’t really have a choice.

Early yesterday evening, during my now daily routine of pacing around the kitchen, at loose ends with myself while trying to watch another episode of DCI Banks, I came really, really close to just going out on to my porch and lighting up a  cigarette, drinking a  shot of whiskey, and then taking a sleeping pill to obliterate the rest of the night.

These are my old habits, but I outgrew them. I haven’t had them for years. I don’t need them anymore, but it is undeniable that I was intensely creative during those old habits; and yet… what I did instead last night was finally picked up Love in the Time of Cholera and just started to read, because if I’m going to die from a broken heart, I’d rather have clarity about it than be obliterated by it.

Oh well.

So if I end up not writing anything at all, but reading other people’s works all day long and on into the night, then that’s the way it is likely supposed to be right now.

(And I was also struck anew last evening by the recurring question of translators because the English translation of Love in the Time of Cholera (by Edith Grossman) is so exquisite, that I cannot even imagine what Marquez’s books are like in the original Spanish.)

So that’s where I am today. I’m resigned to keeping clear of my desk, to lying around and reading Marquez (in translation). And loving it. And loving my broken heart and everything that I love about who I love. And just letting life be, for now.

It is a beautiful day here. I will probably take a walk later this afternoon. Also do Booty Core. (I have to say, I am not a real big fan of Booty Core. I much prefer the yoga, which I do most of the time. But Booty Core saved my legs and my hip joints, so I’m gonna stick with it forever, a couple days a week.)

Yesterday, the item pictured below arrived! It was reduced for clearance, so I ordered it. It’s one of those flight bags that stores under the seat so, clearly, I’m planning on flying again — getting back to work once this pandemic moves on.

All righty, gang. Thanks for visiting. Have a great Thursday, however it finds you and wherever you are in the world. I leave you with this — a song I was thinking about the other day for the first time in decades, “Backstreet Girl” by The Rolling Stones, from their Between the Buttons album (and on Flowers in the US). It’s a stunning song, from over 50 years ago. That doesn’t mean I actually like it, but it is thought-provoking — the intense misogyny of it. And it’s weird that I’ve known all the words by heart since I was about 12.  Okay, with that — I love you guys. See ya.

“Backstreet Girl”

I don’t want you to be high
I don’t want you to be down
Don’t want to tell you no lie
Just want you to be around
Please come right up to my ears
You will be able to hear what I say
Don’t want you out in my world
Just you be my backstreet girl

Please don’t be part of my life
Please keep yourself to yourself
Please don’t you bother my wife
That way you won’t get no help
Don’t try to ride on my horse
You’re rather common and coarse anyway
Don’t want you out in my world
Just you be my backstreet girl

Please don’t you call me at home
Please don’t come knocking at night
Please never ring on the phone
Your manners are never quite right
Please take the favors I grant
Curtsy and look nonchalant, just for me
Don’t want you part of my world
Just you be my backstreet girl

©  1967 Jagger- Richards

Before I Say Goodnight…

Interesting day here, gang.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ve Got A Friend”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

© 1971 Carole King

Yeah, well…

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

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

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










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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Break in the Weather!!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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










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

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

It really felt that way.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nature Boy”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not the most fun day ever…

It’s been a sort of up & down day here, gang.

I got a chance to talk on the phone with Sandra at length today, so that was nice.

She’s back in Rhinebeck now and has begun to work on the revisions of our other play. It seems to be undergoing a title change (again), from The Guide to Being Fabulous, back to Hiding in Plain Sight. I understand why she wants the name change (the play is a musical about her life and the overshadowing specter of the play is her transgender stuff.)  I like either title, though.

Anyway, she has started the revisions and that will involve me here soon, too. I guess I have nothing but time, right?

The virus cases here in Ohio have of course increased — up to 867 today. Over 17,000 people here in the State have now been tested. Sadly, 145 of those confirmed with the virus work in the healthcare  industry. (There are close to 12 million people who live in the State, so who knows when it will level off.)

Still no confirmed cases here in Muskingum County. And where my dad lives, while they have 18 cases down there, he has people doing all his grocery shopping for him & stuff, so he doesn’t go out at all.

It started out being another really pretty day again here today. After I did Booty Core, I decided to go take a walk. Not to be morbid, but the graveyard is my favorite place to walk. It’s an active cemetery but it’s almost 200 years old, and all of the founding father’s of the town are buried there.

Here is a photo I took with my phone of the founder’s grave thingy. It’s the only above-ground crypt type thing in the graveyard.  (It’s a terrible photo, as usual. Sorry.) Samuel Frazey died on March 6th 1840. He was 61 years old. (He had a really young wife, named Eliza. I don’t think that’s what killed him, though.)








By the time I reached the cemetery, it was already becoming cloudy out and now it’s getting ready to rain — and apparently will for several days. So here’s hoping the rest of my bathroom ceiling doesn’t come down!

And even though the day is basically over now, I am just now sitting down at my desk to get some writing done. Then probably some more DCI Banks later tonight.

Well, the birds are singing and daffodils are in bloom all over the town. So here’s hoping we will all get through this soon enough.

On Brian May’s Instagram feed just before (he’s the lead guitarist for the band Queen), he recorded all the people in Britain applauding from their windows — they were clapping for all the healthcare workers all over Britain. Instagram is so cool.

Okay. I hope you’re doing good, gang, wherever you are in the world tonight. Take care of yourselves. I love you guys. Thanks for visiting.

Okay, um — is it just ME?!

I realize that I have an over-zealously filthy imagination, basically 24/7 — but does that photo above look a little on the lurid side to you?

It does to me. Jesus.

I spent most of the afternoon cleaning my house yesterday, and so I was going to regale you with something chaste and in really good taste (you know, sort of like moi) and, until that  provocatively positioned gal scrubbing floors on all fours caught my eye, I was going to go with something like this and try to pass her off as me:









I realize you don’t fool that easily, but I was still going to try… And please don’t tell me that the gal on all fours looks a lot more like me than the chaste gal in the intensely straight flowered apron does, because then you will only hurt my feelings and from there, we will go nowhere fast.

All righty!! Well, if you’re joining me yet again, I accidentally posted this post too soon!! Yes — it went out to about 400 people before I could stop it.

But here I am again.

I hope that was not an indicator of how the rest of my day will go.

So, yes, I did spend the afternoon cleaning my house yesterday.  And I had no less than nine windows open. It was such a beautiful day here. So sunny. Warm. Totally Spring. The cats were incredibly joyful with those windows open.

You know, I am always really aware of how sad the cats get when Autumn comes for real and I have to close all the windows for the duration. But it wasn’t until yesterday that I really saw the immediate difference the seasons make in the cats: Because of the open windows, they didn’t sleep the whole day away yesterday. They were perky and alert and just so joyful. So happy. Hanging out together by the open windows in the family room. All their little tails up straight & tall. It was so cool to watch it. And in the evening, they hung out by the open windows in the kitchen — I was in there streaming DCI Banks at the kitchen table, so it was almost like they were hanging out with me. (But, alas, I don’t fool that easily, either.)

Today is going to be another really gorgeous day. So I’m looking forward to it. It helps with the quarantine stuff when I can actually step outside and look up at the sky, you know?

Some more good news — my friend who works for NASA in Houston, who has been battling cancer for several months now, has finally begun to put on some weight. Still 2 more weeks before he will know if the radiation/chemo therapy worked.  But it’s a relief that he’s finally been able to at least put on some weight. We’ll see.

Other good news is that there were no new confirmations of the virus here in Ohio during the night. (Of course, alas, the day is still young.)

And still no cases of the virus at all in Muskingum County.

So, yes, I cleaned yesterday and I didn’t write.  I did think about writing, a little bit. And I’m not sure what I’m going to do today.  I think I’m just going to let life dictate to me where it wants to go. (I’m not really good at this, but I’m learning.) (There are a lot of things I’m not really good at, actually, and so I’m trying to listen to Life a whole lot more than I ever did.)

And yesterday, I also heard from a number of people from all over the place — just checking in to see how I was, which was so nice. Plus, my dad called me! Which is weird, of course, because I’m the one who calls him every day now.

But if you recall this blog on Tuesday, you might recall that I was having a really bad day, for a number of reasons.  And my phone call to my dad on Tuesday included me going off with the “F” word a lot, about various personal things and stuff even about my last marriage, oddly enough.  I actually couldn’t stop — I was a real cavalcade of the “F” word during that phone call on Tuesday. I was just so angry about so much stuff.

So my dad called yesterday to see if I was feeling better, which was really nice. And I actually was. I felt worlds better yesterday.

Just trying to get a grip on everything, you know? With or without this pandemic — although the pandemic sure brings things into tight focus, doesn’t it? In fact, nowadays, I hear from my first husband constantly — he emails me something like 5 or 6 times a day now from Seattle. Sometimes more. Sometimes it’s terrible news stories, but usually they’re upbeat funny little emails. They perk me up, for sure. He has a dry and very gentle sense of humor. He always has. His unusual sense of humor was what first attracted me to him. (And then his enormous capacity for quiet compassion was the next thing…)

I don’t understand life, at all, you know? I understand all of the choices I’ve made, and why I made them when I made them. And I don’t really have any regrets. And things that maybe I used to regret, I see now that there was no reason to have regrets because the decision wound up being the right one, in hindsight. But still. I don’t know. Life is just weird. (And I’m not just talking about my marriages, I’m talking about all the major decisions I’ve ever made.) (I remember every single fucking one of them.)

Okay, gang. I’m gonna close this and give some thought to what to do today.  I’ll write something, probably, but I don’t know what. I hope things are good where you are, that you’re keeping everything at bay. Thanks for visiting. I didn’t listen to any music at breakfast this morning, so I’ll leave you with my housecleaning music from yesterday afternoon!! Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers, Playback CD #4: “The Other Sides”.  Songs they never released on any studio albums. All righty! Enjoy. I love you guys. See ya!

“Psychotic Reaction”
(Recorded live, with Heartbreakers’ drummer Stan Lynch on vocals)

I feel depressed, I feel so bad
‘Cause you’re the best girl that I ever had
I can’t get your love, I can’t get a fraction
Uh-oh, little girl, psychotic reaction

And it feels like this!

I feel so lonely night and day
I can’t get your love, I must stay away
I need you girl, by my side
Uh-oh, little girl, would you like to take a ride, now
I can’t get your love, I can’t get satisfaction
Uh-oh, little girl, psychotic reaction

© 1966  Kenn Ellner, Roy Chaney, Craig Atkinson, John Byrne, John  Michalski

Just Chillin’ !!!

So far, so good over here in Crazeysburg, gang!

The good news of course is that China is out of lockdown now and, as predicted recently by the US showbiz news sites, movie theaters there have begun to re-open. Life is getting back to normal there.

In the rest of the world, now 96% of all confirmed cases are considered mild, and 103,395 people have recovered (as of 3/24/2020).

And even my dad said on the phone yesterday that he’s trying to keep the TV off, so miracles are happening everywhere!

I need to regale you with the new coffee mug that’s on its way to me!! It reads: “I like pretty things and the word Fuck”







Just in time for Spring, right??

Also, I was informed over the weekend that my copy of Stranger Than Kindness, the companion book to the currently postponed Nick Cave art exhibition in Copenhagen is on its way to me!! I’m really excited, gang.









They sent me a photo of my book on the actual boat it was loaded on to, so I feel very encouraged that it will reach Crazeysburg sometime this year!

Slow boat from China, bringing me my much anticipated Nick Cave art book! You can’t see it too clearly here, but that guy way over to the far left, is holding up my book!

Once more, I apologize if you’re viewing this post on your phone and the images are skewing the text. I really don’t know why it sometimes does that now.


Today, of course, is Abstract Absurdity Productions day. I believe we are working on the synopsis today, perhaps even the pitch deck, for “Lita måste gå!” (aka “Lita’s Got to Go!”). (It actually does have those 2 titles, which is why I always post it like that.)

I have not resumed work on the web site in the past few days, just because: a.) I didn’t have all the information I needed yet; and b.) it was making me fucking crazy.

I still have the handy-dandy “To-Do” list posted on the wall in front of my laptop, though, which lists everything that still needs doing on the web site. But the good news is that I am now able to completely overlook that list, 24/7. My eyes can look right at the list and yet not transfer any of the information that’s on it to my brain. Almost as if the list no longer exists!! Yay!!

I did manage to nail down the structure I needed for In the Shadow of Narcissa yesterday. I’m not sure why it was being so elusive, but I’ve got it now and I hope that now I can just move forward with writing the rest of the pieces for the chapbook.

Sadly, I don’t think I’m going to be able to keep posting the pieces to my Narcissa web site — or, at least, not all of them. The book pirating problem being what it is now, I don’t want the entire chapbook available online before the book even gets published, you know? (I’ve already seen signs that the existing pieces have already been illegally copied overseas.) But if/when I do post excerpts, I’ll let you know about it here on this site.

And you can always sign up for updates directly through the Narcissa site. (Scroll to bottom.)

And just in case you were curious, it has been nearly one year since quite a few small presses have had my query and/or manuscript regarding my novel Blessed by Light, and only one publisher has responded (and that one publisher responded immediately, said they loved it, but that it was too short for them to publish). Not a single other small press has responded at all. Narry a peep.

So different from the old days before the financial crash, when small presses gave you a yay or nay, usually from an actual person, within 6 weeks. (And plus nowadays, you often have to use “submittable” to submit your query/manuscript, which means you have to pay for them to read it and not reply to you forever.)

Meanwhile, on we go!!

All righty, gang! Thanks for visiting!! Have a terrific Tuesday, wherever you are in the world. I hope you’re continuing to find great ways to enjoy your lockdown.  (I’m still streaming re-runs of DCI Banks in the evenings.) Remember to stay fit and eat right and do the things that will help you keep your spirits up!! Keep in mind: just a few more weeks of this and then we’ll all be looking at just another few more weeks of this!!! And then – SUMMER!!!!

Okay. I leave you with my breakfast-listening music from this morning, “Get Ready for Love” from Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds’ truly incredible 2004 double-album, Abattoir Blues/The Lyre of Orpheus. (It’s kind of unfortunate, though, that they released a double-album that has two titles that are kind of hard to spell…) But enjoy, gang, and play it loud. I love you guys. See ya!!

“Get Ready For Love”

Get ready for love! Praise Him!
Get ready for love! Praise Him!
Get ready for love! Get ready!

Well, most of all nothing much
ever really happens
And God rides high up in the ordinary sky
Until we find ourselves at our most distracted
And the miracle that was promised
creeps quietly by

Calling every boy and girl
Calling all around the world
Calling every boy and girl
Calling all around the world

Get ready for love! Praise Him!
Get ready for love! Praise Him!

The mighty wave their hankies from their
high-windowed palace
Sending grief and joy down in supportable doses
And we search high and low without
mercy or malice
While the gate to the Kingdom swings
shut and closes

Calling every boy and girl
Calling all around the world
Calling every boy and girl
Calling all around the world

Praise Him till you’ve forgotten
what you’re praising Him for
Praise Him till you’ve forgotten
what you’re praising Him for
Then praise Him a little more

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

Let’s Keep Washing, Gang!!

I am definitely not a germ-o-phobe by any stretch, but this virus is starting to push the limits of my non-germ-o-phobia, that’s for sure.

I did three teeny-tiny loads of laundry yesterday, only because I kept wondering which clothes the clothes I was wearing might have touched or brushed up against, even by accident, when I came in from my big trip to town yesterday. (If you’re using google translate, good luck with that paragraph.)

And then I kept washing my hands — did I touch that when I came in? Oh, but now I’ve touched it for sure, should I wash my hands again? Better safe than sorry.

And then: Is my throat sore? Am I getting a sore throat or does my throat always feel like this? I seem fine but my throat feels like it might be getting sore…

All fucking day. I did manage to keep it from getting out of hand, but still. Just that one quick trip into town to go to the market and my mind started to unravel.

Luckily, I am only going to have to make one trip into town each week.

Here’s something I’m going to tell my dad today and I’m sure he’ll be pleased as punch to hear it: the World Health Organization has issued a recommendation that people not listen to the news more than twice a day. I’m sure he’ll point out that he only turns the news on once and then turns it off, however, in the middle of that is the entire day.

Anyway, I’ll give it a shot and we’ll see how it goes.

I did have sort of a rough evening last night. I watched the second half of Agatha Christie’s The Pale Horse (BBC, 2019) and I saw why people gave it such bad reviews. I still enjoyed it overall, but the second half had a lot more violence in it, and the ending was so rushed it was almost incomprehensible. It would have benefited from being a 3-part show instead of a 2-part show. And I wound up feeling like the original version the BBC did probably about 15 years ago or so was a lot better, even though it veered widely from the original story.

Then I switched over to the reruns of DCI Banks and, oh my god, the episode that started streaming automatically started out so bloody and creepy and then turned out to be all about rape. Which you can guess, I just enjoy the hell out of. (And it isn’t so much the actual rape stuff that bothers me, it’s the fact that everyone cares so much that the rape happened and they all need to band together to get the rapes to stop because it is just so terrible and it’s enraging everyone; whereas in my own experience, no one at all cared in the slightest bit that I had been raped — and more than once. Culturally, nobody gave a shit about rape back then. That’s the part that is hard for me to handle, even after all these decades.)

I finally made myself turn it off, but I was only 20 minutes from the end of the show. So I had sat there for quite a while last evening (nearly 3 hours), creeping myself out and wondering the whole time: is my throat getting sore?

But I slept great and I am very happy today, and my throat is absolutely not sore and I’m not stressing about anything at all. I’m planning to get some good work done on In the Shadow of Narcissa today, too.

Oh, plus, I forgot to thank whoever that was on Saturday night who downloaded a free copy of Twilight of the Immortal!!!! That was really nice to see. Thank you.

I’m not going to keep posting all the numbers re: the pandemic, but I will say that over 100,000 people have now recovered from the virus, and overall, we are still holding at 95% of the active cases worldwide being mild. So, you know, keep washing, but it’s in the process of moving through. Never lose sight of that.

I thought you might like to see a photo of the inside of my refrigerator.  I had my phone with me at the kitchen table this morning and when I opened my fridge, it was almost too much. it’s just so fucking healthy, who the hell wants to eat anymore?

Inside my boring fridge!!








Okay. On that lofty note!

I leave you with my breakfast-listening music from this morning! Thanks for visiting, gang, and have a wonderful Monday, wherever you are in the world! Try not to get stressed. Stay focused on the miracle of the human body, and on the undercurrent of love that runs throughout our very beingness; let it all work its unfathomable miracles in this crucial time, okay? I love you guys. See ya!