Tag Archives: Girl in the Night: Erotic Love Letters to the Muse by Marilyn Jaye Lewis

Well, Happy June 19th!

There is a segment of the African-American population that doesn’t really want white people to appropriate their holiday– Juneteenth — which is today. So I won’t appropriate it, but it is big news right now so I will at least acknowledge it and, since most of my readers live in foreign lands, let you know about it!

Juneteenth is a holiday in the State of Texas, which was the final Southern State to emancipate black slaves on June 19, 1865, which meant that the entire country became ostensibly a free country — although freed blacks still had a really rough time of it , especially in the Southern States, after slavery was abolished. (That’s putting it mildly.)

However, African-Americans in the whole country now honor the Texas State holiday — called Juneteenth — which is today.

Also, today — “Disclosure” is premiering on Netflix;  a new documentary about trans lives in Hollywood. And Sandra Caldwell is interviewed in it, and was also featured in the Los Angeles Times over the weekend, in promotion of the documentary. (For readers who are new to this blog, Sandra is the Rhinebeck-based actor I work with on several theater projects. You can see her in 2 of those photos there from my trip to Rhinebeck, NY, this past September. In happier pre-virus, pre- lockdown days — when Nick Cave was still on his North American In Conversations tour!!) Sandra has been trans since the 1970s, and has been in many dozens of movies and TV shows (and stage shows) throughout that time.

Also, today is the release of Bob Dylan’s new album Rough and Rowdy Ways. This is his first album of all original songs in 8 years — and it includes that amazing new song of his that was dropped a couple months back, “Murder Most Foul.”

So, kind of a big day, with lots happening around here.

I am going to try to get some writing done, although I am battling depression here once again. So we’ll see how that goes. Sometimes I get good work done, even when I’m depressed. Other times — like yesterday — it quickly becomes a lost cause. But we shall see. I am still only halfway done with Letter #8 for Girl in the Night. And I would really, really like to finish that.

My current depression stems from a sudden inability to really discern a difference between being physical and being non-physical. (I won’t go into the myriad “Particle Physics” details of that whole thought process because it will literally make you just as insane as I am.) And now that so much of the US is just kind of reveling in such horribly awful shit every single day, with no end in sight, I keep inching toward that question: What is the point?

But I do have these many rescued feral cats depending on me, and I also know that at this particular juncture in time, Peitor would have a really difficult time coping with stuff if I simply bailed. So I try to stay focused more on him, than on these intensely convoluted thoughts concerning Particle Physics that are in my head. It would be nicest of all if I could just focus on writing today, though.

One bright spot — last evening, I began streaming  Professor T on PBS. This is a Belgian import — another murder mystery, however this one takes place in modern day. I think a new season is getting ready to drop, so I’m going to try to catch up. I really, really loved the episode I watched last night!! It’s so well written. Although, at first, the subtitles are a wee bit distracting. Eventually, though, I completely forgot that I was reading them — the show was so good.

Okay! I’m gonna close this. And I’ll leave you with one of the songs from Dylan’s new album — this one is titled “My Own Version of You.” Enjoy!! And thanks for visiting, gang. Make it a great Friday, wherever you are in the world!! I love you guys. See ya!

“My Own Version of You”

All through the summers, into January
I’ve been visiting morgues and monasteries
Looking for the necessary body parts
Limbs and livers and brains and hearts
I’ll bring someone to life, is what I wanna do
I wanna create my own version of you

Well, it must be the winter of my discontent
I wish you’d’ve taken me with you wherever you went
They talk all night and they talk all day
Not for a minute do I believe anything they say
I’m gon’ bring someone to life, someone I’ve never seen
You know what I mean, you know exactly what I mean

I’ll take the Scarface Pacino and The Godfather Brando
Mix it up in a tank and get a robot commando
If I do it upright and put the head on straight
I’ll be saved by the creature that I create
I’ll get blood from a cactus, gunpowder from ice
I don’t gamble with cards and I don’t shoot no dice
Can you look at my face with your sightless eyes?
Can you cross your heart and hope to die?
I’ll bring someone to life, someone for real
Someone who feels the way that I feel

I study Sanskrit and Arabic to improve my mind
I wanna do things for the benefit of all mankind
I say to the willow tree, “Don’t weep for me”
I’m saying to hell to all things that I used to be
Well, I get into trouble, then I hit the wall
No place to turn, no place at all
I’ll pick a number between a-one and two
And I ask myself, “What would Julius Caesar do?”
I will bring someone to life in more ways than one
Don’t matter how long it takes, it’ll be done when it’s done

I’m gonna make you play the piano like Leon Russell
Like Liberace, like St. John the Apostle
I’ll play every number that I can play
I’ll see you maybe on Judgment Day
After midnight, if you still wanna meet
I’ll be at the Black Horse Tavern on Armageddon Street
Two doors down, not that far a walk
I’ll hear your footsteps, you won’t have to knock
I’ll bring someone to life, balance the scales
I’m not gonna get involved any insignificant details

You can bring it to St. Peter
You can bring it to Jerome
You can bring it all the way over
Bring it all the way home
Bring it to the corner where the children play
You can bring it to me on a silver tray
I’ll bring someone to life, spare no expense
Do it with decency and common sense

Can you tell me what it means, to be or not to be?
You won’t get away with fooling me
Can you help me walk that moonlight mile?
Can you give me the blessings of your smile?
I’ll bring someone to life, use all of my powers
Do it in the dark, in the wee, small hours

I can see the history of the whole human race
It’s all right there, it’s carved into your face
Should I break it all down? Should I fall on my knees?
Is there light at the end of the tunnel, can you tell me, please?
Stand over there by the cypress tree
Where the Trojan women and children were sold into slavery
Long before the first Crusade
Way back before England or America were made
Step right into the burning hell
Where some of the best-known enemies of mankind dwell
Mr. Freud with his dreams, Mr. Marx with his ax
See the raw hide lash rip the skin from their backs
Got the right spirit, you can feel it, you can hear it
You’ve got what they call the immortal spirit
You can feel it all night, you can feel it in the morn’
It creeps in your body the day you were born
One strike of lightning is all that I need
And a blast of electricity that runs at top speed
Shimmy your ribs, I’ll stick in the knife
Gonna jumpstart my creation to life
I wanna bring someone to life, turn back the years
Do it with laughter and do it with tears

© 2020 Bob Dylan

The Excitement is Palpable in Crazeysburg!!

Wow, gang.

Usually, by 9pm, I turn off the ringer on my phone and then, anyone who texts me or calls me after that, it will just have to wait until the following day.

But last night, at around 9, when the ringer was off and I was done working, I was scrolling through TikTok and a silent, non-pinging text appeared on my screen from Peitor and it said, “Go look at your email — it’s going to make you feel good.”

So I figured I could continue working at least long enough to read an email that was allegedly going to make me feel good.

Oh, gang! It was the first professional/industry feedback from one of Peitor’s colleagues in Hollywood on our Lita måste gå! script. (AKA “Lita’s Got To Go!”)

We’ve already had feedback from people who want to get onboard Abstract Absurdity Productions and officially be part of the team (cinematographer, social media coordinator, line producer), and all of that early enthusiasm has made us both feel really great. It really has.

But this was the first response we’ve gotten from someone in the industry who was reading the final, fully-edited script, whom we’d asked specifically for critical feedback, and he could not have been more enthusiastic.  He totally “got” our concept: the European New Wave directors that our film is an homage to, the complete absurdity of our premise and our characters, and our absolutely inexhaustible attention to irony and detail.

The email didn’t just make me feel good, it made me feel fantastic.  And not just because of my recent anguish regarding white people (!!) and my play, or the utter lack of any sort of a response whatsoever from so many small presses over the last year regarding my newest novel — I have sort of gotten used to having my work exist in a vacuum now. So to finally have a human being respond so personally and so enthusiastically to yet another project I’ve (we’ve) been working on, heart & soul, for quite a while — it felt so great.

It really did. Plus, he made a point of giving special comments to our main absurd character (the only one that has dialogue — 5 lines in the film; the one I want a specific A-list star to play); his comments on that character sent me to the moon and back. I love that character so much — the complete erotic absurdity of him.

And without any irony at all, he asked us if we were planning to shoot on location in Sweden!! And, as loyal readers of this lofty blog already know — we fucking ARE planning on it!! A thing that causes me a wee bit of budget-related distress: shooting key scenes of an 8-minute film on location in Sweden…

So that comment made me feel really good, too. It was such a great way to end the evening.

Overall, though, yesterday was a really good day. I finally had some real breakthroughs on Letter #8 for Girl in the Night: Erotic Love Letters to the Muse. It finally started to open up for me and I got really excited. (And, yes, that means that, yet again, I had to completely re-write the first 3 pages.)

And then — remember the toad that lives around my porches now? He seems to prefer the front porch — I’ve found him a few times hiding in a nook under the step, behind one of the flower boxes. Well, yesterday, late morning, I went out front to water the flowers and it turned out he was burrowed down in the soil inside one of the flower boxes and his brown color was perfectly camouflaged with the soil so I accidentally watered his head!!

It was so cute. The water from the spout of the watering can streamed right down on his head and his eyes sprang open, he looked up at me without really moving, but his expression seemed to say, “Well, thank you very much.”  It was so funny. I just love that toad.

The Tale of Mr. Jeremy Fisher - Wikisource, the free online library
Funny, it didn’t look like rain…

Well, okay!! I’m gonna get started here. It’s yet another lovely day — at least, so far!! However, I will consider the plight of my toad. They keep saying thunderstorms are coming later today, so we’ll see.  But for now, it’s a really beautiful morning. I’m going to get back to work here on Letter #8. It would be so cool if I could finally finish it this week!

Have a great Thursday, wherever you are in the world. Thanks for visiting, gang. I leave you with my evening-listening music from yesterday: another amazing oldie from my wee bonny teenage girlhood!! The late Andy Gibb’s “I Just Wanna Be Your Everything.” I hadn’t thought about this song in ages, and when I played it yesterday, I still absolutely loved it and then couldn’t stop playing it. So listen and enjoy, gang!! Okay. I love you guys! See ya!

“I Just Want To Be Your Everything”

For so long
You and me been finding each other for so long
And the feeling that I feel for you
Is more than strong, girl
Take it from me
If you give a little more than you’re asking for
Your love will turn the key
Darling, mine
I would wait forever for those lips of wine
Build my world around you, darling
This love will shine, girl
Watch it and see
If you give a little more than you’re asking for
Your love will turn the key

I, I, I just wanna be your everything
Open up the Heaven in your heart and let me be
The things you are to me
And not some puppet on a string
Oh, if I, if I stay here without you, darling, I will die
I want you laying in the love I have to bring
I’d do anything
To be your everything

Darling, for so long
You and me been finding each other for so long
And the feeling that I feel for you is more than strong, girl
Take it from me
If you give a little more than you’re asking for
Your love will turn the key

I, I, I just wanna be your everything
Open up the Heaven in your heart and let me be
The things you are to me
And not some puppet on a string
Oh, I, if I stay here without you, darling, I will die
I want you laying in the love I have to bring
I’d do anything
To be your everything

I, I, I just wanna be your everything (Your everything)
Open up the Heaven in your heart and let me be
The things you are to me
And not some puppet on a string
I, I, if I stay here without you, darling, I will die (Darling, I will die)
I want you laying in the love I have to bring
I’d do anything
To be your everything (I just wanna be your everything)

© 1977 Barry Gibb

Smooth Sailing Here in Crazeysburg, Gang!!

Happy, summer, gang!! We are getting there — just 4 more days!!

Well, another glorious day is upon us here, and I want to take full advantage of that feeling, because the next several days are supposed to include lots of thunderstorms.

Loyal readers of this lofty blog no doubt recall that thunderstorms around here means that, throughout the day and night, I go around closing 21 windows, then opening 21 windows, then closing 21 windows…. ad infinitum.

Until the storms clear.

Sometimes, I get so fed up with all the openings & closings, that I become very nautical and try to determine from which direction the wind is actually blowing, and then only close windows on that side of the house. Or sometimes, if it seems that no real wind is blowing at all, and the rain is sort of falling straight down, I close no windows at all and just sort of let everything get a little bit wet.

Okay, well!!

I am making the weirdest “progress” on Letter #8 for Girl in the Night: Erotic Love Letters to the Muse. I was once again at it all day yesterday, and only managed to take about 4 paragraphs that I’d already written the day before and re-write them down to about 8 sentences. And then, after I’d closed down the laptop for the evening, I was re-reading what I’d re-written and realized that one of those sentences needed to be completely re-worded.

Multiply that by 3 weeks, or some such nonsense as that, and you get an idea of how long it’s taking me to write this particular “Letter.” And the weirdest part of it is that I know exactly what I want to write about! But the words are coming out so darn slowly. It is ridiculous.

Peitor is supposed to call today. I’m not sure if we’re doing Abstract Absurdity Productions work, or if we’ll just be chatting. We haven’t talked in a while, so either way will be good.

He’s primarily a music producer/composer, and he’s been in the studio a lot now, catching up on mixes because he couldn’t get in the studio while L.A. was in lockdown. The last few days, he’s been working primarily on mixing one particular song he wrote — with a very, very Beatles “Sgt. Pepper” type sound — and he sends me updates on the various mixes every day. And the one he sent over during the night blew my little socks off this morning! It was so fucking good!!

I wish I could post the music file for you here on the blog, gang, but he would probably kill me!! But it is just so good.

I just went on a google search to see if I could find info on the singer he’s using right now — a guy I actually follow on Instagram, but he usually goes informally by his initials and now I can’t remember his actual name so I can’t even find him on Instagram. Anyway, I found this great photo of Peitor instead!! From 2012  — (he’s about 55 years old here. He doesn’t ever seem to age at all). (He just turned 63 this past Tuesday.)

This Time (2012) - Covering Media

New topic…

I am indeed studying French again — on the Mondly app. Since I gave up studying Italian back in September, that’s where the Mondyl app left me — in September’s lessons — regardless of the fact that I am now studying a different language.  Since I actually know French, I am going through a month’s worth of lessons & quizzes every 2 days. I’m trying to get caught up to the actual current lesson (meaning June’s lessons). So I’m going at quite a clip.

It is definitely more conversational than any French I’ve ever studied. So, even though I tried just leaping in at June, I found a bunch of phrasing that I wasn’t really familiar with, so that’s why I’m trying to get all the lessons in order.

I really enjoy studying French, obviously. I have just always loved the French language (& culture) (& films, too,  god knows!!). But, now, as I’m studying — and of course, being reminded of all the various language courses in French that I’ve taken over the last 52 years (including but not limited to attending the Alliance Française in NYC):

Education Archives - Page 2 of 3 - Cerami & Associates

— I am of course very aware that, nowadays, people just speak English into their phones and then out it immediately comes from their phones in the language of whoever it is that they’re trying to talk to.

No incentive (or need) anymore to really learn a language at all, so I’m not 100% sure why I am still bothering. But I just love the darn language! So on I go!!

Plus, I’m learning nouns that, oddly enough, I’ve never learned before. Like the French words for “shark,” or “monkey,” or “housefly.” Sort of common words, right?  But I have always studied more of a “business” type, formal French. And certain ordinary words, in all this time, have never come up!

My French colleagues in Paris used to tell me that I actually wrote French better than most of the actual French people they knew. Which means that, if you’re just a regular French person trying to converse casually with me, I don’t have a clue what you’re saying!! I honestly don’t.  (If I was in a publisher’s office, having a meeting, though, I could understand everything because the French I know is so formal.)

Anyway, this is why I say that, after 52 years of studying it, I still don’t speak French. Maybe this time will be different!! We shall see.

And if I still can’t speak French after 53 years, I’ll just speak English into my phone and let my phone converse with you.

Okay, so!! On that chipper note…

I’m gonna get started here today. I hope you have a great Wednesday, wherever you are in the world and in whatever language you speak!! I’m leaving you with my breakfast-listening music from today, even though I’ve posted it here before — “Opium Tea” from B-Sides & Rarities (2005) by Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds. I love the mood of this, and the pacing and the melody. So listen (again) and enjoy!! Thanks for visiting, gang. I love you guys! See ya!!

“Opium Tea”

Here I sleep the morning through
Till the wail of the call to prayer awakes me
And there ain’t nothing at all to do but rise and follow
The day wherever it takes me

I stand at the window and I look at the sea
And I am what I am, and what will be will be
I stand at the window and I look at the sea
And I make me a pot of opium tea

Down at the port I watch the boats come in
Watch the boats come in can do something to you
And the kids gather around with an outstretched hand
And I toss them a diram or two

Well, I wonder if my children are thinking of me
‘Cause I am what I am, and what will be will be
I wonder if my kids are thinking of me
And I smile and I sip my opium tea

At night the sea lashes the rust red ramparts
And the shapes of hooded men who pass me
And the moan of the wind laughs and laughs and laughs
The strange luck that fate has cast me

Well, the cats on the rampart sing merrily
That he is what he is and what will be will be
Yeah, the cats on the rampart sing merrily
And I sit and I drink of my opium tea

I’m a prisoner here, I can never go home
There is nothing here to win or lose
There are no choices needed to be made at all
Not even the choice of having to choose

Well, I’m a prisoner here, yes, but I’m also free
‘Cause I am what I am and what will be will be
I’m a prisoner here, yeah, but I’m also free
And I smile and I sip my opium tea

© 1996 Nick Cave, Conway Savage

Simplicity is So Fucking Cool!!

Tuesday in Crazeysburg!!

The house is clean. The laundry is well underway. The fridge is full of food. The weather is unbelievably perfect. I at least look like I’ve lost some more weight today but I’m not gonna get on the scale and find out for sure, I’m just going to assume that I did!!

And the cell phones seem to be up & running again!! (T-Mobile claims it was an “IP traffic-related” issue, but I’m sure we all know it was really another white anarchist domestic terrorist attack…)

But, regardless — it’s over! Today is officially perfect!

Okay.

I am going to try to make some significant progress on Letter #8 for Girl in the Night: Erotic Love Letters to the Muse. It has been such slow-going around here. But I’m feeling like today could be the day where a bunch more words are going to finally come out and land on the page!! We shall see!

One of the things I really like about this collection is that each “Letter” comes out so differently. And I honestly never know what to expect from them until they do come out. And, obviously, since these are memoirs, they are intensely personal, which can also be very illuminating (to me, I mean).  And then each of the finished “products” (each letter) sets me apart from myself and I become an observer of my life for a few minutes.

It is a very cool process, even though it’s also almost stupidly personal at the same time.

And another thing I love is knowing that I’m self-publishing everything from now on. I don’t have to worry about whether publishers or booksellers are going to be uncomfortable with what I’m writing about.

You know, back in 1999, when Neptune & Surf came out, the largest bookstore chain in America, Barnes & Noble, refused to carry the book — the same book that the Guardian newspaper in England called one of their Top Ten picks for summer reading that year. If a person went into a Barnes & Noble here in the States and asked for it to be ordered for them personally, the store would do it, but they refused to carry my book in their stores because of the novella, “Gianni’s Girl”. It offended them beyond belief. Even though the publisher had made sure (for once) to put a beautiful, non-sex-related cover on the book — it still didn’t help.

(And Trump actually had nothing to do with that!! Can you imagine?? Life used to suck a lot, even back then!!)

Well, a lot has changed since 1999, still, it is so mentally liberating to just write now and not worry about how I’m going to pitch the thing to an editor somewhere.

The plays and the movie scripts are different. They’re sort of eternally evolving processes that are always collaborative, in a sense. A lot of input along the way from others  in those projects . But my books are still just me, by myself, sitting at my  (indescribably tiny) desk, writing.

All righty. Well, I need to get going here. Finish the laundry and then call my dad — with the phones out for so many hours yesterday, I was not able to call and check in with him. So I need to do that.

I hope you are having a terrific Tuesday, wherever you are  in the world, and that maybe your weather is as perfect there as it is here today. Not too hot, but totally sunny and just so peaceful. (And I am still totally obsessing about getting some flower boxes in that barn window, gang, so I need to figure out what the heck I can do about that!)  Meanwhile…

I leave you with a song I haven’t listened to in awhile, but it came up on Instagram this morning, so I leave you with that today — “Babe, I Got You Bad”,  from Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds’ B-Sides & Rarities (2005). (I think I’ve posted it here before, but here it is again!!)

Okay, enjoy. And thanks for visiting, gang. I love you guys! See ya!

 

“Babe, I Got You Bad”

Babe I got you bad
Dreaming blood-wet dreams
only madmen have
Baby I got you bad
I wish to God I never had
And it makes me feel so sad,
O, Baby I got you bad
Yeah, Babe I got you bad

I long for your kiss,
for the turn of your mouth
Your body is a long thing
Heading South
And I don’t know what I’m talking about
All of my words have gone mad
Ah, baby I got you bad

Seasons have gone wrong
And I lay me down in a bed of snow
Darling, since you’ve been gone
well my hands, they don’t know where to go
And all of my teeth are bared,
I got you so much I’m scared
Ah, baby I got you bad

With the sweep of my hand
I undid all the plans
that explode at the moment I kissed you
on your small hot mouth
and your caramel limbs
that are hymns to the glory that is you.
Look at me darlin’ it’s sad sad sad
Look at me darlin’ it’s sad sad sad
Baby I got you bad

Smoke billowing from the bridges
and the rivers we swim in are boiling
My hands are reaching for you everywhere
but you’re not there, or you’re recoiling
and a weary moon dangles from a cloud
Oh honey, I know it’s not allowed
To say I got you bad.

I got you bad…
I got you bad…
I got you bad..

© 1997 Nick Cave

For God’s Sake, Just Say ‘Yes’ To Drugs!

I don’t know about you guys, but I’m having the hardest time trying to live through the morning over here.

I’m so done with the news. I guess we should just encourage everybody to go ahead and exercise their 2nd Amendment right to own firearms and protect themselves; this way we no longer have to worry about hair-trigger cops being called in to deal with “situations” anymore, and we can just all shoot one another.

Don’t have to worry anymore about race, creed, gender, religion, etc., etc., and cops.

That horrible American problem — solved. (We’re absolutely stellar at killing one another, though, so no problems there.)

And now there are all these weirdos out there (women, obviously) who want international legal regulations in place regarding AI sex robots, because the robots are getting too life-like and it’s disturbing the highly educated human women, and they’re worried that too many people (men) will get alienated from real live people (meaning, you know, people who shoot each other all over the place in this country…) As if it’s anyone’s business how alienated people want to become in the privacy of their own homes.

You know, I, for one, recall all sorts of intensely intense scenarios that me and my little girlfriends imposed on Barbie — with and without her fabulous clothes on — yet they never created laws about how we could treat her. It was never stark-raving-naked Barbie and all the things we subjected her to that upset  & alienated me; it was those real-live fucking alienated men who raped me who actually upset me.

For godsakes, let them rape their sex dolls instead. Why the fuck do we need to make international laws about it? Nice as it is of those women to worry so much about random, nameless men, getting too much alone-time at home with their helpless dolls.

Also…

I loved how the various news outlets jumped so furiously on Fox News for allegedly portraying the Seattle autonomists (autonomous-ists?) as carrying guns… Later in the day, the Seattle autonomous-ists said, “well, yes, we do carry firearms — to protect ourselves from white supremacists…”

Christ, you know? I’m just done. No more fucking news without first imbibing heavily in drugs…(I’d say “booze,” but you know, booze puts on weight!! Much like this COVID 19 pandemic quarantine shit!)

So. I’m just done.

Unfortunately, I can’t take drugs and write worth a darn so I’m stuck being intensely 100% sober in every way. I’ve decided, instead, to put all sorts of barricades up between me and “the news.”

But on that auspicious note… I am making very good progress on Letter #8 — oddly enough, titled: “The Choice to Kill” — for Girl in the Night: Erotic Love Letters to the Muse. It’s going really well but it is also slow-going, only because I’m trying to capture so many complex things in a very few, tightly written pages.  But I’m still happy with it.

(And, yes, I have completely developed a bona fide habit of having an unlit, filter-less cigarette in my mouth now whenever I’m sitting at my desk. I don’t think I’m ever gonna light it, but I have gone through that whole pack of Chesterfields that I bought several months ago, and now I’m halfway through a pack of Pall Malls.) (Because I’ve noticed that the filters snap off more easily from Pall Malls…) (Life in Crazeysburg these days…)

Oh! And I do indeed have a new barn door!! Yay!! However, that idea I had the other day, about putting some sort of flower box in the barn window? I’m having a lot of trouble finding planter-hardware that will fit the 8-inch width of the window ledge, without it being some sort of DIY, which I am not at all handy with. To say the least.

The widest planter- hardware I can find only fits a 6-inch window ledge.  And I must say, though, that I sound quite interesting, saying, “No — I’ve got to have 8-inches!”

(More drugs, please.) (But it is super-cool that at my rapidly advancing age, people are still so ready to accept that a thing like size would still be at the forefront of my needs…)

All right. Jesus Christ. Here’s hoping that this day helps me reclaim some sort of sanity.

You know, not only is it Arbor Day here in America – thankfully, a holiday that honors trees, and that no race, religion, creed, or gender felt it necessary to appropriate from any other one — it is also the “anniversary” of my first suicide attempt.  For some unknown reason, that date has always stayed with me — for 45 years now. So I’m going to try to look for and then tally all the reasons why I’m so darn glad that I lived long enough to see this glorious fucking day unfold before me, in all its splendor.

On that note, I’m going to get going around here, gang. Enjoy your Sunday. Please. And thanks for visiting. I leave you with more Bee Gees breakfast-listening music from this morning!! Another spot-on song from their Spirits Having Flown album (1979): “Love You Inside and Out” (lyrics in video). But I’m also leaving you once again with Nick Cave’s version of “Cosmic Dancer” because I popped onto Bad Seed TeeVee, as I am wont to do, and it was playing again. And this song is one of the few songs around my house right now that makes me feel like — somehow, someway — I’m gonna survive this fucking fucked-up thing I call my American life. Enjoy, gang. I love you so much, guys. See ya.

Can You Say “New Barn Door”??!!

I can!! The Amish guys will be here soon!!

Another dream coming true here in Crazeysburg, gang!

Wow, last evening was just the most amazing summer evening in a small town. Okay, I realize that, technically, it’s not going to be summer for about another week. But still. It’s June. It glorious weather. It’s summer.

The weather was so perfect last evening, that everyone was out and about — either riding bikes or riding motorcycles, or sitting  out on their lawn chairs around the fire pit, and/or playing music, etc.  Up until about 9:30 at night, when the sun finally disappeared from the sky.

On evenings like that, a lot of the neighbors are usually smoking weed, too, and the smell of it wafts into all my open windows from all directions, but now that lockdown for most public places ended this past Wednesday, I guess the weed-smokers were out at the lake…

Local Crazeysburg pot-smokers at the lake…

I know that you’re probably thinking, from the way I get so upset here on my blog about the state of America in general, that I must be in the thick of it — but none of those things are actually going on in Muskingum, County.  Like most of rural America, the virus put in a negligible appearance here; social distancing is practiced, but masks are not worn out here, etc. And the riots/protests didn’t happen out here, either — and, practicalist that I am, I’m guessing it’s because way too many people in rural America, including Muskingum County, own plenty of guns and aren’t at all squeamish about using them.

But that’s just a wild thought off the top of my cynical head…

It’s funny how people in rural areas tend to know the Constitution, though, especially that part where it was determined that the 2nd Amendment gave individuals the right to bear arms to protect themselves (and their property)…

Well, even so.  And even while the tiny village I live in is remote, I do still get upset about the shape of the rest of the country because I’m not able to separate myself from the rest of the country, or even the world, really, for that matter.

But that said — last night was just like some sort of dream. It really was. I felt just so grateful that some higher power found this house for me in the middle of beautiful Nowhere, Ohio. (Even if it means I have to breakdown and buy a male AI sex robot in order to have someone to enjoy it all with!!)

Okay.

Well, my dad has indeed decided to move! At age 90. Not to Florida, thankfully, but at least to a less restrictive senior retirement type place. He’s currently in Independent Living, on a nursing home compound, which will remain under lockdown probably until January, and he’s losing his mind. He’s in very good health — except for that recent stress-related thing a few days ago, which was also related to the lockdown. He’s only at a nursing home place because my stepmom needed to be there, but she has since passed away. So he’s moving to where things are no longer in lockdown. And now he has to seriously down-size his possessions. In 2 months…

This means that all those art work thingies of his that I have absolutely no room for but really, really want, are soon going to be mine. So that will be interesting, gang. I am so serious when I say that I have absolutely no room for any of it!! But I’m not going to let it get given away.

So, yesterday, I got great work done on Letter #8 for Girl in the Night: Erotic Love Letters to the Muse. So I am really happy about that. I’ll probably be working on that exclusively today.

And then, during the night, William, over at a1000mistakes blog in Australia — who is always making lists related to music, bands, books about bands, live concerts — posted his Top 100 favorite Nick Cave songs.

I was astounded by this! Not just the fact that he took the time to do that, but that he was able to categorize all those great songs into some sort of preferred order.

I cannot even imagine being able to do that. I’m only able to pick, like, my top five if I’m forced to do it. To think about it, I mean. And even then it gets hard to put even 5 great songs into some sort of preferential order.  So, to me, his list was just fascinating.

Plus, growing up in Australia, he has had ready access to lots more Boys Next Door records and Birthday Party records, too. I have very little of that stuff and have had to sort of poke around on YouTube to even find it. So that was cool, too! You can check it out at this link if you’re so inclined.

Okay. I guess I’m going to get started around here!  When you next hear from me, I should have a brand new barn door!! Finally!! I hope your Saturday is just as magical, wherever you are in the world! Thanks for visiting, gang.

I’ve been in a Bee Gees mood around here lately — the love songs this time, and not the heartbreaking songs, for which they are so renown! So I leave you with my breakfast-listening music from this morning: “Too Much Heaven.” It was off their Spirits Having Flown album from 1979, which has a couple other mega-platinum hits on it, as well.  So, listen and rejoice.  And enjoy your beautiful day. I love you guys. See ya!

“Too Much Heaven”

Nobody gets too much heaven no more
It’s much harder to come by
I’m waiting in line
Nobody gets too much love anymore
It’s as high as a mountain
And harder to climb

Oh you and me girl
Got a lot of love in store
And it flows through you
And it flows through me
And I love you so much more
Than my life.

I can see beyond forever
Everything we are will never die
Loving’s such a beautiful thing
Oh you make my world… a summer day
Are you just a dream to fade away

Nobody gets too much heaven no more
It’s much harder to come by
I’m waiting in line
Nobody gets too much love anymore
It’s as high as a mountain
And harder to climb

You and me girl got a highway to the sky
We can turn away from the night and day
And the tears we had to cry
You’re my life…

I can see a new tomorrow
Everything we are will never die
Loving’s such a beautiful thing
When you are to me, the light above
Made for all to see our precious love

Nobody gets too much heaven no more
It’s much harder to come by
I’m waiting in line
Nobody gets too much love anymore
It’s as high as a mountain
And harder to climb

Love is such a beautiful thing
You make my world a summer day
Are you just a dream to fade away

Nobody gets too much heaven no more
It’s much harder to come by
I’m waiting in line
Nobody gets too much love anymore
It’s as wide as a river and harder to cross

Nobody gets too much heaven no more
It’s much harder to come by
I’m waiting in line
Nobody gets too much love anymore
It’s as high as a mountain
And harder to climb

Nobody gets too much heaven no more
It’s much harder to come by
I’m waiting in line
Nobody gets too much love anymore
It’s as high as a mountain
And harder to climb

© 1979 Barry Gibb, Robin Gibb, Maurice Gibb

Bliss in Crazeysburg!

I usually don’t like to show you photos of my actual home here in Crazeysburg, on the legendary Wakatamika Creek (pictured above), because I don’t want you guys to get jealous!!

However, I do live rather luxuriously here, with my boat dock right in my house, at the bottom of the stairs — and of course, my prized AI male sex robot to keep me company on the couch…

Seriously, though — don’t you just love that picture? Someone’s idea of the future? And yet it contains completely outdated technology.  Plus, you really, really gotta love somebody to want to live so remotely — and so alone — with them, right? And it looks really spacious, but it’s all sort of just one room, when you study it closely.

I have yet to love somebody that much that I wouldn’t want to have at least one wall between me and him or her.

You know — I’ve actually been seriously contemplating the perks of owning a male AI sex robot. I’m at least investigating that thought. Not for the sex, just the company. I’ve lived alone now for 4 years (well, alone with anywhere from 11 to 7 cats). But it’s been nine years since I actually lived with somebody I was romantically inclined toward (wow, that “love” word just really doesn’t want to put in too many appearances in my life, does it?).

Anyway, it’s been 9 years since I awoke, daily, with somebody in the bed next to me. And I’ve been thinking how, well — maybe it would be cool to have a male sex robot to at least occupy space in the bed, you know? Just lay there, and just be like somebody who’s in the bed. You don’t have to do anything. The more I thought about having that additional “presence” there, the more appealing it seemed.

However, they only make, like, 2 different models of AI male sex robots and they’re really young looking, and they don’t look anything like what I’m normally attracted to in real life. The fact that they cost more than my house has nothing to do with my reluctance; it’s strictly the way they look…

I mean, I do kind of like the hippie-biker-trucker type quasi-surfer looking robot (he’s brunette, too!!), but I’m creeped out by the fact that he looks about 17. If they made a hippie-biker-trucker type quasi-surfer looking brunette male sex robot who looked about 60, I might start looking into a second mortgage on my house. But, I guess, until then…

Anyway!!

Well, yesterday was fun. I accidentally unsubscribed myself from Nick Cave’s Red Hand Files email thingy. I think I signed back up, but when I tried to re-subscribe through his site, it seemed to think I was already subscribed and wanted to know what my fucking weird American problem was — (my words) — so I think it’s my actual Yahoo account that thinks I’m unsubscribed.

I was really quickly cleaning out my inbox yesterday on my iPhone (have you noticed how fast you can delete emails now on the iPhone???) and when it asked me if I wanted to unsubscribe to “Nick Cave”, I clicked “yes” before I had a chance to not click “yes.” Really — it just came at me so fast. I mean, God forbid they ask me if I want to unsubscribe from those weird SnapChick emails from extremely creepy young women who want to have sex…

So, I tried to fix the mistake through my inbox,  although I’m not sure if I did.

But it feels like it’s been forever since he sent out a Red Hand Files thingy (that could be my skewed perception, I’m not sure), so I keep checking, checking, checking — both at Yahoo and at the RHF site — to make sure I’m still getting the updates because I don’t want to miss out on my reason for living!!!

Other interesting things I did yesterday — got some good work done on Letter #8 for Girl in the Night: Erotic Love Letters to the Muse. I was at it until about 8 o’clock last night. And it’s strange because I feel like I know what I want to say, or to write about, but it keeps coming out weirdly — the words seem to keep changing their minds about how they want to be arranged on the page. And then it will suddenly seem like I’m taking forever to say one simple thing.

I don’t feel bad about it, because it’s progress, but I do find it really perplexing that it isn’t just finding its rhythm and then finding the page. This Letter #8 has been wanting to come out for quite a number of days already. I guess I’ll just stick with it until it tells me where it really wants to go.

Well, I won’t say too much more about this other topic, but it just disgusts me so much: more conversations with colleagues in NY — both black colleagues and white colleagues — who are saying that white anarchists were behind the protests there getting so violent. (First, piles of bricks being at the meet-up sites before the peaceful protestors even arrived, and now the discovery of stacks of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream containers left behind at the protest sites — the kinds of ice cream containers with the lids — only they’re filled with concrete.)

You know, where are the white anarchists now? Now that all the damage has been done, and people have children (of color) at home, afraid to leave the apartment because so many New Yorkers are enraged by all the damage the “black protestors” caused? It just makes me so sick — as if the actual real problem of inequality wasn’t bad enough. Taking all your hate and anarchy shit and dumping it in the laps of people with real problems, who didn’t ask for it. (And of course, Trump out there being mocked and ridiculed for saying that terrorists were behind the riots getting so violent and now he’s once again proved right… you know? Hello.)

Well, okay. On that note, I will cease and desist because, God knows, my soapboxes can get pretty long and drawn out.

I hope you have a happy and productive Friday, wherever you are in the world. Thanks for visiting, gang. I leave you with something else that was  wonderful from my wee bonny 1984 girlhood!! The Screaming Blue Messiahs!! Anything off of their album Gun Shy is incredible, gang — but today I specifically leave you with “Someone To Talk To” (an AI sex robot perhaps??? You decide!!) Okay! I love you guys! See ya!

[PS: Sorry, lyrics are not available… But listen anyway, these guys do not disappoint!!]

Life Not Only Goes On, It Gets Better!!

Well, if you saw last evening’s post, you’ll know by now that we had intense thunderstorms around here, and even a tornado near by.  But it blew out all the high heat and humidity that was keeping me from being able to breathe all day yesterday.

PLUS!! My new dust buster arrived yesterday afternoon!! I mentioned it in a previous post this week. I got one of those high-powered ones, to hopefully make it easier to deal with all the cat hair around here (and cat litter that flies everywhere, too).

And it works like a charm!! I love this fucking thing. It keeps its battery power for a long time, and it truly is high-powered. It was kind of astounding to see how much filth it was picking up from deep in the carpeting.

If you’re sort of a cleaning-freak, like I am, you can no doubt relate to how cool I found that high-powered suction thing, and it made me just want to clean and clean and clean!!

So I did!!!

And it doesn’t disturb the cats nearly as much as the vacuum cleaner does, so I hope I won’t have to bring that out as often anymore. We’ll see!

So the combination of an awesome breeze blowing throughout the house at dawn this morning, and coming downstairs to a thoroughly clean house and cool temperatures… there’s just NO WAY this isn’t going to be a great day.

Okay.

Well, the other day, I bought an online course about the theology of Martin Luther and the complicated launch of the Protestant Reformation, beginning in 1517 A.D.  I’ve been listening to it a little bit every night before I  go to sleep.

I studied the Reformation in Divinity School, of course. And I’ve also done a ton of studying on my own about the various sects that also sprang from that era. Plus, my ancestors were not only alive in Germany at that time, but they were living in that region of Germany that was directly affected by Martin Luther’s tumultuous change of the Church.  And they were definitely practicing Protestants, there are surviving records to prove it, so I find it really interesting to think about them and what it was like to live through those times of enormous change. (It wasn’t “just” the Church that changed because of Martin Luther; it was the scope of the Western mind.)

Anyway. The course is fascinating. And no disrespect intended, but, man, Martin Luther was really kind of nuts!!

I’m (sort of) just kidding, gang. But before he settled on his theology of the Gospel, his teachings went to some seriously dark and masochistic and  impossible places.

When I was 13, there was a cinematic version of the play, Luther (written by John Osborne), that I saw in the movie theater, so I was at least aware that Martin Luther was extreme.  But now that I’m way, way, WAY older, and a minister and all that, I understand now just how extreme that man was. Wow.

I find that kind of stuff so interesting, gang. I really do. Even though it’s safe to say that I  don’t adhere to any of those Lutheran ideas or beliefs,  I’m still fascinated by the religious arc of the Western mind over the centuries. I just never get tired of learning about all of that.

So, as it so often turns out, the medicine they had prescribed my dad when he got sick last week, only ended up making him sicker. So the doctor told him to stop taking the medicine yesterday, and he’s at the doctor’s office right now, this morning. So, here’s hoping he’s going to finally be back to normal here soon.

He’s the kind of person who will only listen to a doctor, you know? We both knew the medicine itself was making him really sick, and I really wanted to tell him to stop taking it, but I knew he would just ignore me because I’m not a doctor! So I was relieved when he finally called the doctor and the doctor told him to stop taking it!

I find it so amazing, honestly, how some people treat doctors as if they’re actual gods and as if medicine, simply because it’s prescribed by a doctor, holds some special inalienable power. Meaning, that their brains are just so locked into that kind of reverent thinking, they can’t even bring themselves to question it.

I’m just so not like that and never have been. I guess because I have to question and ponder everything. (Which, of course, can get really annoying to the people around me.) But if I’m going to be forced to consider another human being to be “God,” I’d rather just give in and call Nick Cave “God,” as so many Europeans are wont to do!!

(I am, yet again, sort of just kidding…)

Another cool thing that happened — now that I currently have no main barn door on my barn, that storm last evening blew through the barn and blew open one of the side doors of the barn, and also the shuttered window on the other side of it. There’s no glass in the window — just wooden, hand-made, 110-year-old shutters!

I can see that side of the barn from my kitchen window. And this morning, when I went out there to the barn to close the shutters, I saw that there are some old eye-hook type things at either side of the shutters, so I can keep them open if I want to.

And do you know what that means??!!

Yes!! It means I can get yet another window box, plant flowers in it, put it in that barn window all summer long and see the flowers from my kitchen window!!

I’m so excited. (I’ll also be able to see Kevin’s vintage 1965 VW camper van through the open barn window all summer long, not quite as exciting, but still…)

The one draw back is that it’s a long trek from the kitchen, where I’d have to get the water every day to water the flowers.  I’m not sure how excited I’ll be about doing that, every single day, all summer long. I already have to make 7 trips a day, in and out of the kitchen, to water all the flowers on both of my porches…

Anyway. We’ll see. I just felt really excited when I realized it today.

I read on Deadline Hollywood yesterday that Johnny Depp’s documentary of Shane MacGowan, Crock of Gold, has been picked up by Magnolia Pictures in North America. Which means we’ll probably get to actually see it!!

I love Shane MacGowan. And I loved The Pogues, back when he was the driving force of the band. And it’s one of those things where I am continually astounded to discover that most Americans (especially if you’re not Irish-American) have never heard of Shane MaGowan or The Pogues. In NYC, especially back in the 1980s — back then, at least, NYC was an intensely Irish town — The Pogues were really popular.

I had all of their albums and EPs, up until Shane MaGowan essentially drank his way out of the band. At this point, though, after decades of having to jettison more albums with every move I’ve had to make, I’ve only kept Rum, Sodomy, & the Lash and If I Should Fall From Grace With God. But they are two incredible albums, gang. I’m so excited to see that documentary.

Okay. I’m going to get started here now. I hope that Thursday is just as beautiful where you are today, gang!! Thanks for visiting. I’ll leave you once again with two listening options today:

The song that, when Nick Cave sang it solo on his In Conversations tour,  caused people all over the world to call Nick Cave “God.” The song is, in fact, titled “God is in the House,” from the truly timeless and amazing Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds album, No More Shall We Part (2001).

And then one of my favorite Shane MacGowan songs, which couldn’t be more different than the Nick Cave song: “Sally MacLennane,” from The Pogues album, Rum, Sodomy, & the Lash (1985). Compare and contrast!! Listen and enjoy, gang!! Thanks for visiting. I love you guys. See ya!

“God Is In The House”

We’ve laid the cables and the wires
We’ve split the wood and stoked
the fires
We’ve lit our town so there is no
Place for crime to hide
Our little church is painted white
And in the safety of the night
We all go quiet as a mouse
For the word is out
God is in the house
God is in the house
God is in the house
No cause for worry now
God is in the house

Moral sneaks in the White House
Computer geeks in the school house
Drug freaks in the crack house
We don’t have that stuff here
We have a tiny little Force
But we need them of course
For the kittens in the trees
And at night we are on our knees
As quiet as a mouse
For God is in the house
God is in the house
God is in the house
And no one’s left in doubt
God is in the house

Homos roaming the streets in packs
Queer bashers with tyre-jacks
Lesbian counter-attacks
That stuff is for the big cities
Our town is very pretty
We have a pretty little square
We have a woman for a mayor
Our policy is firm but fair
Now that God is in the house
God is in the house
God is in the house
Any day now He’ll come out
God is in the house

Well-meaning little therapists
Goose-stepping twelve-stepping Tea-totalitarianists
The tipsy, the reeling and the drop down pissed
We got no time for that stuff here
Zero crime and no fear
We’ve bred all our kittens white
So you can see them in the night
And at night we’re on our knees
As quiet as a mouse
Since the word got out
From the North down to the South
For no-one’s left in doubt
There’s no fear about
If we all hold hands and very quietly shout
Hallelujah
God is in the house
God is in the house
Oh I wish He would come out
God is in the house

© – 2001 Nick Cave

“Sally MacLennane”

Well Jimmy played harmonica in the pub where I was born
He played it from the night time to the peaceful early morn
He soothed the souls of psychos and the men who had the horn
And they all looked very happy in the morning

Now Jimmy didn’t like his place in this world of ours
Where the elephant man broke strong men’s necks
When he’d had too many Powers
So sad to see the grieving of the people that he’s leaving
And he took the road for God knows in the morning

We walked him to the station in the rain
We kissed him as we put him on the train
And we sang him a song of times long gone
Though we knew that we’d be seeing him again
(Far away) sad to say I must be on my way
So buy me beer and whiskey ’cause I’m going far away (far away)
I’d like to think of me returning when I can
To the greatest little boozer and to Sally MacLennane

The years passed by the times had changed I grew to be a man
I learned to love the virtues of sweet Sally MacLennane
I took the jeers and drank the beers and crawled back home at dawn
And ended up a barman in the morning

I played the pump and took the hump and watered whiskey down
I talked of whores and horses to the men who drank the brown
I heard them say that Jimmy’s making money far away
And some people left for heaven without warning

We walked him to the station in the rain
We kissed him as we put him on the train
And we sang him a song of times long gone
Though we knew that we’d be seeing him again
(Far away) sad to say I must be on my way
So buy me beer and whiskey ’cause I’m going far away (far away)
I’d like to think of me returning when I can
To the greatest little boozer and to Sally MacLennane

When Jimmy came back home he was surprised that they were gone
He asked me all the details of the train that they went on
Some people they are scared to croak but Jimmy drank until he choked
And he took the road for heaven in the morning

We walked him to the station in the rain
We kissed him as we put him on the train
And we sang him a song of times long gone
Though we knew that we’d be seeing him again
(Far away) sad to say I must be on my way
So buy me beer and whiskey ’cause I’m going far away (far away)
I’d like to think of me returning when I can
To the greatest little boozer and to Sally MacLennane

©  – 1985 Shane MacGowan

Onward & Onward, Full of Grace Pt.2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

With Great Sadness

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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