Tag Archives: new erotica by marilyn jaye lewis

In Honor of World Mental Health Day, I Guess

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My mood is totally tanking around here.

I awoke in a reasonably good mental space. Not 100% sure why it’s tanking — and tanking so rapidly. But I think it has something to do with the  2 chairs I acquired yesterday.

This is not one of the chairs but they look exactly like this:

Antique Ladder Back Chair with Rush Seat | Antique ladder, Ladder back chairs, Chair

I love ladder back chairs, and the 2 that I got yesterday are really old and really well made.

They came from that little house across Basin Street from me. The son was getting rid of what little was left in the house, and I was, like,  “You’re kidding! Two extremely well-made chairs that I love, just for free? Just like that?”

And of course, I was also thinking: What a relief. You can never have enough chairs for the dining room, once you put the leaf in the table. You always need extra chairs.

And I was really just so happy to have these chairs. And I put them in the dining room, against the wall, and I was just really happy. They are so well-made.

And then this morning, it was that thing that happens to me all the time — where I realize that the world in my head has absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with the life I actually live nowadays. I don’t need more chairs. No one ever comes to visit me. I never have dinner parties anymore. And it has nothing to do with COVID, either.  On those rare times when my birth mom comes here, or my sister comes over, we always sit at the kitchen table. Other than that, no one ever comes over and the other rooms in my house are occupied only by cats. (The cats have not said, yet, whether or not they like the new chairs.)

Anyway, I guess that sort of started me on a little downward spiral. Not so  much the idea that I don’t entertain anymore (or even cook), but the idea that the world in my head is so different from the world I’m actually living in, in the physical.  Even though I know this has been happening to me — I’d even say “increasingly” — since moving into this house, sometimes it really just jolts me. The old life is gone. Even though the life I have now is the one I actually love, the old life is gone and probably isn’t coming back.

It’s just a weird feeling.

I must add here that the latest virus stats were released for this area yesterday, and the county where I do all my marketing had a slight resurgence — 177 active cases (this is still really good compared to where it was at all summer). But here in Muskingum County, we have only 99 active cases, and here in the zip code area where I live (a zip code is an area serviced by one specific post office), we have zero active cases. Yay!! And Muskingum County has still only had 3 deaths from the virus since the outbreak. (This compares to 166,000 currently active cases of the virus in the entire State of Ohio, and a total of 5000 deaths, overall.)

So, you know, this weird world I live in in my head, where everything is just really beautiful all the time, is compounded by the fact that Muskingum County exists in some sort of make-believe place, too.

The whole thing is just really weird.

I don’t suppose there is any real harm, at this point, in living 2 parallel lives that will never meet: the one in my head, and the physical one that I “live.” And I don’t suppose there’s any real harm in the fact that I seem to be regressing way past 12, to about 7 or 8 years old now — judging strictly by my current daily/nightly interests in life (see a post from a few days ago).  (BTW, I am finally remembering to do yoga at night now, but I only do it while I’m streaming reruns of The Monkees.)

The main thing that really sticks out in all this is, of course, my really grown-up car.

In the past few days, I have gotten several very nice compliments about my car. (The molten lava -colored Honda Civic that still looks brand-new but is in fact a year old now. Like me, the car is curiously not aging.) Even though I accept the compliments about my car graciously, it was foisted upon me by the Honda dealership. Plus, I think that St. Christopher (to whom I actively pray whenever I get into any moving vehicle), had some sort of hand in getting me that car because he probably thought it was dangerous enough to have a 12-to-7 year-old girl out driving, she should at least have a safe car (that is sparkly red and goes really fast).

Anyway, it all adds up to me just feeling really crazy;  as if “reality” and “me” do not seem to ever intertwine anymore. And, actually, maybe we never did.

It gets a little depressing.  I’m making sort of a joke about it here on the blog, but I am starting to find it a little alarming in my non-blog life. That said, though, life does indeed go on.

I’m planning to spend the entire day at my desk working on the new erotic short story, “Novitiate.” Try to move that forward because, so far, I’m not making the progress on it that I would like to make.  I still find that I’m battling myself a little bit in how to put this story onto the page. Not so much censoring myself, as trying to determine if where the story keeps wanting to go makes any real sense.  And rather than trusting in the process of the story’s innate knowing of itself, I have decided to become some sort of roadblock to that unfolding.

And I really wish I would stop doing that. I am hoping today will be the Big Day where I can get out of the story’s way.

(I guess that being a roadblock to anything can also be a source of depression.)

So I’m hoping that today will be a day for moving on. If we were to judge it solely by how I’m feeling right now, well — it’s not looking too promising but the day is young!

Okay. Yesterday, Nick Cave sent out a Red Hand File that was really moving. You can read it here. And the Nick Cave Instagram site released an announcement that a collaborative album he made with the Belgian composer, Nicholas Lens — titled L.I.T.A.N.I.E.S — will be released in early December, and one piece from it has already dropped: “Litany of the Forsaken.”

(And do yourself an enormous favor, if you go searching for the album on Amazon, remove all those periods between each letter, otherwise you will make yourself fucking insane and never find it.)

Okay!!! On that happy note…

I’m outta here. I hope you have a better Saturday underway, wherever you are in the world. Thanks for visiting, gang!! Today, I leave you with my anthem — okay, maybe not my actual anthem. I don’t think I really have one. But it will probably be played at my funeral, or at the very least, my wake. I’m sort of a “medium” U2 fan. I have several of their albums. But I’m not, like, a huge fan.  But I do love this song — it’s probably my favorite of theirs: “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For” (1987, off The Joshua Tree). So I leave you with that. Enjoy. Lyrics are in the video. I love you guys. See ya.

A Lovely Morning So Far!!

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For whatever reason — I guess the Autumn Equinox — I now get up at 4am and get out of bed! Whereas, I used to get up at 4am and just lie there for an hour.

Anyway, luckily, I was more than wide awake at 5am for the Bad Seed TeeVee chat-a-long to the Lawless soundtrack (Nick Cave & Warren Ellis). (I will say it again: that is such a beautiful soundtrack, gang; so atmospheric.)

It was fun. At one point I looked at the number of people in the chat and it was something like 900, but most people weren’t actually chatting. So it wasn’t completely insane.

And now it is 7am here and still completely dark out. So you really know it’s fall.

I spent a good chunk of my afternoon yesterday with Kevin, the director of my play (Tell My Bones) and his husband, Chris. So I did not get as much done on the new erotic short story as I had hoped. About 4 or 5 hours, at the most. It is still really challenging. I know what I want to say, but for some reason, I keep hesitating to say it — or write it, I mean.

(And on a side note — I spent about an hour chatting on the phone yesterday with an older gentleman I met through Gus Van Sant Sr. Well, we didn’t meet, we spoke on the phone about my play, via Gus. And at one point, I said something like, “I’ve been doing it a long time, already. I’m 60 years old…” And he said, “You’re kidding me! You sound like a kid!!”)

YAY!!!! Twice in one week…..

Oh, and, at one point yesterday, while I was talking to Chris about something, I noticed he was staring at my neck. I was wearing a sort of hippy-chick blouse that had a deep “V” neckline, and I didn’t ask him, but I just knew he was thinking: Man, no way does her neck look 60 years old….

(YES!! All those many miraculous skin products from France strike again!!) (Yes, yet again, another new product from France. First, they gave a jar of it to me for free. Then, they gave me another jar at half-price. We’ll see what happens after this, because it is really expensive but now I am hooked on it…) (As usual.)

1958 Beauty Ad, Avon Cosmetics & Skin Care Products, with 1950's Super-Model Anne St. Marie | Vintage makeup ads, Vintage cosmetics, Avon cosmetics
Me, yesterday!!! So youthful-looking!!!

Okay, anyway.

So, yesterday was nice even though I didn’t get enough work done on the new story. And I did finally get to chat with Valerie for the first time since her mom died. And the weather was just really, really lovely yesterday. All the trees have changed colors and it was mild enough to not need a jacket or anything. Just perfect weather. It was really a nice drive over to Kevin’s mansion on the hill.

So today, we will try again to make some significant headway with the new story. I guess what we really need is to make headway with myself — get myself to stop hesitating and just write the story the way it is asking me to tell it. Because the story is all up here in my head. I’m the one who is laboring over how to tell it. So we’ll work on that.

As of, like, right now.

So, thanks for visiting, gang. I hope you have a really nice Friday, wherever you are in the world.  Last night, I was listening to the 6 songs that have now been dropped for next week’s upcoming release of Tom Petty’s Wildflowers & All the Rest. (Listening to them over & over, actually. In my bed , in the dark. Thinking about life. And, of course, death, because now I can’t stop thinking about one without the other.)  And I really love that song, “Leave Virginia Alone.”

Today, I’m gonna leave you with Rod Stewart’s version of it, though. He had a hit with it back in 1995.  Listen and enjoy. I love you guys. See ya!

“Leave Virginia Alone”

Well they chased her
Down the alley
And over the hill
To steel her will
She was as hot as
Georgia asphalt
When the A-crowd came
To adore her brain

So leave Virginia alone
Leave Virginia alone
She’s not like you
And me
She’s not like you
And me

You should’ve seen her
Back in the city
Poetry and jewels
Broke all the rules
She was as high as
A Georgia pine tree
Makeup and pills,
Overdue bills

So Leave Virginia alone
Leave Virginia alone
She’s not like you
And me
She’s not like you
And me

Some sunny day
When the hands of time have
Gone their way
You’ll understand
Why it was so hard
To run away
To run away

She’s a loser
She’s a forgiver
She still finds good
Where no one could
You ought to want her
More than money
Cadillacs and rust
Diamonds and dust

So Leave Virginia alone
Leave Virginia alone
She’s not like you
And me
She’s not like you
And me

Ah, yeah
Leave Virginia alone
Leave Virginia alone
She’s not like you
And me
She’s not like you
And me

Ah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah ,…

La, la, la, leave her alone

Oh, Virginia
Oh, Virginia
Leave her alone

© 1994 Tom Petty

Okay, I Confess!

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I do not seem capable of not posting to the fucking blog in the  morning!!!

Plus, I wanted to move yoga back to bedtime — before I take my shower and go hang out in bed, I want to do yoga. That’s when I used to do it for quite a long time and it is really relaxing to do that.

I managed to do that on Tuesday night — no problem. I even turned out the regular lamps and turned on my little Himalayan pink salt lamp for “spiritual ambience”  in my beloved bedroom. And it was really fun.

However, last night….

ME (in my shower): Fuck! I forgot to do yoga…

So, you know. I guess we’ll just see.

Part of my conundrum here is that the new erotic short story, “Novitiate,” is actually kind of intense. And posting to the blog first gives me a little bit of a buffer. I don’t have to plunge right into the intensity of the story the moment I sit down at my desk.

I know I keep saying this about each of the new short stories — or novellas — that I’ve been writing, that they’re intense. That they push the boundaries and all that. Even though, throughout my entire 30-year career of writing erotica, I have almost always pushed the boundaries. Mostly because, in the beginning of that career, most people were not anywhere near as politically correct as they are now and so there weren’t any boundaries to really push. Readers expected certain storylines in erotica, and that was that.

But that said, my writing has evolved into something sort of relentless. Even though I hope that readers still find it really fun — it takes a lot out of me to be true to the writing of it. More often than not, while I’m writing “Novitiate,” I am quietly saying to myself: Oh my god, are we really going to go there?

This new story takes place in the summer of 1966 and is basically a week-long gangbang at a private campground.

For a change, though, no one at all is a virgin!!!! But that doesn’t mean that I don’t have my typical female character getting in over her head really quickly, because that’s basically all I ever write about!!!

It’s amazing just how many varied and intense stories I’ve managed to come up with over the space of 30 years where a female character can get in over her head really quickly.

Anyway. I guess I’m just rebelling against the intensity of the censorship that has been closing in increasingly on erotica over the last ten years. (And it has come from the “Liberals,” in an odd twist of fate…) (15 years ago, it was the Republicans I had to watch out for; now it’s the Democrats. Which is why people like me absolutely need a viable Independent Party in the USA.)

However, I take courage (and I don’t use that word lightly) from all those amazing 3D hentai animators out there in the world because they are breaking almost every taboo that is applied to written erotica.  And so many of them are just so fucking good at it.

Loyal readers of this lofty blog no doubt recall that I am a huge fan of 3D hentai monster porn.  And while bestiality is not one of the topics I have an interest in in real life (in all honestly, I think it’s abusive to animals), and while it is hugely taboo in erotica (unless you are writing in the realm of erotic shape-shifters), bestiality is all over hentai in the form of “monsters.”

For instance, 3D hentai werewolf porn is sort of incredible. It’s basically just very large dogs fucking very large-breasted girls. (Yes! Girls who have gotten in over their heads  really quickly and who are suddenly getting savagely fucked by dogs werewolves.)

One of the things I look for while watching hentai are the details. The backgrounds, the locations, the themes that recur over and over — and then look at the numbers of hits these things get (well into the millions of views per video). Because it gives me a really good idea of what younger people are into now. And one of the things that really amuses me is how often the girl- characters, who are basically being raped by monsters or dogs werewolves, are wearing really nice stockings and makeup and really pretty shoes.

Sometimes the makeup gets smeared a bit, you know. However, even while fucking dogs werewolves in every position imaginable, the creators of the scenes (99.9% are guys, I believe) make sure that nothing bad happens to the stockings or the shoes!!

If you’re a girl (such as I) and have spent of fucking fortune on expensive stockings over the decades (we won’t even discuss shoes!), you know that even being with a lover who’s non-canine  — right?

ME (feeling amorous): “Don’t fucking come near me until I change out of these stockings!! They cost me a fortune!!”

It doesn’t take much to completely ruin a really nice pair of stockings. The last thing you would want is a dog (or werewolf) even jumping up on you, let alone doing all that other stuff.

So that kind of thing, in animation, really just amuses me.

Anyway. I digressed a little.

My point was, that one of the things I really love about 3D hentai animation (when it’s not actually a video made for the Japanese viewing market, where genital censorship is the norm), is how uncensored and wide open the imaginations are of those animators. I just love the artistic freedom of it. I don’t love every single thing I watch, but I do love to see where the minds are going and see just how many millions of people are watching these videos.

It renews my faith in humanity.

That, combined with my new publishers, who only want erotica that does push the taboos (except of course, pedophilia), I guess my mind is finally rebelling against so many years of increasing censorship.

And I guess on that note, I’m ready to get to work here. Have a great Thursday, wherever you are in the world!! Thanks for visiting, gang. I leave you with some more Morgana King, this time “Mountain High, Valley Low.” Enjoy!! I love you guys. See ya!

Okay, I Don’t Know!!

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That idea of switching the blog post to the evenings sure didn’t work out yesterday. Of course, I wasn’t expecting Eddie Van Halen to die and sort of skew my whole evening.

So we’ll just see how it goes.

I do feel really under the gun with the new erotic short story, though (“Novitiate”), although, now I’m not sure exactly what the editors at the publishing house want me to do re: “Half-Moon Bride,” (keep it as a stand-alone story, or include it in the collected stories) so I’m just trying to move forward with the new short story and get it done as quickly as possible. And then see what they decide to do.

Yesterday morning, Nick Cave sent out a Red Hand File. It was regarding an emotional stance that a lot of young radicals back in the late 60s and early 70s used to grapple with all the time:  meaning that they were so angry, disenchanted, overwhelmed by feelings of powerlessness in the face of society that they felt it was practically a crime to bring another baby into such an awful world. (And it did turn out, as Nick Cave suggests in his letter, that all those new babies coming into the world helped steer it into new and unexpected directions.)

On a personal note, though, I am one of those women who always, always, always wanted to have babies but wound up not being able to have a family. And whenever I see a young woman on the fence about having a kid or not, I am always really quick to point out to her that time fucking flies and women don’t have the luxury of just waiting indefinitely to decide. That the fertile years are over in a heartbeat. They really are.  Do it while you’re young and in love and have the energy.

Obviously, if a woman doesn’t actually want to have kids, ever, that’s a whole different thing. Don’t EVER have kids if you don’t actually want them. I’m just saying when a young woman is making herself crazy trying to decide — especially if her guy (or mate or significant other or husband) really, really wants to have a kid. Jesus Christ, I always tell her:  DON’T WAIT!!!!!

Plus, I also think it’s sort of egocentric to think that the state of the enormous WORLD is somehow something we’re uniquely responsible for. (If you look at world history throughout all of recorded time, there has never been a time of Utopia. It’s simply not what the world is about. We each live our own unique life within the enormous world.)

Anyway. I thought it was interesting. You can read it here.

Okay, well. Eddie Van Halen. What can I say? When I think of my life in NYC in the 1980s, the most amazing sense of joy and smiles and excitement and insanity and over-the-top fun — that was Eddie, and Van Halen, in general. Jesus Christ, talk about guitar heroes, right?

I realize he was 65 and battling cancer, and had lived a lot of years struggling with substance abuse, etc., but I still think of him as joy-filled “Eddie,” and it is such a shock to think that whole part of life is just gone now.

It’s also something Valerie and I talk about a lot. She and I are both officially in our 60s now — she had a close friend pass away very suddenly, right before her mom did, and her friend was only 61. It’s this feeling that once we start hitting our 60s, so many people decide to check out. They really do.

I get in that frame of mind a lot now — just thinking about what’s ahead of me, and is the best actually behind me now. And all that. And should I start winding things down and check out. (Not as a suicide, I hope, but I do believe on some deep Inner Being level, we make the decision to stay or to go, at any age.)

So, yesterday, is was, like — “On no! Not Eddie, too!” Another intense moment for the month of October…

Well, okay. I want to get some more coffee here and then get to work on “Novitiate.” I hope you have a great Wednesday, wherever you are in the world. Thanks for visiting, gang. I leave you with something fun from Van Halen’s multi-platinum monster album, Women & Children First (1980), “The Cradle Will Rock.” Turn it up and rock on!! I love you guys. See ya.

“And The Cradle Will Rock”

Well, they say it’s kinda frightening how this younger generation swings.
You know, it’s more than just some new sensation.
Well, the kid is into losing sleep and he don’t come home for half the week.
You know, it’s more than just an aggravation.
And the cradle will rock.
Yes, the cradle will rock.
And I say, rock on!
Rock on!

And when some local kid gets down, they try and drum him out of town.
They say, “You could of at least faked it, boy.”
At an early age he hits the street and winds up tied with who he meets, and he’s unemployed.
And the cradle will rock.
Yeah, the cradle will rock.
And I say, rock on!
Rock on!

Have you seen Junior’s grades?
And when some local kid gets down, they try and drum him out of town.
They say, “You could of at least faked it, boy.”
At an early age he hits the street and winds up tied with who he meets, and he’s unemployed.
His folks are overjoyed.
And the cradle will rock.
Yeah, the cradle will rock.
And I say, rock on!
Rock on!
Rock on!
Rock on!

© 1980  Eddie Van Halen, David Lee Roth, Alex Van Halen, Michael Anthony

A Quick Post

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I’m going to be switching  when I post to the blog for a while. I need the early hours of the morning to work on the new erotic short story (titled “Novitiate”), and then do a final edit of the whole collection of stories, in order to get the book off to the publisher as soon as possible.

So, I will either post midday, when I’m getting a break, or I will post after dinner, when I’m done writing for the day.

That will be starting today!!

Before I go, though, the Nick Cave web site sent out a reminder yesterday re: the live online listen-a-long on Bad Seed TeeVee this Friday, Oct.9th. And this is the official time zone thingie. It appears I was wrong yet again, so I’m glad they sent that out!

“This will be a live event available worldwide at the following times on Friday 9th October: Sydney, Melbourne 8pm AEDT / Wellington 10pm NZDT / Paris, Berlin 11am CEST / London 10am BST / Sao Paulo 6am BRT / New York 5am EDT / Mexico City 4am CDT / Los Angeles 2am PDT”

Okay! So I’m gonna scoot and I’ll be back later! Have a terrific Tuesday, wherever you are in the world!! I love you guys. See ya!!

As Always! Pussies Hard at Work Around Here!

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Today is a much better day, finally.

I’m not sure what was going on with me since Friday, but it has officially cleared. And I feel like I’m back to being myself. I’m wondering if it was connected to the full moon, or if I was just nuts, with or without the moon. But anyway. It has passed.

My only trial now is that I am trying to stop using the Flonase. Every few months, I take a break from it because it is a steroid. However, it is the ONLY thing out there that really takes care of my allergies. So now I’m going through that thing where I can’t fucking breathe….

And I am doing laundry right now, even as I type! And sadly, the summer PJs are hanging to dry now and will be put away until late Spring.

Amazing how sad it makes me. When I was younger, I never gave a fuck about any of this kind of stuff, because I was always in such a hurry for life to happen, you know? I didn’t give a fuck what PJs I wore to bed — usually, back then, I only wore my delightfully pretty birthday suit to bed! I rarely do that anymore. Because, I’m, like 60, I mean 12. I mean SIXTY! Yes.

Here’s something funny. Yesterday, when I had that (amazing!!) phone chat with the CEO of the new publishing company I just signed with — I think she’s maybe in her late 30s, perhaps 40 at the most? Anyway, she said several times that she couldn’t believe I was 60, because of my voice. (I sound like I’m about 21. Honestly. Or maybe 12…)

I don’t know what it is.  My voice never matured. My personality certainly never matured. I know I don’t look 60, but I look, maybe 49 and a 1/2. I don’t really know. But what I do know is that now, alone in bed at night in the dark, more often than not, I’m streaming those reruns of The Monkees from my wee bonny girlhood.  (And I’m laughing — a lot.) And more often than not, when that’s over, I’m in the throes of some wonder-filled masturbatory frenzy.  Then I start chattering with my many cats, who I call “Silly Billies” because they like to chase each other around my dark bedroom the very moment I start to fall asleep.

And then I realize, you know — my God. I’m 60 years old. For Christ’s sake, I am really never going to grow up. Like, ever.

Normally, I don’t really notice “myself”, because I’m just me all the time.  But once I turned 60, back in July, I have started to sort of notice how weird I am.  I really did used to think that I would get married again one day, and all that stuff, and have some sort of conventional life. But I can’t even imagine anyone putting up with me at this point. It was hard enough for others to tolerate me back when I behaved just like the age I was.

I know! I would be a great match for, like, a really horny 12-year-old boy. But Ohio has these weird pedophile laws now…

Anyway!!

Well, judging from some of the comments I’ve been seeing in the WordPress feed, a whole lot of bloggers were not happy with that sweeping change they made over to the new block editor. So I was not the only one freaking out Friday morning over the “loss” of my blog. I feel a little better knowing that. (I’m also really relieved that I found the tiny little button that leads you to the classic editor. Thank god. But for some reason, they sure don’t want you to find it.) (I thought it was called “Word” Press because it was supposed to be like using “Word,” and not like trying to blog from some weird template from outer space…)

Anyway, for now, it’s over and done. And today is also the day that I am allowed to start building the new site for Marilyn’s Room Books. But I don’t know if I’ll do that today, because now I need to get this new erotic short story written, and do a final edit to the whole collection, and get that off to the publisher as soon as possible, since I already signed the contract for “Half-Moon Bride.”

So that is what my plate looks like today; I hope yours is just as happy.

This Friday, October 9th, is that live chat thing on Bad Seed TeeVee.

I believe that I have at long last figured out that intense Australian time zone difference.

I think it means that I will be tuning in at 6am, US East Coast time. Luckily, I am always awake at 6 am.

I’m not sure how you feel about it. But I guess it all depends on your time zone.

All righty.  Well, the dryer is bleating at me to come attend to it now. So I will close this and get the day underway here.

Thanks for visiting, gang. I’m gonna leave you with what I think is my favorite piece from the Lawless soundtrack (mentioned in that announcement there above). I was once a truly fanatical devotee of Emmylou Harris’s. I had all her records, and I knew every word, every note, etc., etc. I just loved her. (I don’t not love her now, but all of Country music has just changed so radically since those days, and a huge chunk of what I used to love has split off into Americana. It’s hard to follow all of it now.)

Anyway, I leave you with “Fire in the Blood / Snake Song”, which was written by Nick Cave & Warren Ellis (yes! the very same Warren Ellis who launched an Instagram account a couple weeks ago and has posted, like, maybe 4 times…) and which features both Emmylou Harris and Ralph Stanley — who, if you didn’t know him, was an amazing bluegrass banjo player; just legendary, but he has since passed on.

Okay, so I leave you with that today.  Enjoy! I love you guys. See ya!

Fire in the Blood/Snake Song

Come walk with me through the pines
In the morning sun.
The birds are singing in the pines
In the morning sun.

Come stand with me, my darling one,
Among the trembling pines.
We feel His presence all around
Fire in the sky.

You can’t hold me, I’m too slippy,
I do no sleeping, I get wandering
You can touch me if you want to,
I got poison, just might bite you.

Lie in circle on the sunlight
Shine like diamonds on a dark night.
Ain’t no mercy in my smile,
Only fangs and sweet beguiling.

Future, he don’t try to find me
Skin I’ve been through dies behind me
Solid hollow wrapped in hatred,
Not a drop of venom wasted.

You can slip and try to find me
Hold your breath and flat deny me
Makes no difference to my thinking
I’ll be here and you start sinking.

© 2012 Nick Cave, Warren Ellis

A Sunny Sunday October Afternoon in Crazeysburg!!

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Sorry, gang.

This morning was about phone calls and yoga. So I am just now getting around to the blog.

I know that for most of my readers, this means that Sunday is just about over where you live, so I hope you had a really nice day, wherever you are in the world.

And I really want to thank everybody for all the likes and nice feedback on that ghost story I posted last night! It was one of those stories I discovered while looking for something else and had forgotten that I had even written (12 years ago!).  So it was really nice to get so much feedback on it. Thank you.

It is a really pretty day here, today. And, as usual, I will likely spend it here at my desk, writing.

There is some news, regarding my new (very long) erotic short story, “Half-Moon Bride.” If you have been following the blog for the past week or so, you know that I am re-thinking Volume 4 of The Muse Revisited.  And now the re-thinking is being once again re-thought!

So the collection will now be titled something else (that I haven’t thought of yet) and contain “Half-Moon Bride,” along with another  brand new story that I am currently writing, and then will also contain 6 other previously published stories — and they will all feature D/s themes (M/f and F/f) that push the boundaries of “questionable consent.” (Including “Asleep in the Dream of Life,” Necessary to Her Good,” “Gianni’s Girl,” and “Ribbon of Darkness,” among others.)

This collection will be a print book, so I’m very, very excited about that. And I will keep you posted, meanwhile, I have to write my wee bonny fingers off to get that newest short story written and turned in with everything else.

All righty.

So! It is World Animal day today, so I hope you are enjoying your many critters, hither & yon. On my Instagram page, I posted a bunch of drawings of cats that Valerie has sent me over the years — most of them drawings of my own cats, but 3 in particular (on Instagram), are famous artists with cats.  One of my favorites that she did:

Diego Rivera and Cat by Valerie Wares

I  just love this. She does (commissioned) paintings of pets, too, and also a comic strip — Paws for Thought Comics.

So, as I was sorting through all the many drawings she’s done of my cats over the years, I did get a little misty-eyed. She did a wonderful gold-leaf portrait of my first NYC cat — Kitty– who lived to be almost 19 years old.

The painting now hangs in my guest room. Come visit and you can see it in person!!

She was a little black & white stray that followed Valerie home one day, when Valerie was still living out in Queens a million years ago, and since, at that point, Valerie already had 7 cats of her own and I was cat-less, the stray became mine. And I went all -out and gave her the glamorous name of “Kitty,” and then she stayed with me, as I said, for almost 19 years. And she’s actually been gone for 18 years already…

Anyway, I got a little melancholy, thinking about my many beloved creatures who have passed on now. Especially the ones who actually let me cuddle them!!! (Unlike 7 cats that I have now who will remain nameless, but they know who they are!!)

Okay, I guess on that note, I’ll get to work here today. Thanks for visiting, gang. I leave you with a song I was thinking about early this morning. I hadn’t thought of it in many-a-year! A very early monster hit for Rod Stewart (1972, I think!), “You Wear it Well.” So enjoy and I love you guys. See ya!

You Wear It Well

I had nothing to do on this hot afternoon
But to settle down and write you a line
I’ve been meaning to phone you, but from Minnesota
Hell, it’s been a very long time

You wear it well
A little old-fashioned, but that’s all right

Well, I suppose you’re thinking, I bet he’s sinking
Or he wouldn’t get in touch with me
Though I ain’t begging or losing my head
I sure do want you to know

That you wear it well
There ain’t a lady in the land so fine, oh, my

Remember the basement parties, your brothers’ karate
The all-day rock ‘n’ roll shows?
The homesick blues and the radical views
Haven’t left a mark on you

You wear it well
A little outta time, but I don’t mind

But I ain’t forgetting that you were once mine
But I blew it without even trying
Now I’m eating my heart out
Trying to get a letter through

Since you’ve been gone, it’s hard to carry on

I’m gonna write about the birthday gown that I bought in town
And you sat down and cried on the stairs
You knew it didn’t cost the earth, but for what it’s worth
You made me feel a millionaire

And you wear it well
Madame Onassis got nothing on you, no, no

Anyway, my coffee is cold, and I’m getting told
That I gotta get back to work
So when the sun goes low and you’re home all alone
Think of me and try not to laugh

And I’ll wear it well
I don’t object if you call collect

‘Cause I ain’t forgetting that you were once mine
But I blew it without even trying
Now I’m eating my heart out
Trying to get back to you

Oh, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you
Oh, yeah

After all this, oh, it’s the same address

Since you’ve been gone, it’s hard to carry on, oh, no

© 1972 Rod Stewart, Martin Quittenton

We’re Gonna Try Again Today

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Yesterday was intense, gang.

I don’t know if that full moon was factoring in to things, or not. But emotionally, I was all over the place yesterday.

The happy stuff was that my lunch with Kevin, the director of Tell My Bones, was so much fun. He had some initial casting questions, regarding actors, but other than that, we just talked about all kinds of stuff and laughed a lot and had a really nice break from the intensity of our lives.

And then, almost the moment I got back home, my ex-husband in NYC called to chat. He actually bought the print edition of The Guitar Hero Goes Home and was reading it!!

He said he would give me his feedback when he’d finished reading it, but he asked, “How can people think there isn’t a lot of sex in this book?”

Well, by the standards of “erotica” there’s not a lot of sex in it. By anyone else’s standards, I guess there’s a ton of sex in it… (I do have it listed as “appropriate for over 18 only”)

I give up, though — trying to figure how to market anything I write. There’s always either too much sex or not enough.

But it was so nice that he actually bought the book.

And then my other friend Kevin called! The one who lives in Montana most of the year (and the one who my ex-husband visited while on his vacation out West this summer!). It was so nice to chat with him. He’s planning to come back to Ohio soon, but only for one month and then he’s planning to go off to Chile and Argentina for a while, if COVID doesn’t get in the way of that. So I’m not sure if that vintage 1965 VW camper van of his will remain in my barn indefinitely or not.

So that was really just great — to have all those people to talk to you yesterday, including actually seeing another human being!

But in between all that, I would sink rapidly back into a depression.  For a few reasons, many of which involve people who are not getting back to me about things that are very important to me (some other things I wrote, and also stuff related to another play). I’m beginning to feel like I don’t exist.

But part of me is trying to convince myself that “not hearing from people” is actually a good sign…

And I’m still trying to get them to come pick up the 8 yard waste bags filled with dead hydrangea blossoms that are sitting at the curb (since Tuesday). 6 phone calls. Each phone call guaranteeing me that the truck is coming, and it never comes… Yesterday afternoon, the customer support person said the truck came by and couldn’t find any yard waste.

How can you not see 8 enormous brown yard waste bags filled with enormous hydrangea blossoms at the curb? Finally, the last phone call I made to them yesterday to see if they’d get here before the weekend started — the lady told me I’d be better off just putting them in my trash bin and having them picked up as trash on Wednesday.

It broke my heart, you know. Literally. Because I’m neurotic and I can’t treat all these beautiful blossoms like “trash.” But now I have to. So I stuffed them into my trash bin and now there’s no room left for my regular trash between now and Wednesday.

I actually cried doing that — not only because that’s how fucking sensitive I am, but because, you know, why didn’t the guy who picked up the trash on Wednesday — yes, the very same guy who moved all 8 yard waste bags one foot away from my trash bin — just put them in the garbage truck, since he was actually holding them??

I hate when things make no sense and then I’m the one who ends up feeling crazy.

Well, one nice thing — I was sitting at the kitchen table, eating dinner and trying to stop streaming that Brian Jones documentary because it keeps making me so fucking sad: I saw a woman walk by on the sidewalk and then she stopped and pulled one of the yard waste bags from out of my bin and took a whole bunch of those hydrangea blossoms home with her. I don’t know if she’s going to dry them or what. But I felt so happy that someone was going to use them, probably as decorations in some way.

I can’t bring anything like that indoors because all 7 of my crazy cats destroy that kind of thing over night.

Another nice thing is that the little house across Basin Street is finally going to get some inhabitants!

When I first moved in here, the woman who owned that little house was in a nursing home, and she has since passed away. Her son comes by periodically to take care of the grass, etc., but it’s been a totally empty house. But the son has been getting it ready for some people to move in — an older couple, it looks like.  It will be so nice to finally have some life over there.

Here is the little house, this morning, as the full moon was just barely visible through the fog. It looks like  a really weird house from this side of it, but it’s actually really cute.  And has 2 porches and a deck.

Little house across the street.

At one point, I was hoping my birth mom could either rent that house, or we could buy it for her. But my sister didn’t want her living that far away, and I don’t think my birth mom wanted to live that close to me, 24/7 — because I’m sort of crazy, in case this blog has not alerted you to that.

Whereas, both of my sisters are intensely not crazy. They’re super grown up and serious about everything. (And I’m actually the eldest.)

Well, okay.

Last night, I was listening to some lovely Morgana King music in the dark, in my bed. Trying to seek out reasons to be really happy about all these people who are treating me like I’m invisible. (This song in particular, is so lovely):

And then I started poking around in my music, and I discovered that Bruce Springsteen has actually dropped another new song for his upcoming album, Letter To You. It’s called “Ghosts,” and it blew me away for 2 reasons: one, being that it was that anniversary of Tom Petty’s death yesterday and it made me think a little bit of Tom Petty.

But it also made me think of The Guitar Hero Goes Home — my new novel. It really did. It just kicked my heart so hard.

Because, you know, it’s always just me and the thoughts that are in my head. It’s been like that for as long as I can even remember. I’ve always been very isolated by my thoughts, even as a really little girl. And then at some point, my thoughts make it on to paper and go out in the world, and they either sell or don’t sell, but then I’m always right back to being alone with the thoughts that are in my head.

But even though The Guitar Hero Goes Home is fiction — I made it up, it just came to me out of the blue two summers ago, when I was so in love; but even though he’s fiction, that guy in that novel is so real to me. Just so real. For me, he lives. And I love him like he’s “real.” And so that new Springsteen song “Ghosts” just hit me so hard.

And not in a bad way, but a very intense way, and it reminded me of how isolated I really am. And I don’t guess that, as this point, it’s going to ever really change. I guess that this particular lifetime is just all about managing alone.

Okay, well. I’m going to get started here. Yoga and then put some more of those thoughts down on paper and call it a short story.

I hope you have a great Saturday underway, wherever you are in the world. Thanks for visiting!! I love you guys. See ya.

“Ghosts”

I hear the sound of your guitar
Comin’ from the mystic far
Stone and the gravel in your voice
Come in my dreams and I rejoice

It’s your ghost moving through the night
Your spirit filled with light
I need, need you by my side
Your love and I’m alive

I can feel the blood shiver in my bones
I’m alive and I’m out here on my own
I’m alive and I’m comin’ home

Old buckskin jacket you always wore
Hangs on the back of my bedroom door
Boots and the spurs you used to ride
Click down the hall but never arrive

It’s just your ghost moving through the night
Your spirit filled with light
I need, need you by my side
Your love and I’m alive

I can feel the blood shiver in my bones
I’m alive and I’m out here on my own
I’m alive and I’m comin’ home

Your old Fender Twin from Johnny’s Music downtown
Still set on 10 to burn this house down
Count the band in, then kick into overdrive
By the end of the set we leave no one alive

Ghosts runnin’ through the night
Our spirits filled with light
I need, need you by my side
Your love and I’m alive

I shoulder your Les Paul and finger the fretboard
I make my vows to those who’ve come before
I turn up the volume, let the spirits be my guide
Meet you, brother and sister, on the other side

I’m alive, I can feel the blood shiver in my bones
I’m alive and I’m out here on my own
I’m alive and I’m comin’ home
Yeah, I’m comin’ home

© 2020 Bruce Springsteen

All is Well Here in Crazeysburg!

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Sorry I was not able to get back here to post more yesterday, but I was hard at work on 1954 Powder Blue Pickup for another 12 hours.

However, it is DONE, gang! And I just love it. I really do.

It’s 62 pages, about 35,000 words. I will go over the whole thing a final time today and then send it off to the new publisher tomorrow. And then we shall see.

For me, personally, it’s my most favorite thing that I’ve ever written. And I have written a whole heck of a lot of stuff, gang. But I just love this one.

And as is par for my usual course, it’s a love story with an implied “happily ever after” ending — but before we get to that happy ending, it’s indescribably filthy as hell!! And it’s totally hardcore and pushes every boundary of “questionable consent” imaginable. (As all good love stories should, in my happy opinion! Yay.) Okay.

So, golly, I am exhausted here. But I’m just really, really happy.

I’m going to dash into town to get the groceries here in a minute, and then spend the whole day doing the final edit on the book, because tomorrow, I absolutely must  prune back the hydrangea so that the dead blossoms, etc., can be picked up for yard compost when the truck comes by on Wednesday.

All of my neighbors now have their autumn mums on their porches, and their various pumpkins and decorative fall squashes and even Halloween lights!

And yet I still have all my summer petunias out, and all my happy little summer bird ornaments, and yard angels and summer “Welcome” signs and mosquito-repelling candles, etc., so I have to sort of kind of get with the program somehow — although I’m keeping my petunias until the frost comes and kills them.

Still, I’m going to gather all the various flower boxes onto the kitchen porch, so that at least the rest of the house & barn look like they’re appropriate for fall.

And then I guess we’ll get ever onward to the close of another year.

Well, I have not been able to actually speak to Valerie yet about her mom’s death. It will probably be several days before she’ll be taking any phone calls.  It has just been a really, really rough year for her. Big changes now for her, too. She is the last one left in her family now. Her younger brother died a very long time ago (he used to be my computer guy, back in the Dark Ages), then her dad died a few years back, and now her mom.

I tried to find a photo I have of her and her mom and one of her aunt’s heading off on a trip to Ireland many years ago, but I can’t find it. But they are all super-NYC Irish-Catholic blue-eyed blondes, and they all looked exactly alike. It was sort of uncanny.

Anyway, I feel very sad about that.

Okay, well, while hunting for that photo of Val and her mom, I saw that Nick Cave sent out a new Red Hand File just now. It appears to have something to do with magic, but I have not read it yet. Perhaps we can all follow this link and go over there and read it together!! Yay!!

Other than that, folks, well, I honestly have nothing going on over here. I have just been in another world, trying to get that novella written.  And it looks like I am gonna close this now, scoot into town, and then get right back to work on it so that I can officially say it is done!

I leave you with, like, the very first thing I saw on Instagram, the moment my eyes opened today. So I played it at breakfast. Rather intense breakfast-listening music; I’m not sure what the cats thought of it. (They do tend to prefer Broadway show tunes, frankly.) But it was Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds’ version of an old Leadbelly song “Black Betty.” As far as I know, it’s only on their B Sides & Rarities album (2005), but was recorded (as a B-side) in 1986.

So I leave you with that, oh, and I guess, in honor of my cats, I’ll also leave you with my hands-down favorite Broadway show tune of all time — “Letters” from the ill-fated Broadway fucking  amazing show, “Natasha, Pierre & the Great Comet of 1812.” It was based on a lesser-known Tolstoy novel (just kidding — it was based on War & Peace), and I had tickets to see it in September 2017, when I went to NYC to work with Sandra on our other play. And I was so FUCKING excited to see it but the darn thing CLOSED before I could get there. (It was really, really unfortunate why that show closed, but I won’t go into it here.)

Okay, enjoy and thanks for visiting, gang. Have a terrific Monday, wherever you are in the world! I love you guys. See ya.

Happy International Cat Throw-Up Day!!!

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Jesus Christ, you know?? No less than 3 cats threw up before 6am this morning.

Lucy coughed up a hairball at the top of the stairs.

Some mystery cat was a piggy and ate too much dry cat food and then threw it back up, only partially digested, in my bedroom (hence my reluctance to ever go barefoot in this house, especially in the dark).

Then in the middle of my own breakfast, Huckleberry threw up her canned cat food on the kitchen floor because she wolfed it down like a crazy person who was never going to see canned cat food again, so it came right back up. (She does that a lot, even though she’s gotten canned cat food for breakfast, every single morning of her life, for over 8 years now…)

And so the day begins! Yay.

Yesterday was a perfect day, gang.  I spent many hours going over the gangbang segment and, overall, I thought it worked really well, I just wanted to tweak it. The dialogue, mainly. But now that section’s complete and I’m happy with it, and now that means I only have one section left and 1954 Powder Blue Pickup will be done!! I’m so excited.

I only wish that Michael Hemmingson were still alive. This is the kind of novella he would have really appreciated and probably would have published. (Meaning that it’s 99.9% anal sex.)

Michael Hemmingson - Wikipedia
Michael Hemmingson, gone but never forgotten, not even for a minute

However, in regards to publishing it, I won’t go into all the details yet, but yesterday, I accepted a multi-year, exclusive publishing deal for all of my new taboo erotica, so I’m guessing that 1954 Powder Blue Pickup will likely be for sale, in print and digital, by late fall.

I’m super excited, gang. But I’ll go into more detail when I know absolutely for certain.

And I also think that The Muse Revisited Volume 4 is going to be slightly re-envisioned in its overall premise.

Okay. Another head’s up regarding the staged reading for my play, Tell My Bones. (Sunday evening, EST, November 22nd) There will be a link soon for you to make reservations to stream it. It will be free to stream — and it will also be available to stream from several websites (tellmybones.com, our Facebook page, through blueprint productions. com, and I believe through Harlem One Stop, and probably even here on Marilyn’s Room) but primarily it will be an evenbrite thing on YouTube, and streaming everywhere through there. It will run about 45 minutes.

And I’m really hoping you guys will make your reservations and then stream it — because, not only do I hope you will like the play, but also, I need those viewing numbers. I really do. The amount of views it gets matters to potential producers. And this is the first step toward getting it actually produced on stage in NYC (once the virus is over).

So — hugely thanking you in advance!! I will keep you posted.

So, last evening, I started streaming the new documentary on Brian Jones, Rolling Stone: The Life & Death of Brian Jones. I’m more than halfway through it, and will finish watching it tonight. It is really good, but nowhere near as uplifting as that documentary on Bill Wyman is (The Quiet One). I really did love that Bill Wyman documentary.

However, Bill Wyman and Brian Jones were two incredibly different types of people. (Brian Jones, in case you aren’t aware of who he is, was the original founding member of the Rolling Stones back in 1962 and died in 1969, shortly after being ousted from the group due to severe drug use and psychological problems.)

I was already very aware that Brian Jones had a reputation for not having been very nice. He allegedly had a sadistic streak, and could also get physically abusive toward women (at least to Anita Pallenberg), and he also had 5 illegitimate babies by 1965 (when he was only 25 years old), and it didn’t seem like he was doing much about taking care of any of them, accept at least acknowledging that they were his.

So, I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised that the documentary was sort of depressing — it does basically say that all those rumors about him were true. However, it goes much deeper into his personality and his emotional issues, stemming from childhood, and the serious psychological problems that developed from that. (Compounded by unbelievable quantities of alcohol and drug use that he was infamous for.)

It also looks more closely at the personality dynamics within the Stones, and why Mick & Keith came to the forefront, even though it was Brian’s band, etc. Really sad stuff, that you can easily see why it got so emotionally complicated for Brian and why he felt so defeated by it. (He was dead by age 27.)

It’s not a film that seems to have been supported, endorsed, or acknowledged in any official way at all by the Rolling Stones themselves, so I’m guessing they want their distance from it, but so far, it is a really good documentary. Eye-opening, and balanced, but really sad.

All righty. Well. On that note!!

I’ll get the morning underway here and inch ever closer to completing 1954 Powder Blue Pickup!! And when it’s done, I’ll see if Michael Hemmingson (in spirit) wants to come hang out at my kitchen table for a bit and celebrate!! Yay. (I’m guessing he will.)

Wall Art & Home Decor | Famous art paintings, Famous artists paintings, Raphael paintings
Marilyn & Michael in the old days…

Okay. Thanks for visiting. Enjoy your Saturday, wherever you are in the world!! Oh! And before I forget — that pornographic wallpaper over at Cave Things is now available for sale!! (It’s rather on the pink side — I saw a photo of it on a wall on Instagram yesterday — so here’s hoping you have a room that will look pretty in pink!)

All righty.  I leave you with some early Stones, heavily influenced by all the many instruments Brian Jones was so good at playing: “Paint It Black,” their huge hit from Aftermath (1966). Enjoy. And I love you guys. See ya!

“Paint It Black”

I see a red door and I want it painted black
No colors anymore, I want them to turn black
I see the girls walk by, dressed in their summer clothes
I have to turn my head until my darkness goes

I see a line of cars and they’re all painted black
With flowers and my love both never to come back
I see people turn their heads and quickly look away
Like a newborn baby, it just happens everyday

I look inside myself and see my heart is black
I see my red door and must have it painted black
Maybe then I’ll fade away and not have to face the facts
It’s not easy facing up when your whole world is black

No more will my green sea go turn a deeper blue
I could not foresee this thing happening to you
If I look hard enough into the setting sun
My love will laugh with me before the morning comes

I see a red door and I want it painted black
No colors anymore, I want them to turn black
I see the girls walk by, dressed in their summer clothes
I have to turn my head until my darkness goes

Hmm, hmm, hmm…

I wanna see it painted, painted black
Black as night, black as coal
I wanna see the sun blotted out from the sky
I wanna see it painted, painted, painted, painted black

Yeah!

Hmm, hmm, hmm…

© 1966 Mick Jagger, Keith Richards