Tag Archives: Nick Cave And the Ass Saw the Angel

What about just being happy — has she thought of that?!

Well, it’s finally happened. I’ve gone about 36 hours now, being able to breathe just fine. And I know for sure now that the virus is completely gone. All the pressure is 100% out of my lungs.

Yet, I awoke at about 4am, knowing for certain that I was completely well again, after an entire month of dealing with that virus, and all I could do was cry. For, like, two hours. It’s been the weirdest morning.

I don’t know whether it was because my body was letting go of everything — the stress of having to always overcompensate for not getting enough air. Or what.  But it was just weird. Especially since, yesterday, for the most part, I had just the best day.

I know that part of what made me sad, though, is that yesterday evening, when I went across the road to get my mail, there was a letter in there from my dad. And it was a list of all his art pieces and I was supposed to put a check mark next to any of the things I wanted  after he’s gone, or in the event he has to go into the actual nursing home and thus downsize.

It was depressing. There are a few pieces I actually really want but I have no room for anything whatsoever. No room at all. One is a painting of empty boats at a dock that my dad has had forever. Another is a crystal sculpture of the sail of a sailboat — something else he’s had for most of my life. And so I would like to have those things. The other is a somewhat enormous wooden model of a galleon ship, replete with sails. My dad built it and it’s really awesome. However, it’s also really just huge, you know? I have absolutely no room for it. And it doesn’t actually make me think of my dad, because it’s not that old. It actually makes me think of Ghosteen, by Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds (“Galleon Ship”), and so I want it, too.

Even though I actually really want these things, what the heck am I supposed to do with them? So I know that was weighing on me — the idea that my dad sent me that letter, I mean. That alone stressed me out. But that’s not enough to make me cry for two hours the following day…

I think that, mostly, my writing is weighing on me. Just generally.

I had a great session with Peitor yesterday. We worked for two hours on revising the “Lita” script and we are just about done with that. All we have left after that will be to create the pitch deck presentation.

And I made the decisions to hire a “happiness engineer” to help me put the rest of the web site together.  (It really has just gotten to be too much for me to figure out how to make the most with these “user friendly” web templates. And it just makes me so frustrated. I can’t tell you how simple it used to be to throw together amazing looking web pages, just knowing html and a little bit of java code, you know?)

Anyway. I decided to release that stress and just hire someone at WordPress to make sure it got done correctly. So that Peitor and I can keep moving forward and be ready with everything the moment LA gets back to normal. And he and I are both really excited about the studio in Alabama, too. Just having access to that space, with the cinematographer right there. It’s going to be so much fun.

Plus he and I have never been able to travel much together, but when we do, we really have fun. Once, about twenty years ago, we took a trip to Catalina Island, back when it was still really charming, and we had just the best time. We stayed in a bed & breakfast that used to be the writer Zane Grey’s estate. (And oddly enough, the County Seat of Muskingum County is Zane Grey’s birthplace — isn’t that weird?)

We laughed like crazy that whole trip. In fact, here’s a photo of Peitor in our room at the bed & breakfast — 20 years ago:

 

 

 

 

 

He’s in his 40s here and he looks so young! It’s hard to believe we’d already known each other 15 years by this point. How young were we when we actually met, you know??!!  (We met at the Museum of Modern Art, in NYC, when I was 25 and he was 27.)

So, I’m really looking forward to the Alabama trip.  And the director of Tell My Bones texted again, saying that he was going to call this morning to give me an update on what he and the producer of the staged reading are mapping out. So I’m excited about that.

Not a whole lot of reasons to cry here, right? So I just don’t know.

I sat at my desk and read over what I have so far of Thug Luckless yesterday. I wasn’t unhappy with it, I just wasn’t sure how to proceed with it. And that bothered me.

And then I took a look at the beginning of Blessed By Light (or whatever I’m planning to call it) to begin the final edit of that and as much as I love that novel, it disturbs me that I always manage to write things that are just so impossible to market, you know? And it’s not like that’s ever my goal, or anything. I’m just lucky that way.

So that depressed me a little bit, so I closed the file and, instead, began reading the latest newsletter from the Biblical Archeological Society. There were several really cool articles about the Canonical Gospels. One, specifically, about the Hebrew-language origins of the Gospel of Matthew. And it also examined how later versions of all the Gospels seriously revised the role of John the Baptist, in order to make Jesus seem more like God. And that kind of stuff always fascinates and disturbs me. (Meaning the manipulation of information in order to control people.)

And just as I was deep into reading a section about the symbolic role of Lazarus in the Book of John, I got an alert on my computer screen that Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds had just uploaded something to YouTube. So I clicked on it and suddenly Nick Cave is reciting from And the Ass Saw the Angel, saying, “Pa beat the mule to death in Autumn…”

Jesus Christ, you know? (No pun intended.) But I certainly wasn’t expecting that. (I love that novel, but still. Whoa. Thank you for putting that image into my head…)

I listened to the whole thing because it was only 2 minutes long, but then decided to close down the computer for the night. I went down to the kitchen and streamed a PBS special, titled Inside the Vatican. It was really interesting. All the various people who work at the Vatican are so cool; they have such meaningful jobs, you know? But it made me feel like I don’t really know what my purpose is anymore — or if I even have one. I know that I don’t actually need a purpose in order to exist. But it just felt disconcerting.

And I’m guessing the tears this morning stemmed from that, which I know must be connected to my writing in some way. Now that I’m finally well, and what’s left of my life is still ahead of me, what am I planning to do? Right?

And then I was really missing that man who died a couple years ago. He had this really uncanny way of knowing exactly what I should do about everything. And I mean, everything — all the things that mattered to me.  He would just tell me what to do, and he would always be right.

And then he died, and I went back to floating off on my little cloud again.

Well, in other good news: The Amish guys called yesterday to say that, weather permitting, they will be here on Saturday to put the new roof on my barn! And that really does make me happy. I can’t wait. And now that I’m finally really well, I can start cleaning up that backyard — get all the dead leaves raked up and out of there. Get ready for summer.

Okay. On that note! I’m gonna close this and get started on something around here. I hope you have a really good Tuesday, wherever you are in the world. I’ll leave you with “Galleon Ship,” off of Ghosteen, even though I think I might have already posted it here once before. I can’t remember! Anyway. I love this song. Enjoy! And thanks for visiting. I love you guys. See ya!

 

A Fond Goodnight to An Interesting Day!

I spent almost the entire day working on In the Shadow of Narcissa, trying to outline it, actually. Sort of “do the math” on it. It covers my childhood in 3 houses, over the space of 9 years, and I want it to be less than 40 pages.

So it seems like there could be a tidy math equation in there that could help me structure it.

I’m still a bit stymied, but I think I’m at least focused in the right direction. I’m feeling like I’d like to get that book finished and start circulating it with publishers by late Spring.

Well, okay.

Here in Ohio, the virus has ballooned to 247  confirmed cases today. Most of them seem to be in the northern part of the State, or concentrated in nursing homes. 3 elderly people have died –aged between 76 – 91.  If you don’t live in America and don’t know Ohio, it is densely populated — about 11.75 million people live here (although almost no one lives in Crazeysburg).  And even though there is a lot of farmland in the State, just a heck of a lot of people live in the main cities (i.e., Cleveland, Cincinnati, Columbus). And each city has (or had until recently) a busy international airport.

I’m hoping my dad won’t go out now for a few days. He has people to buy him groceries so he shouldn’t need to go out. But he is going really stir crazy. It just feels like the virus is peaking now, though, and he is almost 90.

This evening, I started watching a new version of Agatha Christie’s The Pale Horse (BBC).  For some reason, it got bad reviews, but I’m really loving it. It’s nothing at all like the original but I think it’s really fun. And the acting, of course, is through the roof. As it usually is on all these BBC whodunits. (And a lush budget, of course — the cars, the costumes, the sets!). It’s a nice way to pass the evening.

I cannot remember now why I was thinking about this, but earlier today I was thinking about that song called “Sodomy,” from the Broadway musical Hair. It’s a really short song but it’s full of nothing but dirty words. When I was 8 years old, I knew that song (and almost all the songs from Hair) by heart. I had no clue what any of those songs meant, although my brother seemed to know. (My older brother and I played that record all the time and for some weird reason, our mom let us.)

(It’s so strange, when you think of how intolerant she was about so many things, but never about art or theater or science.)

Well, today,  it struck me as really amusing that I would sing that song at such a young age, even though I had no clue what any of the words meant. Not at all. I was just singing the sounds of the words, you know? I liked how the words sounded. But I must have sounded just hysterically funny to any adults who might have overheard me. I mean, I was 8, with long brown hair, my little stretchy hairband, big brown eyes. Little saddle shoes, knee socks. The works. And I had one of those high soprano voices and I would sing my heart out!

I eventually re-discovered that song in my teens and by then, I knew what all those words meant and I almost died when I realized what the song was about.

Anyway, I have no idea why I was remembering that today, but I was.  Clearly, I was destined from birth to fill up my entire life with dirty words.

Okay! I finished that poetry book I bought recently — the award-winning chapbook I mentioned, where the poet had written the best inscription ever. Anyway, it’s really good. It’s called Acadiana, by Nancy Reddy.  

It is inspired by folklore and hurricanes in Louisiana, so it’s intense. And it has some incredible imagery involving the folklore of girls  that I just loved, even though a lot of it was sort of starkly merciless and maybe emotionally brutal? Not sure if that’s the right word. But I really liked it.

(Actually, the imagery often reminded me of Nick Cave’s novel, And the Ass Saw the Angel, except that Acadiana is only about 29 pages.)

All righty! So that’s Day 7 for me in quarantine.  We’ll see what tomorrow brings, right? Have a good night, gang, wherever you are in the world!! Sleep tight. I love you guys.

“Sodomy”

Sodomy, Fellatio, Cunnilingus, Pederasty
Father, why do these words sound so nasty?
Masturbation can be fun
Join the holy orgy Kama Sutra
Everyone!

© – 1968 Galt McDermot, Gerome Ragni, James Rado