Tag Archives: Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds

Oh For Christ Sake, Just Say No to Drugs Already!!!

You know, chocolate ice cream is a drug (see last night’s post). And drugs won’t solve your problems, or make them go away.  Drugs only help you pretend that you’ve got it all under control. But like all good drugs, ice cream eventually wears off. Then what are you stuck with?

My whole day (and night) was just totally fucked yesterday. Jesus. I wish I could just get a grip on my brain, you know?

The chocolate ice cream worked for a little while.  I was feeling pretty pleased with everything. Yeah, like, this ice cream thing was gonna work. But I got into bed feeling a little iffy, like maybe the ice cream was wearing off; like maybe I should take another hit before going to sleep…but that meant I’d have to go back down to the kitchen, maybe even have to wash my bowl and my spoon again. Then brush my teeth again, so that the sugary ice cream residue wasn’t burrowing little holes into my teeth while I slept.

Should I just stick it out?  Get another happiness hit? What to do, what to do…

I give you the soundtrack from last night in bed.

Not so terrible, at first. Kinda really sweet and beautiful:

And it slowly mutated into this; still not unmanageable:

Then it wandered down a little side street into this (getting a little needy around midnight – 1am):

Oops, then it got a wee bit intense and went into some very dicey territory indeed. Clearly the ice cream was on its last legs:

Sadly,  by 3:28am we were right back at square one, absolutely needing another fix…

And then I was awake for the rest of the goddamned night.

(And it all started out yesterday with this):

All righty, gang!!!!! I seriously gotta get crackin’ around here. I am so fucking behind schedule now, you have no idea. But thanks for visiting! I love you guys. See ya!

Hmm…Will Chocolate Ice Cream Solve This Problem?

It turns out, the answer is yes.

Do not let others dissuade you. Do not let others bombard you with practicality, or encourage you to resort to reason. When all else fails (and I do mean ALL else), and you are too distracted by the thoughts that are in your wee bonny head and you cannot focus and get back to work, get in your fucking car and go get chocolate ice cream.

I was absolutely derailed today by somebody’s  Red Hand Files newsletter that arrived in my inbox at an odd time — meaning, when I was sitting at the laptop with the play in front of me, anticipating a stellar day of writing and then did a quick check of my email…

This week, Nick Cave was replying to a fan who wanted to better understand the lyrics to the song”Rings of Saturn,” from off of the Skeleton Tree album, and his explanation sort of left me super distracted and I wasn’t able to get back to planet Earth until I finally gave in and went and got chocolate. (You can read what he said if you wish to; it’s linked up there above.)

I’m not somebody who eats a lot of chocolate, although I eat about an ounce of organic, imported, high-cocoa content chocolate every day. Which basically means that it’s good for your heart and there’s absolutely no joy left in it.

And sometimes you just need it, you know? You need to sort of saturate your brain with an all-out love-bomb of pure sugar-laden, fat-heavy JOY, in order to stop feeling like you’re needing something you can’t have, and get over it, and get back to focusing on your Pulitzer Prize.

The problem is, I actually love chocolate. And having a carton of chocolate ice cream in my freezer only means that I will eat the entire contents of the  carton long before any risk of freezer burn sets in. (Do you ever look at the expiration dates on certain items and just chuckle, sort of uncontrollably? Like, on what planet would this carton of ice cream still be in my freezer past, like, Friday??!!)

Anyway. I have had my emergency ice cream placebo for the moment. (And yes, I bought Hershey’s chocolate syrup, too, and everyone in the checkout line at the dollar store looked at me with my 2 items full of chocolatey-goodness and looked like they thought I was either high and getting ready to binge out, or like they were high and really wanted to come home with me.) But I am back on track. My brain is my own again. And I still have all night to get some stellar writing done.

It is indescribably humid here today, gang. Not too hot, thank god, but humid beyond belief. I’m hoping it will rain soon, or downpour torrentially because I’m sweating like crazy and can barely breathe, the air is so thick. My wee bonny de-humidifier is working overtime.  But I have noticed that chocolate ice cream actually helps me think. It really does. So I’m not gonna worry about the poor air quality or the 86-degrees-Fahrenheit heat. I’m just gonna write!! And if the brain dies and I need more chocolate ice cream in a hurry, I know where to find it!

Okay, gang! Thanks for visiting. I got a lot I need to get to before night falls. I love you guys. See ya!

Image result for vintage ads for refrigerators
Looks like somebody’s found the ice cream!!

Renewed Focus on Tiny Miracles

I’m gonna say first that, last evening, I was driving back from town. It was already dark out. I was blasting Johnny Cash’s “Folsom Prison Blues” from the car’s CD player and I was loving every fucking moment of my life.

There are train tracks all over Muskingum County — the Ohio Central System train is the one that screams by my house, sometimes several times a day/night, and has done so, apparently, for well over 150 years. (The train tracks were laid right through this town before the Civil War, which began in 1860.)

While I was listening to “Folsom Prison Blues” (and thinking, what a weird song for an 11-year-old girl to be so in love with), I was also thinking, Wouldn’t it be so cool if the train was just suddenly somewhere around here, rushing past while I’m listening to this specific song?

For some reason, I never see trains when I’m driving around here — least of all, at night. I see tons of them from my house, or my kitchen porch. In fact, here are some:

The train getting ready to arrive, seen from my bedroom window at night. I then turned it into the cover for Girl In the Night : Erotic Love Letters to the Muse
The train as seen from my kitchen porch one afternoon last summer
The train rushing past one evening back in July, as seen from my upstairs hall window. I loved that these 2 young teenage girls were watching the train go past at the height of a summer evening because I know for a fact that they’re gonna be as old as me in the wink of a fucking eye

Anyway, I love the train but I am never in my car when it is ever around, anywhere in the entire county. And I was wishing, wouldn’t it be nice if just this once…

So last night, I was getting ready to make a right turn onto Basin Street. The CD was really blasting, gang. I mean, I play my music really loud. And even with Johnny Cash shouting at me, and a bunch of jangley guitars, I thought to myself, What the hell is that noise?

And then I turned and then I saw it!! The train was in the process of barreling past my house, a block away, and I was gonna have to wait there in the dark at the railroad crossing for it to finish passing, while listening to “Folsom Prison Blues” — one of the best train songs, ever!!

I was so excited! Another wish, granted here in Muskingum County!

I was in the happiest, most amazing mood yesterday. I woke up just deliriously happy yesterday morning.  And that train thing just capped off the whole evening.

But for some inexplicable reason, I woke up this morning, just filled with anxiety and battling depression. Why does that happen, you know? I went to sleep around midnight. I woke at 5:30am. Not a lot of time to do anything weird or different, right? And I woke up and suddenly my whole life seemed unmanageable and out of my control.

I’m guessing it’s exhaustion, gang.

Plus, I’m feeling guilty because I still haven’t talked to Sandra yet, in detail, about all these changes I’m making to the play. I know the play is really good, but that doesn’t mean she’s going to appreciate all these changes I’ve made while she was busy doing some TV show in Canada. Plus it was starting to bother me that I’m going to be spending all that money on a  suite at the Algonquin Hotel for one night in September (after I see Nick Cave at Town Hall), when I don’t know yet when I have to fly to Toronto, how long I’ll have to stay in Toronto, or where I’m even staying when I go there. I’m only going to be in that suite for a few hours, by myself — and I’m only doing it because I want to feel liberated from the entirety of my second marriage, in a spiritual sense, which has already been over for years. If Toronto weren’t looming, the cost of the suite wouldn’t bother me so much, but I finally called the Algonquin this morning and switched the reservation to a regular room there, instead.

(And it was only a couple hundred dollars difference! So I might actually call back and re-book the suite. I just don’t know.)

Anyway. I’m also freaking out a little bit because the version of the play I’m writing necessitates a much larger budget than we were initially planning on (part of why I’m worried about talking to Sandra). And even though the director keeps telling me, stop thinking about the budget, just write the best play you can. For some weird reason, this morning I woke-up thinking about nothing but that stupid budget, and it was really getting to me.

I hate trying to grapple with doubt. I really, really just hate that. Why can’t I just be on my own side all the time, you know?

I still do my meditation first thing after breakfast every day, and then do that journaling thing with my Inner Being — which told me that these were all paper tigers, and that there was nothing to fear; to just get back on the mental frequency that would disperse them.

It wasn’t easy, but I did manage to do that, even though it still kept me from getting any writing done, which started to stress me out all over again. I have only a handful of days left to finish this play and still stay on schedule.

I just want to not be exhausted, you know? I need a fucking vacation. I want to go to that cabin in the caves with Kara and sit in that hot tub under the stars!! But I can’t see that happening for awhile yet because I’m working the whole damn summer away. And all the kids around here have already gone back to fucking school!!!! What the fuck!! Where the heck is the summer going??!!

It’s freaking me out, gang…

So it wound up being a weird day for me today, after my being in such a fantastic mood last night.

I’m much better now, though. I went out driving around, listening to Push the Sky Away by Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds, and even while that’s not what you might call an “upbeat, happy album,” for some reason, it made me feel a lot better. It’s a really beautiful album, even though it’s very abstract and sort of violent in places.

My favorite song on the album is “Water’s Edge” — not the happiest song you’ve ever heard, but for some reason, I just love that song. I guess because it makes me think. The whole album makes me think, really, because it’s so visual and yet I don’t 100% understand all the pictures it’s putting into my head.

Which I guess was a good way to get me to stop thinking about stuff that was worrying me.

That said, it’s a really lovely evening here tonight, even though all the kids have gone back to school. It still feels like summer to me. So I’m gonna try to make the most of it, while it lasts. Tomorrow’s another day. I’m guessing the writing will go better tomorrow because it has to.

Okay. Hope Monday was okay for you, wherever you were and whatever you did! Thanks for visiting. I love you guys. See ya.

“Water’s Edge”

They take apart their bodies like toys for the local boys
Because they’re always there at the edge of the water
They come from the capital these city girls
Go way down where the stones meet the sea
And all you young girls, where do you hide?
Down by the water and the restless tide
And the local boys hide on the mound and watch
Reaching for the speech and the word to be heard
And the boys grow hard, hard to be heard
Hard to be heard as they reach for the speech
And search for the word on the water’s edge
But you grow old and you grow cold
Yeah you grow old and you grow cold
And they would come in their hoards these city girls
With white strings flowing from their ears
As the local boys behind the mound think long and hard
About the girls from the capital
Who dance at the water’s edge
Shaking their asses
And all you young lovers
Where do you hide?
Down by the water and the restless tide

With a bible of tricks they do with their legs
The girls reach for the speech and the speech to be heard
To be hard the local boys teem down the mound
And seize the girls from the capital
Who shriek at the edge of the water
Shriek to speak and reach for the speech
Yeah reach for the speech and be heard
But you grow old and you grow cold
Yeah you grow old and you grow cold
You grow old

Their legs wide to the world like bibles open
To be speared and taking their bodies apart like toys
They dismantle themselves by the waters edge
And reach for the speech and the wide wide world
And, God knows, the local boys

It’s the will of love
It’s the thrill of love
Ah but the chill of love
Is comin’ on

It’s the will of love
It’s the thrill of love
Ah but the chill of love
Is comin’ on

It’s the will of love
It’s the thrill of love
Ah but the chill of love
Is comin’ down, people

c – 2013  Nick Cave, Warren Ellis, Thomas Wydler

Me + Migraine + Aspirin + Caffeine =???

Sorry for the delay in arriving here today.

As the heading might indicate, I was struggling with a headache. The type of headache that makes me indescribably irritable.

One of those migraines that starts as a brightly-colored geometric pattern in front of one eye. It slides around, making it really difficult to see (i.e., laptop screens). And I have discovered over time that if I can get aspirin into me as soon as the shapes appear, I can cut the accompanying headache off at the pass…

But I didn’t want to take aspirin because I have a lot of work to do on the play today and I have a meeting with the director tomorrow and he’s going back to NYC in a few days and I wanted this draft done — done done done done done — before he went back to NYC,  and aspirin actually makes me really sleepy.

So I decided that I would just ignore the brightly-colored geometric pattern in front of one eye as it slid around, and then the accompanying headache would simply never materialize.

Yes, that would be the self-same headache that always, without fail, 100% of the previous times, for years, has accompanied that fucking brightly-colored geometric pattern in front of one eye…

Since, obviously, ignoring it didn’t work, I finally compromised and went out in a whirlwind of pain & frustrated anger and bought low-dose baby aspirin and then drank a truckload of coffee… and guess what?

It worked!!! The headache put in a very brief appearance and then went away and I’m not sleepy at all.

That said, though, it’s already 3:30 in the afternoon so I’ll probably be here at my desk until 10 o’clock tonight, trying to recoup the lost time.  We’ll see. The feedback from the director re: my most recent revisions was really, really just so wonderful. So, I don’t really mind sitting here eternally, working on this play. Eventually, it’ll be worth it.

Here’s something really interesting that happened last evening. It was out on that magical highway over here, the one I’ve talked about before, where the Spirits are just off-the-charts interactive.

I was coming home with groceries, it was almost dark out, and for some reason, there was actually traffic on the highway. (By “traffic” I mean maybe 10 cars, but still. That’s 8 more cars then there usually are.) I was in the fast lane (of course) and a car cut right in front of me and had the nerve to go the actual speed limit (which is 70 mph, but I usually drive 95mph).

But I decided to myself: you know, it’s a really beautiful evening; the moon is almost full, the stars look awesome. I’m just gonna chill and hang out here behind this guy and go the speed limit for, like, the first time ever.

And then, lo & behold, up around the bend, for the first time ever, there sat the Muskingum County Sheriff. All bright and bold and beautiful.

Oh my god!! It was just too cool!! I felt so fucking blessed, you know? Like that guy who cut in front of me was sent from heaven! I always speed out here because the Sheriff is never around. But I also always pray to St. Francis and St. Christopher and to whoever else might be listening, before I ever get into my car… I really think it works.

Also, today, when I went to get the baby aspirin, I had to go a round-about way because they’re painting new lines on the main road. I went out over by the old Canal Rd., which is all farms and trees and hills and just so pretty.  (The old Ohio – Erie Canal used to run through this town back in the 1820s or something like that. There was a lock here and everything.) And the sky is so blue right now. I wanted to stop and take a picture to post on the blog, but I had such a fucking headache by then that I wasn’t really able to process the idea of stopping the car.

Anyway. It was lovely. And I just feel so blessed to be living out here.

Okay, gang. I’m gonna cut this short and get to work on the play now. Thanks for visiting.  I leave you with 2 things. One: an old photo of the Ohio & Erie Canal.

Image result for old erie canal in muskingum county ohio

And, two: the song I was absolutely blasting on “repeat” in my little Honda Fit last evening when I had my blessed non-event with the Muskingum County Sheriff!

All righty!! I love you guys! See ya!

Getting There!!

Yes! Here we have it! The play. Finally! All done and ready to go…

Luckily, this makes a LOT of sense to me…probably not to anyone else yet, though.

Mostly, I really wanted to post this photo of the front of the director’s house.  This photo was taken a couple days ago. In case you thought I was exaggerating before…

And here’s a beautiful photo of Nick Cave that I saw online today, although I have no idea when it’s from or who took it, or anything. At this point, I can’t even remember what I was reading when I saw it. (My mind is approaching the Jello stage at this point. I think I might need a nap…)

Okay. Now I gotta get back at it. See ya.

I Smell A Pulitzer!! You Bet’cha!!

Another gorgeous day here in Crazeysburg! You would not believe it had been so unbearable only a couple of days ago.

And because it’s so beautiful, I think I’ll spend the next  8 hours, yes, sitting at my desk!

Even while I am actually excited about making the drastic revisions to Tell My Bones — because I believe in the director and I believe that whatever he feels so strongly about is the path to follow here — I do sort of lament that I spent my entire birthday (Monday) at my desk, working on the (old & now useless) revisions of the play.

I was at my desk for over 12 hours on my birthday.  And it really was a struggle, because I wasn’t sure the revisions were working, either.  I wish the director had read the screenplay earlier (I sent him the screenplay at his request 6 weeks ago) and had discovered earlier that we needed to stop and go back down the previous path.

But it’s futile to wish that too hard, right? For whatever reason, we’re on the path right now. So I try to let go of it and focus on what’s in front of me. And next year, maybe I will spend my birthday doing something wonderful.

Yesterday, I added a new segment to In the Shadow of Narcissa. It’s a work in progress, for sure. It’s not what I would call an actual struggle to write it, but it’s a challenge to find balance there, and to tell the story through the eyes of my actual childhood and not tell the story as my grown self, who knows all the awful stuff that came later.

I’m not exactly sure what years the memoir will encompass. I want it to remain in the realm of my childhood in Cleveland. My happiest childhood memories are of Cleveland, but that’s because my paternal (adoptive) grandmother lived there and she was the very best part of my life.

But I do also  have some happy memories about my adoptive mother from the years in Cleveland, even though I was already terrified of her by age 2, when she first lost control and mercilessly abused me. She tried really hard to regain her footing with me after that — and sadly, I believe it was to the detriment of my older brother.  This is my own opinion about what happened. But I think that she was so afraid of herself, and of losing her control again with me and then having my dad find out that it had happened again, that she wound up redirecting all her rage toward my entirely defenseless brother.

As if her rage only counted if it was aimed at me, and that my brother didn’t matter. It was horrible, the stuff she did to my brother and I don’t even really know what happened, because she was always dragging him off to his room and I was always told to sit in a chair and shut up and not move.

Once, she tied his hands together and dragged him off to his room, and a lot of screaming, from him, ensued. He was 5 years old. It had started because he wouldn’t stop biting his nails. I was overwhelmed with anxiety, having to sit there and shut up and hearing him scream and not be able to help him.

I do remember one time being unable to control myself and pleading with her to leave my brother alone. “Mommy, stop!” you know, just inconsolable screaming, wanting to help him. And she actually told me to calm down because he was a boy and boys had to learn how to handle it. (As a footnote,  my older brother stopped any contact with our adoptive mother back in 1982 and I haven’t seen my older brother since 1995.)

She said this. I remember it so clearly. I had a hard time processing that, for sure.  Even at age 4, I could not believe that anyone who was suffering for any reason whatsoever, was meant to learn how to handle it.

Anyway, I’m trying to find balance as I tell In the Shadow of Narcissa. Because I do remember her trying very hard to be kind to me when I was very little, while she was in her early 30s. As the years went on, she became pretty much uncontrollable, 24/7. But I don’t think this memoir is going to be about that. This memoir is going to be about her seeming battle early on to be kind and yet to be filled with rage — a truly unhappy young 1960s American housewife who was also a narcissist.  And how disruptive it was to me psychologically, and how, because I knew I’d been adopted, I began very early on, wishing that my “real” mother would come back and get me.

And then that very real fear of realizing that my “real” mother did not know where I was and that I was on my own.

Regarding the play, though. I decided to take last evening off. It was such a lovely night. I played my guitar up in my room for awhile and I even got out this Tom Petty songbook that someone gave me as a gift, recently.

I have never played a single Tom Petty song on my guitar in all these decades. I am strictly an acoustic rhythm player and so electric guitar stuff has never really called out to me, you know? Even though I know that Tom Petty felt very strongly about his songs staying as simple as possible, so that everyone could play it on an acoustic guitar around a camp fire, right? He believed this. I think it worked for him, too, because he was worth something like $95 million when he died. Keep it simple.

(As an aside, I saw a video on Youtube recently, by way of the AThousandMistakes blog in Australia. It was Warren Ellis and the Dirty 3 playing a recent concert in Sydney, I think. And he was introducing a specific song as their version of a camp fire song that people were supposed to be able to play on their acoustic guitars. It was so funny, because no way on earth could anyone else have been able to even attempt to play that thing.)

Anyway, I was looking at some of those Tom Petty songs in the songbook and I was actually astounded to see that some of my favorites from his early days always had about 3 chords. They were so simple to play.  Even Free Fallin‘ — I had no idea it had 2 chords in the whole song. In fact, the melody itself is comprised of 3 notes, sometimes sang an octave higher, but 3 notes!! In the whole song.

That tells you a lot about how to become a wealthy songwriter in America, doesn’t it? Where we prefer things to be emotionally simple. We really do. I’m not knocking it, either, because I love that song Free Fallin.’ But we want our songs simple. We’re either happy, sad, or angry. That’s about it.

(As another aside, I remember coming out of Mel’s Diner on Sunset Boulevard in Los Angeles. It was late at night. I was with Peitor and I was talking about a song Nick Cave had written, “We Call upon the Author to Explain.” I just love that song, you know. And I said something to Peitor, like, “I just don’t understand why Americans don’t love Nick Cave.” And Peitor looked at me like I was from Jupiter and he said, “Nick Cave is too smart. Americans like things to be stupid.”)

I don’t want that to sound like an indirect way of saying Tom Petty was stupid, because he wasn’t. He just saw the value in keeping it really simple. And yesterday, as I marveled at the 2-chord, 3-note structure of Free Fallin‘ and, you know, considered the state of my own bank account, and I wondered if simplicity wasn’t in fact the way to go…

Okay, gang! I gotta get started here!! As you know, I have a lot of work to do on Tell My Bones in the next 2 weeks. To put it mildly.

Thanks for visiting, though. I love you guys! And I leave you with your right to choose!! Simple, or not so simple. Okay. I love you guys. See ya!

Si!! Per due giorni non ho studiato italiano!!

Yes! That’s right!

This morning, I realized that I hadn’t studied my Italian lessons for the past 2 days. Which also means I missed my Sunday quiz!

Ack!! I’ve been so caught up in revisions of the play, as well as the profoundly intense heat wave, that everything else fell from my awareness.

I’m not gonna spend the rest of the summer giving you the weather report for around here, but I do want to at least say that it is an unbelievably beautiful day here, today. All the heat and thunderstorms are completely gone.  It is sunny and mild and supposed to stay that way all week. And by mild, I mean it’s going down into the high 50s Fahrenheit during the night! I feel transformed because of it.

I did not feel transformed yesterday, though.

I had a very challenging day with the revisions for Tell My Bones.

I was getting good work done. I liked what was coming, but it was painstakingly slow going. And I am still having trouble going back & forth between the new revisions for the overall play, and the staged reading version of the play , which is condensed and shorter, less music, etc.

And as I make the revisions to the overall play, I then have to go back to the staged reading version and make sure it gets updated. So the constant switching back & forth was extremely distracting.

After I was at it for 8 hours, the director of the play called to wish me a happy birthday and to confirm our lunch appointment for today — AND to say that he was reading the screenplay version of Tell My Bones and that it was incredibly wonderful and he told me all the reasons why he thought so and that he lamented that the play couldn’t capture a lot of that because they were two different media.

(The screenplay scored really well in several high-profile screenplay competitions the year I wrote it, and won Best Voice of Color at the Cleveland Independent Film Festival the following year.)

While we were talking, I was already so incredibly exhausted from laboring over the revisions of the play for 8 hours, that my “take away” from the phone call was that the play was nowhere near as good as the screenplay and so I had to start from scratch or something.

It blew my evening right out of the water, and not in a good way. I stayed at my desk for 3 more hours wondering, what am I supposed to do here? How do I turn this into the screenplay?

Loyal readers of this lofty blog no doubt recall that Sandra and I struggled with just that very thing for a couple of years before I came to the conclusion (with input from Peitor in Los Angeles) that I had to let go of the screenplay entirely, and approach the play from a whole new perspective. Because it wasn’t working for the stage.

Last night, though, I kept feeling that there must be a way to sort of layer aspects of the screenplay on top of the play…. and have a 90 minute full-cast dramatic screenplay magically become a 90 minute one-woman play with music.

I’m sure you can readily see that I was completely out of my mind.

Eventually I realized that I was starving and needed to eat dinner. So I finally closed the darn laptop and walked away.

This morning, though, I had an entirely fresh perspective on all of it. And I know something magical is going to transform or infuse the play with aspects of the screenplay. I don’t know yet what that is but I can feel it sort of hovering at the edges of my mind.

Even though this also means that at my meeting today, revisions to the script will not be finished. But it isn’t the end of the world. I still have  2 weeks before Sandra gets here to begin the initial rehearsals.

(Here’s something interesting that I just noticed: Whenever I need to type the word “being” it always comes out as “begin” and I have to fix it. But just there when I needed to type the word “begin” it came out as “being”! Clearly, I know how to type the word “being” so why can’t I just type it the right way when I need it??!!)

Anyway. Hey, thanks to new readers who are coming here through the post over at EdgeofHumanity.com yesterday. I appreciate it.

I thought it was kind of interesting that yesterday was my birthday and the first excerpt from my childhood memoir-in-progress, In the Shadow of Narcissa, went out on the EdgeofHumanity.com feed.  I don’t know why I wasn’t expecting that. I knew it was coming out this week, but I didn’t think it would be on Monday.

I have emotional issues with In the Shadow of Narcissa, only because it is very hard for me to write.  It’s hard for me to emotionally claim all the stuff I need to in order to write it. But I do feel 100% sure that I need to write it, so I’m not going to allow my emotions to get in the way of that.

Still, seeing something so personal to me arrive as another entity’s web update in my inbox, was startling. Partly, you know, I just want to remove myself from it. It’s the only way I can handle it, really.

I appreciate so much that they are wiling to publish it over at Edge of Humanity, though, because I think it’s helping me stick with the process of writing it.

Okay, gang. I’m gonna get started around here now because I have to have that lunch meeting in a couple of hours. I hope you have a terrific Tuesday, wherever you are in the world!! I leave you with the breakfast listening music from today! “Opium Tea” from B-Sides & Rarities. A song with an hypnotic, groovy little groove to it. Thanks for visiting! I love you guys! See ya.

“Opium Tea”

Here I sleep the morning through
‘Til the wail of the call to prayer awakes me
And there is 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
Oh, watching the boats come in can do something to you
And the kids gather around with an outstretched hand
And I toss them a dirham 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
In the shapes of hooded men who pass me
And the mad moaning wind laughs and laughs and laughs and laughs
At the strange lot that fate has cast me

The cats on the rampart sing merrily
That he is what he is and what will be will be
The cats on the rampart sing merrily
And I sit and I drink 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 need to be made at all
Not even the choice of having to choose

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

c – 1996 Conway Savage & Nick Cave