Tag Archives: Nick Cave

You’d think she’d just dig the fuck outta this…

March 21, 2020 marilyn jaye lewis Leave a comment

This idea that the entire Universe is forcing me to stay home and write, you know? You’d think I’d just fucking love that.

And in a way, I do. Because, thankfully, I’m really healthy. Although yesterday, when we had that brief burst of mild Spring weather and I was able to open a couple of windows — man, that fresh air felt so incredible. I really, really miss the fresh air.

But I do really enjoy being alone. And writing. (Although, I would of course prefer being with that guy I’m totally trying not to love, but since that’s utterly impossible — just more impossible than you can possibly imagine — I just enjoy the fuck out of being alone…) (grumble grumble grumble)

But the sameness of the days is getting sort of weird. A little too “Groundhog Day”-ish, you know? Except for the fraction of a second that I interacted with the gals at the pizzeria, and the few moments standing 6 feet away from the guys at the Granville Inn — aside from that, I’ve been alone in here for 168 hours.

Thankfully, I talk to Peitor a lot. Or we text (constantly). We get a lot of creative stuff accomplished, which feels so great. Other than that, though, I don’t really interact with anyone. I call my dad every day because he’s getting depressed. Not only is he on lockdown, too, but he doesn’t actually enjoy being alone, and, it’s been raining a lot where he lives so he can’t even get outdoors and take a walk.

Aside from that, he’s still grieving the death of his wife of 35 years. She’s only been gone 2 months now. And even though my dad and I have not had the best relationship during my adulthood, by any stretch of the imagination, even I knew that he had a really happy 3rd marriage. My stepmom was just the best. They loved each other so much. And she was the easiest person to be around. One of those rare women that you just enjoy being in the same room with — and you really noticed it when she left a room. She had such uplifting, delighted, joyful energy all the time.

So with or without the quarantine, my dad no longer has that wonderful energy in his life. Now all he has is the TV. And it’s on constantly — always on the news. Every time I call him, I have to say, “Dad, turn off the news. It’s depressing you.” Of course, he doesn’t do it, but I still feel it’s my sworn duty, you know, to tell him to do that every single darn day.

(I’m guessing that the minute we hang up the phone, he’s saying “You’re not the boss of me.” And he’s turning the volume on the news right back up!!)

But anyway. That’s my day. Peitor and/or my dad. Then I eat endless vegetables — so boring. I’ve already “ice-creamed” myself out — totally not interested in the ice cream anymore. So it’s back to eating really healthy stuff. Doing my yoga and my Booty Core, so that I can feel and look great during my endless days of living in captivity all by myself. And I still meditate and keep my endless little journals, so that my mind doesn’t completely unravel.

And then, you know, I sit down at my desk and write. In so many ways, that seems like heaven — so how come it doesn’t feel like heaven? Hmmm……

Oh — I did want to thank you guys for buying my books yesterday and during the night. Seriously. I actually do appreciate it, even though you steadfastly refused to be led in the direction of my more literary pursuits — i.e. Twilight of the Immortal. I still really do appreciate that the old erotica still sells. (It will remain on sale for the next 4 weeks on Smashwords only.) (See yesterday morning’s post.)

But I do want to point out something, and I have no qualms whatsoever comparing that specific novel (Twilight of the Immortal) to F. Scott Fitzgerald. I honestly don’t. I know it’s a really well written book (that a lot of publishers also loved but they did not love the fact that there were so many lesbians in it & I was not willing to delete them from history). Still, I’ll point out that when F. Scott Fitzgerald died, you could not buy a copy of The Great Gatsby in any bookstore. Nobody wanted to read it. (And, frankly, it is my favorite novel of all time.) And now, almost 100 years after it was written, it is not only considered a masterpiece of 20th Century American literature, but right now, today, it is ranked at #5 on Amazon’s Classic Literature list, and ranked #131 in all books.

All books. Do you know what that means? Can you even estimate how many books are being sold on Amazon right now — and that nearly 100-year-old book, which at one point, while he was still alive, nobody wanted to buy, is ranked at #131 amid those millions of titles?

I’m just saying. Your great-grandchildren will be more than happy to buy my lonely little book, let alone get it for free! Even though it doesn’t have a ton of sex in it… (And you’ll be stuck up there in Heaven — with any luck, that is, because it’s getting dicier with all that porn you’re reading — but anyway, you’ll be stuck up there just listening to harps and stuff!)

All righty!!!!

So here’s good news. The numbers, while increasing for now, are still encouraging. Close to 94,000 recoveries from the virus as of today (3/21/2020). About 179,000 known cases worldwide, and about 171,000 of those cases are considered mild.

And some other good news — because of all this quarantine stuff, that portion of my bathroom ceiling that collapsed yesterday because of all that sudden rain? I get to just ignore it for now because no way on Earth is anyone going to be able to come out here and fix it yet.

I love, love, love ignoring needed home repairs!! It is one of my very favorite things to do! And usually it bothers my conscience when I’m doing it, but not this time!! Yay!

Okay, guys. I guess that’s it for today. I’m guessing that Nick Cave is out there, quarantined somewhere, too, and yet still wearing a suit and having some sort of a conversation!!! Alas, we don’t know for sure. It’s just an educated guess. (Yes, life’s getting a little boring here in my room.) Oh, I’ve started streaming re-runs of the British Crime Drama, DCI Banks in the evening. So that’s fun. And I did eventually finish watching Ken Burns’ Jazz documentary — man, was that good. If you like jazz and you haven’t seen that show, it’s totally something to watch. It’s about 20 hours, but still worth every moment.

All righty. Thanks for visiting! Wash your hands and stop touching your face already. Life is good. The world is beautiful. I love you and I feel certain that a whole lot of other people do, too! See ya, gang!!

“In My Room”

There’s a world where I can go and tell my secrets to
In my room, in my room
In this world I lock out all my worries and my fears
In my room, in my room

Do my dreaming and my scheming
Lie awake and pray
Do my crying and my sighing
Laugh at yesterday

Now it’s dark and I’m alone
But I won’t be afraid
In my room, in my room
In my room, in my room
In my room, in my room

Gosh, I Feel So Bad For Me!!!

March 11, 2020 marilyn jaye lewis Leave a comment

Yes, gang! I know!! My life SUCKS!!

I have to spend the whole darn day working on that new web site for Abstract Absurdity Productions or it is NEVER gonna launch!!! Fuck.

I hope that by now you had a chance to see our wonderful new logo!! I just love it. Peitor did such a great job. He had been trying to explain his idea to someone there in LA who actually designs logos, but then realized he was just going to have to do it himself if it was going to be anywhere close to what he was envisioning.

He’s been a record producer for decades and, as the Internet took over the music industry, he became really good at designing album cover art JPEGS, too, so he decided yesterday to just do our logo himself.

I am so happy with it!! It fills me with glee whenever I look at it. I’ll post it again here, in case you didn’t see it. This is just the rough image that he texted me last night:

Here’s an urgent update, on another, very different note!

The starlings are right at this very moment building a nest in my gutter but, for now, choosing a whole new area of the gutter to destroy!! This one is outside my upstairs bathroom window. Isn’t that just fantastic news??!! After I so patiently didn’t fix the part of the gutter they destroyed last Spring so that it would be all move-in ready for them this Spring??!!

Okay. Back to what I was saying.

Our meeting yesterday was not about script work at all, even though we are so close to finishing the script. Instead, we wound up working on business stuff and discussing what I needed to do to get the website launched (re-direct the domain, etc.); then get the YouTube and Vimeo channels set up; and the social media accounts set up, and we discussed the (absurd & abstract) game plan for social media once we launch.

It became quite a tidy little To-Do list for me, gang. I tacked it to the wall in front of my desk and my heart sort of sank. I cannot keep avoiding this stuff. It is absolutely never going to get done if I don’t just fucking do it.

So. I’m doing it.

Yesterday, I finally decided on 2 templates for the web site. I know the one I prefer so I hope it’s the one that will work for us. We’ll barely have any content when the site launches, so it shouldn’t be that difficult to set up. I just need it to be a template that will easily help us grow. (This template I use here for Marilyn’s Room is so freakin’ easy to use, it’s ridiculous. It is so user-friendly. I think I’ve been using it for about 5 years already. But it’s a magazine template.)

Anyway. It also became incredibly clear that I needed a better movie editing software thing on my desk top. So I had to research that. I settled on Lightworks, because it will be easy to upgrade to Pro if I ever need to. I’m not planning on becoming a film editor or anything (she says now — but the day’s young!). But I do need to be able to edit our video clips and upload them to the web site.

So guess what I get to do today (besides take 2 more webinars — another one on movie financing for short subject films and one on negotiating perks and credit placements, and back-end point deals, etc., etc.)? Yes, that’s right!! I get to learn how to actually use Lightworks now that it’s on my desk top!! Because apparently it’s not 100% user-friendly. And let’s face it — I am not (yet) a film editor, by any stretch.

Although I do have an Associate’s Degree in audio engineering. Yes! I’m technically a Sound Engineer. However, I have no desire whatsoever to be a Sound Engineer and so my skills are extremely outdated (analogue!!). But my point is, I can grasp this sort of stuff when I focus and pay attention. (I think that’s redundant, but it gives you an idea of how my mind can wander if I’d rather be doing something more important — i.e., looking at all things Nick Cave-related on Instagram).

But anyway. I’m guessing I can learn the basic Lightworks interface pretty quickly. But I have to do that pesky thing called: watch the videos and actually learn it. And I have to take those 2 web seminars. And I have to learn the new web site template and actually upload stuff to it and launch it.

I know! I’ve tried to tell you! Even though I do Booty Core now and look indescribably fantastic for someone who’s going to turn 60 at any moment; and even though the hair stuff really is working and my hair is really starting to look like I actually have some and it’s not falling out everywhere!! Even though all of that stuff is so blindingly difficult to ignore — Please don’t envy me for my truly glamorous life! A lot of fucking web seminars and other frustrating stuff go into making the magic happen.

All righty. Oh, in case you want to know. Now that I know for sure this stuff works, gang, here it is. (But if you buy it on Amazon, be forewarned that the company will strongly urge/bribe you to give them a 5- star review, which kind of irked me. But it does indeed work.)

Before I forget, if you saw my post about Weenie yesterday and how he is showing signs of potential kidney problems — he’s on his homeopathic drops now, maybe forever. And no more treats for any of them, ever. The salt content in those treats is through the roof. And I know this. But gosh they love them. And the worse the ingredients, the better they love their treats. But it’s got to stop.

Last night, they all wandered into the kitchen and stared at me, quite perplexed; their little expressions saying, “Have you forgotten something? Isn’t it treat time?” And I tried to explain to them that Weenie was sick and that I didn’t want him to die that horrible death that Daddycakes went through.

They acted like they didn’t understand a word I said. But today, they’re spellbound — glued to the windows and watching the starlings flit and flutter and build their nests hither and yon. So hopefully we can forget that treats ever even existed! And have 7 healthy, happy cats for a very long time.

Okay. I’m gonna scoot and start working on all that exciting stuff mentioned above!! Thanks for visiting, gang!! I hope you have a really great Wednesday, wherever you are in the world. I leave you with my breakfast-listening music from this morning. Art Blakey & the Jazz Messengers, with the appropriately titled Moanin’ from1958. Another true classic of jazz. If you don’t know it, give it a listen, you’ll probably love it (and want a martini or something!). (Even at breakfast!) All righty! I love you guys. See ya!

And Then Good Fortune Struck!!

March 5, 2020 marilyn jaye lewis Leave a comment

Yes! I glanced out back this morning, as the sun came up, and saw that the cats were out there finally taking care of my yard!!

Gosh, I wish. (Loyal readers of this lofty blog are no doubt aware that there are a lot of homeowner chores that I am always trying to foist onto my cats.) (To no avail.)

What my cats do instead behind my back:

Okay, anyway!!

I had the most interesting day yesterday — for reasons I won’t blog about. I can only say that it was Instagram-related and I about wore out the pondering mechanism in my wee bonny brain.

However, what I will blog about is that I had a very productive time with Thug Luckless yesterday, too. And at one point, I was trying to find out how AI sexbots get delivered to their purchasers. Do they come fully assembled, standing up in a tall cardboard box? Do they come in responsibly-sourced wooden crates, filled with environmentally safe packing peanuts? I’m guessing they arrive fully assembled, though, right? You wouldn’t want to leave something important like that to hapless (and undoubtedly fully aroused) purchasers who will likely be extremely impatient at the very moment of the bot’s arrival.

Well, I could not find out any of that shipping information, but I did learn a bit more about the male AI sexbots — primarily, that they only manufacture about two males. The rest of them are females.

These AI sexbots are really quite interesting, but still kind of spooky. The eyes, mainly. I was talking on the phone very late last night with Val in Brooklyn (who is not actually in Brooklyn right now, she’s at her mom’s, up the Hudson, so we’ve been chatting more than usual) and one of the things we concluded is that the price of those sexbots will eventually come way down, so that everyone can afford one, but that it probably won’t happen in our lifetime.

But who knows, right?

I personally think AI sexbots are pretty cool. And like anything, I’m guessing that some people will go overboard with them and some people won’t. And then I told Val that, according to stuff all over Google, the feminists are all up in arms about the AI (female) sexbots because they objectify women. And we both laughed so hard about that. And she, in her Brooklyn accent, said, “Oh — ya think?”

Jesus. Just too funny. Why does it even have to be mentioned at this point? I don’t think any of us are stupid — not any of us; the world over. Those female bots are lurid as hell. And they are more provocative than any Playboy Bunny that God ever created — Bunnies being one of the most memorable creations in my lifetime that objectified women. And bots can be programmed to never say “no.” Plus, you don’t have to tip them. Obviously they objectify both women and men. Are we really going to write academic papers about this?

[No, we’re going to write experimental novels!! — Ed.]

Anyway. That whole phone conversation with Val aside.

I eventually realized that nothing whatsoever dealt with realism when it came to Thug Luckless so why be so worried that the way he arrived from the factory had to somehow be based on fact? So I just figured it out for myself and had him arrive fully assembled in a crate stuffed full of environmentally safe packing peanuts — primarily because I wanted him to have psychological vestiges of how it felt to have those peanut-things all over him, even though he was dressed. And the irony of the environmentally safe stuff arriving in a post-Apocalyptic town. And then how it felt to see his owner’s face — that relief as she finally pried open the crate and took him out. The feeling of sanctuary, you know?

One thing I will mention here: Apocalypse is a stupidly hard word to type. And I wrote a 600-page novel called Twilight of the Immortal, about Rudolph Valentino, and his breakthrough movie role was “The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.” So I was having to type that darn word all the time. It made me insane. For some reason, typing that word just forces me to become sort of dyslexic.

Anyway! I am really happy with my progress with Thug primarily because of that feeling that a new novel is underway; it’s a feeling of adventure and excitement and joy. So I am happy.

I’m happy about a lot of stuff right now, gang. I really am.

And today is going to be about washing my hair and doing yoga, and working on Thug. And, more than likely, thinking about Nick Cave, because I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t. (I’m of course wondering about that darn coronavirus and the start of the Ghosteen tour.) (And also this thing in NYC right now where things are getting dangerously close to blaming the Jews for spreading the virus.)

(And speaking of Jews — yesterday was John Garfield’s birthday. He was a famous NY stage actor and movie star and political activist. And he was my adoptive grandma’s first cousin. His dad and her mom were brother & sister. Poor Jewish refugees from Poland. If you keep up with my childhood memoir, In the Shadow of Narcissa, you will no doubt know that my adoptive grandma (paternal) was my favorite person in the whole world. And she loved her cousin, John. Happy belated birthday, John Garfield.)

Image result for john garfield actor — John Garfield (Jacob Julius Garfinkle), 1913 -1952.

Oh, and I also want to mention that the combination of yoga, booty core, and glucosamine seems to be doing some really, really good things to my legs, gang. So we shall see!

All righty, I’m gonna scoot!! Have a really nice Thursday, wherever you are in the world. Thanks for visiting, gang. I leave you with my very-late-last-night listening music as well as breakfast-listening music from this morning!! “Late in the Evening,” by Paul Simon, from his album One-Trick Pony, 1980.

This song was a hit when I first moved to NYC and I can remember hearing it while on a city bus, heading to see a movie, wondering how on Earth people afforded the price of movie tickets in NYC on a regular basis. NYC was some serious culture shock for me when I first got there. Like being on a whole different planet back then.

I don’t know — this song gave me something to cling to for a little while. And it’s nice to listen to it now because the song is actually really joyful, and all those difficult early days are so far behind me!

Okay. I love you guys. Take care. See ya!

“Late In The Evening”

The first thing I remember
I was lying in my bed
I couldn’t of been no more
Than one or two
I remember there’s a radio
Comin’ from the room next door
And my mother laughed
The way some ladies do
When it’s late in the evening
And the music’s seeping through

The next thing I remember
I am walking down the street
I’m feeling all right
I’m with my boys
I’m with my troops, yeah
And down along the avenue
Some guys were shootin pool
And I heard the sound
Of a cappella groups, yeah
Singing late in the evening
And all the girls out on the stoops, yeah

Then I learned to play some lead guitar
I was underage In this funky bar
And I stepped outside to smoke
myself a “J”
And when I came back to the room
Everybody just seemed to move
And I turned my amp up loud and I began
to play

And it was late in the evening
And I blew that room away

The first thing I remember
When you came into my life
I said I’m gonna get that girl
No matter what I do
Well I guess I’d been in love before
And once or twice I been on the floor
But I never loved no one
The way that I loved you
And it was late in the evening
And all the music seeping through

c – 1980 Paul Simon

Me, As Usual — Getting My Ducks In A Row!

March 4, 2020 marilyn jaye lewis Leave a comment

I’ll tell you, it is really starting to feel like Spring, gang!

The starlings arrived, en masse, this morning. They are out there flying about, everywhere. The cats are very excited! I’m not sure how long it will take the birds to move in under the soffit outside my backdoor and start building nests again and then really making my cats crazy, but I tell you — they are everywhere this morning!

I love that they have arrived. But it also makes me feel a little anxious, because Spring means I need to get to NYC to begin the table reads for Tell My Bones at the Dramatist Guild. And even though I know that is going to go great — I just know it; I feel it in my own bones. It also means that then Summer will be right around the corner and you know that summers are so tricky for me.

I don’t want to set myself up to fail, or anything. But once Summer arrives, it is so emotionally hard for me to let it go. Once Summer leaves, it means I am one summer farther from the man who died. And even though I know for certain that life is meant to be that way — the cycles of the seasons, of life/love/death — it’s still a heartbreaking specter, always in the background for me. I’m never 100% sure how I’m going to handle that kind of stuff until it’s upon me, you know?

I try not to use all this as a reason to throw myself into my work. However, I’m doing it anyway.

Well, yesterdays’ script-writing session with Peitor was actually incredibly productive. We completed Scene 5, the scene of primary importance in the whole (very short) film. I was impressed with us, because we achieved this 2-page scene in 3 sessions, instead of our usual 20 and a half.

And when I re-read what we had managed to capture in the script (4 lines of very brief dialogue and then the shots, the blocking, camera angles, and lenses), I was really pleased with it.

That said, though, wow. Yesterday. I had a wee bit of a bad attitude. And I guarantee you, I was trying really really really hard to keep a lid on it. First, he showed up late for the call. Not something I actually mind, because I can usually just lie around on my bed, and scroll through an unending cavalcade of Nick Cave photos on Instagram. Not the worst torture ever.

ME (scrolling on Instagram): like, like, like, save, like, save, save, ooh — really like, save, oh my god— like like like [ad infinitum].

Still, it was getting kind of really late and then I remembered that I had yet to figure out how to edit the video that he had sent me on Saturday — a thing we need for the web site. So I got off the bed and sat down at my desk and proceeded to drive myself completely insane because I couldn’t get the program on my desk top to do what I needed it to do.

When he finally called, I was really pissed off at my computer and trying not to transfer my pissed-off-ness to his now being really late for the call. But when I’m in that state , I really need to use the “f” word a lot. The “f” word is my escape valve and helps me get back to normal. However, Peitor is not really keen on my use of the “f” word — at all. He has this weird reasoning that I have developed an impressive and wide-ranging vocabulary for a reason and that I should use it as a way of communicating without the “f” word.

So I tried to just sort of not be pissed-off and not use the “f” word and not have a bad attitude but I was struggling miserably with all 3.

And as we worked on the script — both of us on speaker, and me getting monosyllabic because I was perched so precariously on needing to bleat out a long and sputtering “f” word stream — I suddenly hear him moving around his apartment, doing a ton of stuff while we were working. It was distracting, but I was trying to let everything go because I really hate having a bad attitude. I really do.

But then I finally said, “Peitor, what are you doing? It sounds like you’re outside.”

HIM: “I’m driving. I need to get to a lunch engagement.”

Oh my god. A lunch engagement. Tootling around West Hollywood in his vintage convertible coupe, heading out to lunch. And I’m stuck at my mini-desk, typing away. I’m not sure yet what I will say in my acceptance speech when I get my Academy Award but I know I’m going to get one because I managed to sound like a reasonable human being for the remainder of that call.

It was not easy. At all.

Because what I really, really wanted to say were things like: “Glad you could fit me in, between the Tibetan singing bowls and a lunch date,” and “So what am I now — the typist?” or get really churlish with: “Does it really matter what my opinion is on this shot? We’re just going to do what you want anyway. We always do” (which is not true, btw). And then a whole lot of FUCKS thrown in, too.

I did none of that. Thank god. Because he is one of my best friend’s, and now a business partner, and I seriously do not want to fuck that up. But, wow. Did I struggle with that.

Luckily, directly after that call, I spoke for over an hour with Val in Brooklyn. And we laughed a lot and got caught up on stuff and I got over the Abstract Absurdity Productions call.

And then when I re-read Scene 5 in the script, as I was readying it to send over to Peitor, I saw that we had done a really good job, regardless. The scene was amazing. And I was able to text him during his lunch engagement to say: “Scene 5 is AMAZING.” And he texted back: “Great!!”

So that was yesterday. And I am hoping that today is all about Thug Luckless: Welcome to P-Town. Because I really, really want to just get lost in my work. We shall see.

Well, late last evening, while sitting at my desk and staring, I made the mistake of listening to Amy Winehouse’s “Back to Black,” a song I really, really love — I love the whole album, actually. But I have always just loved that song. And because I identify perhaps too much with that song — meaning, that if I’d been able to sustain any sort of meaningful relationship with anyone ever, I wouldn’t be the gal that I am.

Anyway, I began to get super depressed. Real quick.

So I closed up shop, went downstairs and watched a little more of the final episode of Ken Burns’ Jazz documentary. (This final episode is primarily covering Sonny Rollins and Miles Davis.) And I actually learned stuff about Miles Davis’s music from the mid-1950s, post-heroin addiction, that I never knew before. And it was really beautiful. Very romantic — in that big city/cocktails/cigarettes/little-black-dress-on-and-then-off kind of way. Just lovely stuff.

So I managed to survive yesterday. And I am back at it today.

I am going to get started with Thug now. I hope you have a really good Wednesday, wherever you are in the world. Thanks for visiting, gang. I’ll leave you with both my breakfast-listening music from this morning — “When I Fall in Love,” by Miles Davis, which brought more than a couple of wistful tears to eyes, as I sat at the kitchen table and watched the cats and drank my coffee — and Amy’s “Back to Black” because it really is just a great song. Enjoy — or just think about life if “enjoy” is asking too much of you right now. I love you guys. See ya.

“Back To Black”

He left no time to regret
Kept his dick wet
With his same old safe bet
Me and my head high
And my tears dry
Get on without my guy

You went back to what you knew
So far removed from all that we went through
And I tread a troubled track
My odds are stacked
I’ll go back to black

We only said goodbye with words
I died a hundred times
You go back to her
And I go back to…

I go back to us

I love you much
It’s not enough
You love blow and I love puff
And life is like a pipe
And I’m a tiny penny rolling up the walls inside

We only said goodbye with words
I died a hundred times
You go back to her
And I go back to…

Black, black, black, black, black, black, black
I go back to…
I go back to…

We only said goodbye with words
I died a hundred times
You go back to her
And I go back to…

We only said goodbye with words
I died a hundred times
You go back to her
And I go back to black

c – 2007 Amy Winehouse, Mark Ronson

The Joys of Teeny Tiny Movies!!

February 15, 2020 marilyn jaye lewis Leave a comment

Wow. I’m going to start right off with a digression.

Valentine’s Day on Instagram is quite a fertile little world, in and of itself. The things people choose to post can be just really illuminating.

A poet I follow who lives in Canada — I actually know her, but we haven’t worked together in years. She seems to have quite an eclectic assortment of vibrators. And they also seem to have some sort of seasonal appeal. Meaning — much like me and my dishes — she has favorites for various times of the year and she photographs them (just the vibrator itself) and posts it to Instagram.

Yesterday, of course, she posted a photo of her Valentine’s Day vibrator. (It was red and looked almost sort of like a heart – in a Salvador Dali kind of way).

It would never, in a million years, occur to me to post anything like that to Instagram (or anywhere, actually). (Not that I have an eclectic assortment of vibrators. I’m just saying.)

But I guess, in a way, that’s art. Or perhaps visual erotic poetry, or something like that. (When she’s not photographing vibrators for the various holidays, she photographs chairs — all sorts of chairs that she sees abandoned on the streets.) (There are quite a huge amount of chairs abandoned on the streets in Canada, in case you were curious.)

Of course, Dana Petty posted a beautiful photo of herself with Tom, and said something about love, quoting Anais Nin. And then, moments later, one of Tom’s daughters posted a photo of Tom with his first wife, Jane. (So the step-mother-daughter feud seems to be alive and well out there in LA.)

Tom, of course, didn’t post anything at all to his Instagram page this year because he’s dead.

(Although his “official page” is still alive and well.) (And kicks into high gear whenever there’s something new from WB Records to merchandize — to make money off of him, posthumously.)

(Which only always makes me think of that staggering song he wrote, “Joe,” from The Last DJ album in 2002: So burned out Johnny thinks the books are shifty/ What good’s that alky to me when he’s fifty?/ Well we could move catalog if he’d only die quicker/ Send my regards to the gig and a case of good liquor/ He gets to be famous, I get to be rich/ He gets to be famous, I get to be rich…)

Then there was the usual assortment of really, really cute animal videos for Valentine’s Day. (And I mean, really cute, gang. From owls to koalas, to tiny kittens playing with baby pigs. Just too fucking cute.)

And, of course, the veritable deluge of Keanu photos for Valentine’s Day. Currently, they are mostly of him with his mom at the Oscars (his fall-back female when he wants the paparazzi to fuck-off). (He has taken his mom to many, many, camera ops over the decades. And she always looks so fucking good. That mom of his doesn’t age at all.)

Image result for keanu with his mom at the oscars — Keanu in 2020, at age 55; Mom, ageless

(I’m seriously hoping that he and that really cool artist woman haven’t broken up, and that her absence was only a case of her saying “no way am I ever appearing with you in public again, dude, ever” — because she seriously got eaten alive by the tabloids after that last thing at the LA Art Museum-Gucci thing. They just seemed so fucking happy together, though, so I would really hate to think they broke up. And he still looked really happy at the Oscars — (not that I watched it, I see the world through my Instagram feed!) (I hate awards shows) — I don’t think he’s got any kind of a broken heart or anything; I think maybe he just enjoys fucking with the tabloids.)

Anyway. A lot gets revealed on Instagram. Especially on Valentine’s Day. Or perhaps even very early the following morning. I, however, only ever post photos of my various cats or what the weather looks like outside of my various windows, or if there’s a full moon over Basin Street. Always the same sort of non-committal thing. (The blog is revealing enough, I think.)

Oh, and the official Nick Cave page posted a promo for his upcoming art exhibit in Copenhagen that was very humorous — and extremely short. I watched it 3 times before I realized I was watching the same clip over & over. But it was funny.

It had all the elements of an Abstract Absurdity Production, in fact!!

Which actually was what I wanted to post about today. All that stuff up above this is just a massive digression.

Peitor and I got such great work done on the “Lita” script yesterday! And I know this will sound perhaps absurd and abstract in and of itself, but we still only got 3 scenes onto the written page. And those scenes will each last 45 seconds or less. Still, it was great work. And even though it took hours, we were really, really happy with what we had accomplished when we were done working for the day.

(And then Peitor texted later in the evening, to say that we needed a shot of “the desk against the wall once we hear the keys in the door” and, once I thought about it, I saw that he was completely correct. I know that we probably seem insane, but this movie is going to be so fucking cool. Totally absurd and abstract and even a little erotic and disturbing and also quite lovely to look at!)

(And our micro-micro-micro shorts are going to be completely awesome, gang. Every time I think about them, I can’t help but chuckle out loud. We are planning to shoot 2 of those this year. I don’t think we’ll be shooting the “Lita” script this year, or, if we do, it will be very, very late in the year– yes (!!), probably when The Guide To Being Fabulous is premiering in Toronto. Because we refuse to even consider beginning shooting “Lita” until I get that specific A-list actor that I want for the key role. I’m so absolutely serious about that, gang.)

Well, we are planning to have the Abstract-Absurdity web site launched on April 1st, and a couple of the micro-shorts will be streaming there. So, I’ve gotta lot of work to do there. But I will, no doubt, keep you posted.

Today, I am either going to work some more on In the Shadow of Narcissa — OR — write something Thug Luckless-related! Yes, gang, he’s pushing against the insides of my brain, trying to get onto the paper, too! So we’ll see.

And I spoke at length with Sandra yesterday — she’s up in Canada, now. And, based on her rehearsal schedule up there, it sounds like the table-reads for Tell My Bones will begin in NYC in March. Shit. So — yeah. I gotta get my mind around that. March is, like, 14 seconds away. Thank god I don’t have to cast that thing. All I have to do is show up.

(And — NO! — even though it is super-duper incredibly easy to get to Copenhagen from JFK, I am not going to try to fit in a micro-short trip to Copenhagen to see the Nick Cave art exhibit! It is not going to happen, because it will only complicate my schedule, my work, my bank account, my life — so it ain’t happening. I’m not even going to think about it, or so much as ponder the logistics of it. And all the airline-booking-deal-alerts that pop onto my computer to tell me what flight deals might be lurking in the direction of Copenhagen will simply be ignored!!)

Yep. Absolutely.

And on that note!!! I’m gonna get started here, gang!! Have a wonderful, wonder-filled Saturday, wherever you are in the world!! Thanks for visiting, gang. I’m not gonna leave you with “Joe” today, even though it is an intense little song — it’s a bit too jaded and acerbic for my tastes here this morning. But I will leave you with something else from The Last DJ (such a great album, gang): “Have Love, Will Travel.” So fucking beautiful. All righty! I love you guys. See ya!

“Have Love, Will Travel”

You never had a chance, did you baby
So good-looking, so insecure
And now you say you can’t remember
When the lines you drew began to blur

Yeah, when all of this is over
Should I lose you in the smoke
I want you to know you were the one

And may my love travel with you everywhere
Yeah, may my love travel with you always

Maggie’s still trying to rope a tornado
Joe’s in the backyard trying to keep things simple
And the lonely DJ’s diggin’ a ditch
Trying to keep the flames from the temple

Oh, and if perhaps I lose you
In the smoke down the road
I want you to know you were the one

And may my love travel with you everywhere
Yeah, may my love travel with you always

How about a cheer for all those bad girls
And all the boys that play that rock and roll
They love it like you love Jesus
It does the same thing to their souls

And when all of this is over
Should I lose you in the smoke
I want you to know that it’s all right

And may my love travel with you everywhere
Yeah, may my love travel with you always

c- 2002 Tom Petty

It’s So Fucking Hard to be Good!

February 13, 2020 marilyn jaye lewis Leave a comment

(Yes, yes, I know — it’s so fucking good to be hard, too. But we’re not going there! This is a tasteful blog!!) (I know, like — since when??)

Anyway. I digress already!!

Last night, at the Rowland S. Howard Pop Crimes tribute in London, Nick Cave sang “Shivers” and it was so fucking amazing. I am so serious. His voice was incredible. The song sounded so beautiful.

I wasn’t there, obviously. I was toiling away for hours, here at my mini-desk in Crazeysburg, working on Girl in the Night. But people who actually were there began posting to Instagram right away. Even Nick Cave’s wife posted to Instagram right away — a 59 second video of him singing. (Yeah, I know — I was kinda thinking: really? you think you ought to be doing that? setting that kind of an example and all?) Still, I was indescribably grateful because the song sounded so fucking good.

I knew it had to be on YouTube somewhere — the complete performance of that song. And I hate supporting that kind of thing because, in America anyway, that is a total violation of all sorts of copyrights. It’s not an American song, or an American performance, and probably not an American uploading it to YouTube, so I don’t know the actual laws on that, but still. I don’t like to support that kind of thing. However, I did find it immediately and I did listen to it twice.

Jesus, it was so good. It made me feel so happy — Nick Cave’s voice has never sounded better. Really. I feel certain that Rowland S. Howard was smiling all over that performance.

Well, regarding the new segments of Girl in the Night: Erotic Love Letters to the Muse. If you’ve read them, you’ll see that they are indeed quite different from the other segments of the book. I’m not sure why they came out that way, but they did.

I know that some of the guys and gals I met in the mental hospital will reappear in a later “Letter” and it will likely be more graphic in nature — I fell in love in the hospital, but I also did have a ton of sex in that place (and I never got caught, even though a few times, it was by the skin of my teeth, as they say. A lot of the other kids in there did get caught having sex, and when that happened, the Administration came down really hard. There was really hell to pay then, because the hospital was legally obligated to tell the parents, and so then the parents got involved and you can just imagine how awful that was for the teenagers. Anyway. I never got caught.).

(Oh, and there was this one girl in there that I really just hated and she hated me. And she was so jealous that I was having all that oral sex with the blue-eyed blond boy — and he was really cute and he did really excel at his, well, craft or whatever. But that girl was so jealous that she finally convinced him, behind my back, to have sex with her, too. But for some reason, she actually had intercourse with him. And then she told me. Because she wanted to hurt my feelings. And it hurt like crazy — although I wasn’t a big fan of intercourse and couldn’t really imagine why she thought that was better than having oral sex because, I’ll tell you, that boy was good at it. But, regardless. Me being that easy- breezy 1967-type of no-strings gal (see the recent Glen Campbell post and “Gentle on My Mind”), I tried to act like I wasn’t really, really hurt by this. Well, then…as God would have it… the girl’s Fallopian tubes swelled up! It got really bad. So they made her go to the gynecologist, too, and he of course, discerned that she’d been having intercourse and she got into HUGE trouble. Just huge. Because they told her parents and her dad was a freaking minister. Seventh Day Adventist, to boot. Really strict and conservative, and she got into so much trouble; she was put on room arrest and all her privileges were taken away. And then some other female-organ complication ensued wherein she had to have an enema, too. Poor thing. I was de-lighted.)

Okay, anyway.

For whatever reason, #6 & 7 are just really different segments of the book. And I’m going to let them stand as they are, because that’s how they wanted to come out.

Well, it is continuing to snow here — like, for real. Snow everywhere, and it’s accumulating. So that’s really nice. I love snow.

And yesterday afternoon, Wayne finally called me from NYC to tell me he loved the new version of Tell My Bones and he didn’t see anything wrong at all with the ending.

So I guess I’m signing off on it. And moving forward. It’s such a weird feeling. I know that more tweaks will happen as the readings and the rehearsals and then the play itself is actually underway, still, for now, the play is done. And it’s hard for me to wrap my mind around that because I’ve been working on this theatrical adaptation of Tell My Bones since 2016.

Plus, it also means, we are indeed finally moving forward. Wow. Exciting. I know that some really talented people are going to get pulled into these roles — I just know it.

Well, today, I’m going to get back to In the Shadow of Narcissa. While researching more potential small presses to send Blessed By Light to (in the event I ever hear back from any of the other publishers I queried and they decline it), I did notice quite a few chapbook publishing options for a book like Narcissa. So that was cool. And yesterday, I got a really nice comment from an online reader, and it sort of solidified for me that, even though Narcissa is getting emotionally difficult for me to write, it will be a really, really good thing to keep moving forward with it. So I’m going to get back to that today.

Before I close, Wayne told me the coolest story yesterday. In NYC, a lot of people sell used books on the street as a way to make money. And over a year ago, Wayne bought a hard cover edition of Chuck Berry’s Autobiography. The guy selling it only wanted two dollars, even though Wayne offered to give him more than that because it was a hard cover. But all the guy wanted was two dollars.

So Wayne gave him the two dollars and then took the book home, set it on a coffee table and then, over a year later, finally decides he wants to read it. He opens the book and it’s not only a first edition, but it’s signed by Chuck Berry. And not only is it signed by him, but there’s also a personal inscription because Chuck Berry apparently actually knew the guy who was buying the book.

So, wow. That was a really cool thing to get for two dollars. But then, as Wayne is reading the book, in small chunks, on subways and on city buses, etc., he was then in the Union Club yesterday, on Park Avenue, still reading the book and suddenly a $50 bill falls out from between some of the back pages! And he was, like, “Where the hell did that come from?” So he flips through the back pages of the book and there was a ton of money in it! Over $200 in 50s and 20s!! And it had been sitting like that in the apartment of over a year.

And on top of all that — Wayne said that the book is actually really good!

Isn’t that an amazing story?! All right. I’m gonna scoot and get down to work here. Tomorrow is all about Abstract Absurdity with Peitor again, so I really want to try to focus on Narcissa here today.

Have just a wonderful Thursday, wherever you are in the world. I’m not gonna leave you with what I would really love to leave you with today, but I just don’t think it’s okay to do that. So I’ll just leave you with this. It’s from an Australian news site, and I’m guessing there’s a copyright on the photo, too, but I can’t find a name (and I did look). Okay, I love you guys. See ya!

Image result for rowland s. howard pop crimes tribute london 2020 — Nick Cave singing “Shivers” last night at the Rowland S. Howard tribute concert in London.

Such Intense Decisions!

February 3, 2020 marilyn jaye lewis Leave a comment

Do I want to post to the blog, or keep doing the paperwork for my taxes?

I’ll tell you this much — I am astounded by all my business-related expenses from last year. I am hoping the IRS will not feel similarly. They get sort of funny when your business expenses seem a little disproportionate to your business’s income…

However. I feel confident they will have plenty of reasons to tax me a whole lot more in 2020, so onward, gang!!

And in the middle of “crunching the numbers,” I got the much-anticipated text from the director of Tell My Bones. He loved the new character arc. He is going to try to pin down Sandra’s schedule (she starts rehearsals in Stratford, Canada in 5 days), and he wants to pin down the other actors and finally get the first table-read at the Dramatists Guild in NYC underway.

Which means, coincidentally, more intense contracts that I have to sign.

Which means also another business-related trip to NYC, almost immediately. (I just went through all my receipts from this past trip to NYC, for gas stations, restaurants, the Airbnb, Amtrak trains, many many many Lyft cabs — I got kind of exhausted, looking at all that stuff. And now I’m going to do it all over again. Although I think I will fly there… Right.)

I’m just getting so accustomed to being squirreled away in the peace & quiet of my sanctuary in the middle of nowhere…

Plus — did you know I maintain five websites now?? Well, I do. Funny how that happened. It seems like it was only yesterday when I sort of lost my mind and dismantled a ton of websites, stepped down from my many Executive Director positions, yadda, yadda, yadda, and maintained a single blog. And that was it.

And now it is, once again, five websites later. (Of course, none of them are anywhere near as time consuming as the old ones were. Just nowhere close to it.) (Which is why I’m not on prescription meds, I guess! Yay!) (And I sleep through the night now. Like a baby. Only occasionally waking up to wonder what Nick Cave might be wearing, but other than that, I sleep!)

Well, the Booty Core class went up a notch yesterday. Wow, did I feel the burn. But it’s okay. It’s still fun. I’m really liking it a lot. But it is definitely intense now. To the point that, late last evening, I realized I had burned through more calories than I usually do and my tummy was empty. And wanting ice cream, of all things. So off to the dollar store I went!!

And, boy, did I stand there and ponder. Because, you know, I don’t want to bombard myself with junk. But I really, really wanted ice cream. It’s great that they put the calorie count right on the front of the tubs now. So I went for the lowest-calorie one with the least amount of bad stuff in it that would still be considered delicious ice cream.

And as I was getting ready to pay for it, a wee tiny voice in the far back of my brain cried out plaintively: buy milk! buy milk!

But for some fucking reason, I did not buy milk!! And now I am out again! But I still have coffee to drink!!

Aaaarrrgggh… Back to the dollar store I shall have to go.

A few days ago, at the store in town, I bought a really cool looking jar of instant coffee. I never drink instant coffee. But this jar had the coolest shape to it, and it was actually made of glass. And it didn’t cost much. I was just so attracted to the jar itself. And the instant coffee made me think of my friend/colleague in Exeter, England — the musician/artist who is a Croatian war exile. (I’ve blogged about him before.) But when I stayed with him in his place in Exeter, we always drank instant coffee and had very long, wonderful conversations. So it made me think very fondly of him.

So I bought the instant coffee, and I’m actually drinking it now in the afternoons, which means I’m going through way more milk than usual. (Because instant coffee tastes terrible, so you have to put a lot of milk in it.)

I’m guessing you think I’m insane, but my point here is that it’s an hour there & back, to the fucking market, because I live in the fucking middle of nowhere. I’d really rather not buy milk from the dollar store or the gas station, unless it’s, like, right now, and I fucking have to because I’m out of it. Again.

Which sort of reminds me (only because my Croatian friend in Exeter is gay)… if loyal readers of this lofty blog recall that, early last summer, a deaf guy made me that guitar-pick necklace? Well, he is also mentally handicapped. He can speak, but he’s loaded with stuff to enable him to hear.

I saw him the other day. He said, “Do you still have that necklace I made for you?”

And of course, I do. I just treasure that thing. So much. I was astounded when he gave it to me. Out of the clear blue sky. That he even thought of me at all.

Well, he looked depressed. I mean, he actually looked on the verge of tears. I said, “What’s wrong?” And he was very angry at his girl friend because she had called him a homosexual. And then he said, “But I’m bisexual. I’m not homosexual. It’s not the same thing. I like boys and girls.”

I was just astounded that he was telling me this. (But I blogged about this recently — how young guys have always seemed to feel very comfortable telling me about their sexuality.) I was very supportive of him, you know. Obviously. And it sounds like his girlfriend is a bitch. I didn’t tell him that, but I did tell him that his girlfriend sounded ignorant and he might want to break up with her. But I thought to myself: wow, this is so amazing; he’s deaf and mentally handicapped and yet in touch with bisexuality.

Just kind of awesome, right? (Oh, plus, I’m old enough to be his grandmother.) Anyway, I told him that I understood what he was saying about himself because I was bisexual, too. That I like both guys and gals but that I’m not a lesbian.

And he said, “You’re bisexual?!”

I said, “Yes.”

And then he hugged me and he said, “I will keep this to myself.”

Oh my god. It was just too precious. Just so sweet. It made my day.

Okay, well. I’m gonna grab lunch. Finish the taxes. (I think. Maybe.) (In fact, Wayne, my ex-husband in NYC, just now texted me my old accountant’s current phone number in NYC because, clearly, this is the last time I should attempt to do my own taxes!) And then I’m gonna feel a little bit more of the Booty Core burn!!

Oh, and last night, as Kansas City was winning the Superbowl, oddly enough, I was watching the episode of Ken Burns’ Jazz that’s all about Count Basie and the Kansas City stomp/jazz/blues/swing era. Another really great episode!! So much stuff that I didn’t know about Kansas City. So I’m gonna leave you today with “One O’clock Jump”! By Count Basie and his Orchestra, from 1937. Enjoy, gang. It really swings.

Okay, thanks for visiting. Have a terrific Monday, okay? I love you guys. See ya!

Don’t Puke — It’s Art!

January 7, 2020 marilyn jaye lewis 1 Comment

Jesus Christ — what a fucking day.

I have spent the entire day at my desk, working on In the Shadow of Narcissa (the memoir about my early childhood). Or trying to.

Primarily, I was just going to reformat it today from web pages into a traditional manuscript format, but then I realized that I need to re-write the opening segment somehow, because it sounds more like a prologue right now. I’m not sure if I want to keep it as a prologue. Ideally, I want it to have the present-tense approach that the other segments have except that the first segment happens when I am only about 18 months old. And even though I remember when it happened, I’m not sure how to write from the POV of myself at 18 months old.

When I gave it a try, though, I discovered that putting myself directly into that headspace of myself at 18 months (the first time my adoptive mother physically abused me) really upset me and I spent several hours after that just wanting to throw up. And wondering why the fuck am I writing this damn thing? Why revisit all this? But also feeling like it’s my life and all I really know how to do is create from my life. And for whatever reason, I feel it’s really necessary for me to write this little book.

My childhood — it had moments that were so beautiful. And they were the last beautiful moments I had until I got well into my 50s. Which, of course, sucks. So I want to write this darn book. Process the whole darn thing. But it also kept making me feel like vomiting.

And I also realized today that Thug Luckless is me, as well — in the sense that he’s this robot on the outside that becomes this deeply sentient thing on the inside, through sexual contact with a whole fucked-up town, whether he wants it or not. You know — I saw weird parallels with my own life. I’m okay with that, though, because he’s a character. So I can “act out” through him. Whereas the Narcissa book is a memoir. It’s me. When I first began writing it this past summer, it didn’t bother me like this. And it’s really just this opening segment that is upsetting me so much today.

As the sun was going down, even though — or maybe because — it was getting pretty chilly out, I decided to take a walk. Just get air, you know? To stop this desire to vomit.

And, my god, I love this town out here in the middle of nowhere. First off, I headed directly across the street from my house and then stopped in the middle of the train tracks. I looked west and saw the sun going down in the distance, over those tracks that just go on and on through the rest of the entire state. It was so fucking beautiful. All the old houses in stark outline along the tracks. And the trees. The clear sky with those streaks of amber and orange, sinking way down. And the tracks receding forever into it. A couple stars coming out. Amazing. I wished I’d brought my phone to take a picture.

And then everywhere I looked as I walked, I was just struck by the age of this town and how stunning it looked at that specific hour of twilight. Everything so darn quiet. Such old houses. Such unexpected architecture. And the sidewalk is so close to the houses that you can look right into them. (A lot of the sidewalks are still the old brick ones from well over a hundred years ago.) I also noticed tonight that a lot of people here have dogs.

In one house, the front room light was on, the curtains were open. I saw an old man sitting at his dining table, writing something. He had tons of books everywhere. And two boxers were right there in the window, staring at me! They startled me, because I saw the man in the background first, before I saw the two dogs. You know how they get so tense when they stare at you. And suddenly, there they were. I just love boxers.

So many dogs, watching me along the way. Too cute.

And then I turned back onto Basin Street, heading in the direction of my house, and I suddenly realized — wow, there it is. On the corner. Lights on down in my kitchen, lights on up in my bedroom. My home, you know? I finally have a home — and peace from that mercilessly mean woman who raised me.

Somehow, I am going to write this book. For heaven’s sake, it’s only going to be about 40 pages… and it deals with her in what I consider her “best ” years. I’ve got to figure out how to deal with this.

Well, when I went back inside, I sat at the kitchen table and read a new issue of Mojo that came in the mail yesterday. And watched a couple more of those old episodes of Black Books and laughed really hard. And also saw that I can stream Rocketman and Once Upon A Time In Hollywood now– two movies that I really wanted to see. So that made me happy.

Then I went back up to my room, to my desk, trying to figure out how to approach that first prologue/segment of In the Shadow of Narcissa without losing my mind, and right then, as I sat down, a little ladybug was scurrying across a photo of Nick Cave that’s sitting on my desk.

The little beetle was just there, walking across his face. And of course, it instantly reminded me of one of his Red Hand Files letters from the summertime, when he wrote about ladybugs in connection to his dead son, Arthur, and how believing in something (in signs) helps us survive.

So, I took it as a sign, you know? I tried to take a picture of it before it walked off and went down the side of my desk:

The ladybug is there on the left, getting ready to walk off of the picture.

So that’s been my day. Illuminating, I guess. I’ll try to deal with the memoir again tomorrow, before I go off to meet with the director and focus on Tell My Bones.

And now, I’m gonna go crash on the bed, turn down the lights and stream something.

I hope Tuesday was good for you, gang, wherever you are in the world. I love you guys. See ya.

Part of Basin Street, during a full moon this past September.

Why Doesn’t She Just Stop Scrolling?

January 6, 2020 marilyn jaye lewis Leave a comment

I am so bored with Instagram, you have no idea.

And if I’m following you on Instagram – don’t take that personally.

It’s just that my account is now not only so overloaded with ads for cute cat-related things and clothing I would never wear if my life depended on it (and I mean that — I’ve had a long and somewhat arduous while certainly interesting life, and now I’m at that lofty age wherein I’m either going to wear exactly what I want to wear or just opt-out of life entirely). Anyway.

In addition to unwanted ads, my Instagram feed has also gotten so long now that I can never even imagine getting to the bottom of the scroll anymore. And the non-advertising stuff that makes it into my feed is just a whole bunch of stuff from people that, you know, I don’t even know who they are. But this is only in the unlikely event that these complete strangers managed to get in a post amid the truly UNENDING number of Keanu Reeves photos that glut my feed.

But I don’t want to unfollow the Keanu Reeves hashtag because it is the sole hashtag on Earth (and likely its surrounding celestial environs) that does not provoke, disturb, perplex, confound, unnerve, or confuse me in any way whatsoever. So the hashtag is staying. But, you know? Jesus. How many fucking photos of Keanu are actually out there? It is mindboggling. And even while I literally sweep past these photos, I find that I’m still able to form opinions in a nanosecond: Ooh, he looked so cute back then. Oops, a little too young there. Oh man, that was a nice one. Gosh, he looks really good these days.

And I’m literally making these assessments in anti-time — it is that fleeting — because I am trying to get past all the fucking Keanu photos. And the whole scrolling process clogs up my brain and I wonder, what the fuck am I doing this for, there’s nothing interesting here…

Although David Byrne’s web magazine Reasons to Be Cheerful (yes, he of Talking Heads fame) had a really extraordinary post over the weekend. If you want renewed hope in everything imaginable about planet Earth, check out his stats for the decade, which include:

“Homicides fell, green space grew and your weather forecast got a lot more precise. The last 10 years were filled with positive change—really! Read our list…”

And loyal readers of this lofty blog no doubt recall that while I am slavishly devoted to Nick Cave, I refuse to follow the Nick Cave hashtag because people who use the Nick Cave hashtag are seriously intense and my brain is intense enough, thank you, I don’t want their intensities getting mixed up with my own often unmanageable intensity. And Nick Cave himself only posts maybe twice a year to Instagram. (Meaning non-promotional-related Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds type posts.) (But, still — he will do it sometimes. You just gotta wait for it…)

Related image — Me, waiting for Nick Cave to actually post something on Instagram (all year)…

I also follow Iggy Pop, of course, and he posts a lot of opinion polls. I’m never really sure what these accumulative opinions are leading to, but I have discovered that I fit the exact profile of the Iggy Pop fan, since I am always in among the largest group of people who click “yes.” What this means, I have no clue. Why he wants to know, I have no clue.

I will tell you, though, that even while I was never a Stooges fan, I have loved Iggy Pop since 1977, when his Bowie-produced albums, The Idiot and Lust For Life, were released. I had the German imports, too, which, back then, for a 16 year-old unemployed girl in Ohio, was quite an investment. And I also bought a fake ID in order to get into the Agora to see him and Bowie live during the Lust for Life tour. However, my point is, that I went on to buy every album Iggy Pop made after that (including his very interesting newest one, Free), and I wanted to point out that Soldier, from 1980, is a really good album.

I often sing the song “Dog Food” for no real reason, even all these decades later. It was just an insanely ridiculous and somewhat angry song that I find myself still needing to sing sometimes (and it’s super short– you can listen to it below. It lasts one minute and 50 seconds and you might find that you need to sing it sometimes, too, so it’s a good song to know.)

I also loved the song “Loco Mosquito” a lot. (You’ll need to invest 4 minutes in this one, but it’s worth it. Especially if you, too, are “sick of hanging out with old transvestites.”)

(I remember that when his album Zombie Birdhouse came out, I didn’t have a whole lot of money, as usual. And one of my best friends had the album (this was back in NYC – 1982). I asked her, point blank, if I could have hers. I convinced her that I would appreciate the album a lot more than she did and that she should just give it to me. And even though she rolled her eyes and got pissed off, she actually gave it to me… I took it gladly and had absolutely no shame.)

Anyway. Not to confuse my initial point: Soldier was a really good album.

Okay. Well. I am on two completely different yet equally compelling wavelengths around here: Working on notes for a possible stand-alone story excerpt for the new novel Thug Luckless: Welcome to P-Town. As well as getting those persistent incoming images for Letter #6 for Girl in the Night: Erotic Love Letters to the Muse — titled “Captivity.” (Novel vs. memoir; fiction vs. nonfiction; all of it erotic.)

So it’s a little confusing, which direction I’m really going to go in, but we’ll see how the day unfolds. My meeting with the director of Tell My Bones has now been moved to Wednesday, so tomorrow will likely just be a spillover from whatever I end up working on today. Plus, it gives me an additional day to contemplate the idea of washing my hair.

In general, I can’t complain. Life’s good. But time’s a-wasting here, so I’m gonna scoot and get at it. Thanks for visiting. I leave you with “I Need More,” possibly my favorite Iggy Pop song of all time — certainly the one I relate to most personally. Also off of the Soldier album. All righty. Have a really great Monday, wherever it leads you, gang. I love you guys, See ya!

“I Need More”

I walk around
I flop around
I need something that will be found
More venom, more dynamite, more disaster
I need more than I ever did before

But everything is going up in price
My life is going all right up ’til now
Even so there’s something missing
More truth
More intelligence
Ha ha
More future
More laugh
More culture
Don’t forget adrenaline
More freedom

I need more than an ordinary grind
And the more I think the more I need
More cars
I’ll take more money
More champagne
I can’t forget my brain
More floors
More doors
More mustard
Pickle and relish

I need more than an ordinary grind
Everybody ought to love his job
And live his life and keep his pride
Imperturbably happy with the one you love
With an exciting future
On the fat of the land

I need more than an ordinary grind
And the more I think the more I need
My life is going all right up ’til now
Even so it’s not enough for me and

I need more
I need more
I need more
Oo oo oo oo
Oo oo oo oo
Than I ever did before

I need to lead a disciplined existence
And play scratchy records
And enjoy my decline
With more divorce, more distance,
More future, more culture

c – 1980 Iggy Pop, Glen Matlock

Farewell To A Truly Splendid Year!

December 31, 2019 marilyn jaye lewis Leave a comment

Probably the high point of my year was discovering that Chesterfield cigarettes were now available for purchasing at the gas station here in Crazeysburg!! (Even though I still don’t smoke!)

I’m kind of kidding, gang, and kind of not — because it sort of symbolized to me that eventually the thing you really want, or miss, or crave, or desire, or regret its absence and fervently wish to have it return — eventually, it all comes back around. There’s nothing to fear, or to seriously regret, you know? Everything changes. And that’s a blessing we can all share in.

You know, on Instagram, I’m noticing that a lot of people consider attending one of the Conversations with Nick Cave to be the highlight of their whole year. And I think I have to concur. Especially the one at Lincoln Center.

However, I think if I had to distill it down to my absolutely favorite moment of all of 2019 — even while I still wasn’t smoking! — it was after that show at Lincoln Center was over and I was back in that strange Airbnb in Midtown Manhattan, alone in my bed in the dark, all the city lights shining through the Venetian blinds regardless. And I was listening to the Boys Next Door on YouTube, singing “Shivers.” Nick Cave had sung it during the In Conversation that evening and he’d done such a stunning job of singing it, all these years later. And it was so cool to sort of let time evaporate for a little while and see Rowland Howard alive again, too, and everyone just so darn young. And it is such a beautiful, beautiful song.

That moment in my bed, listening to that song, was my absolute favorite moment of the whole year.

It was such a good year for me, gang. The best year of my whole life. Not that there were a lot of highs in it, because actually there weren’t. There was just a steady feeling that I was making it out of the darkness for good. And the only really low point of the year was Daddycakes dying in the spring, so unexpectedly.

Here is a photo of him with Huckleberry. It’s at the old house, at the top of the stairs. Probably around 2014. It’s sort of a strange photo but I just love how Huckleberry is looking at him with so much love.

Okay. Have a really wonderful time saying adieu to 2019 and hola to 2020!! You know what I’m leaving you with!! Thanks for spending time in my room this year! I love you guys. See ya!