Tag Archives: not writing

The little baby elephant has left the building

I slept 11 straight hours last night, and somewhere during the worst thunderstorm I can remember hearing in a long time, my fever broke and I awoke this morning to find that the cute little baby elephant who’s been sitting on my chest since Sunday night had departed.

Amazon.com : Funnytree 7x5ft Rustic Wood Floral Elephant Party ...

I’m still having trouble breathing but that horrible weight in my lungs is gone.

However, before I collapse right back into bed again, I want to give you a few happy updates!

Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds have posted the new dates for their UK & European Ghosteen tour!  (And now that I know I will be in Zurich on June 3rd, 2021, this pretty much means that I can count on everything important in my professional life, in the US and Canada,  being scheduled for June 3rd, 2021, as well!!)

Okay. I sure hope I’m kidding about that!

Also, Nick Cave sent out another Red Hand Files letter today, this one talks about the new, utterly amazing Dylan song, “Murder Most Foul.” (I’m still listening to it, gang. And when you consider that the song is 17 minutes long, it’s quite an investment of focus.)

An interesting thing about the song — I texted YouTube links for the song to all of my friends right when the song came out. Well, to the ones that I knew liked Bob Dylan. And Kara was the first one who texted me back about it, and she had the same first-response that I did. And she nailed it: “That violin…” she said.

I know. That violin. It sears right into you; it manages to both chill and awaken your heart. It’s incredible.

All right. I need to get back to bed, so I will post the sad news. John Prine had been struggling with COVID 19 since the end of March and he finally succumbed last night. He was definitely one of those people who had seriously complex underlying health issues, so I’m sad to say that I was not surprised he succumbed. Still, I wish he could have gone in a less horrible way.

John Prine’s songs were a huge part of the 70s and 80s for me, being that, at that point in my life, I was a country/folksinger-songwriter myself. And  into the 90s, when I met Wayne and we got married, etc.,  Wayne was also a big John Prine fan. And Prine’s album, The Missing Years, was one of the cassettes (!!) we played relentlessly in the car when we drove cross-country on our honeymoon.

So I’ll leave you with 2 distinct types of John Prine songs. The bluegrass type that I feel he was best known for, and then a song from The Missing Years, that features Tom Petty, and is about James Dean, a movie star I totally love (and it also mentions my beloved Grandma’s first cousin, John Garfield!! ).

I’m gonna close now because I’m super tired, gang. Sorry for any typos. But thanks for visiting. I love you guys. See ya!

“That’s The Way That The World Goes ‘Round”

I know a guy that’s got a lot to lose.
He’s a pretty nice fellow but he’s kind of confused.
He’s got muscles in his head that ain’t never been used.
Thinks he owns half of this town.

Starts drinking heavy, gets a big red nose.
Beats his old lady with a rubber hose,
Then he takes her out to dinner and buys her new clothes.
That’s the way that the world goes ’round.

That’s the way that the world goes ’round.
You’re up one day and the next you’re down.
It’s half an inch of water and you think you’re gonna drown.
That’s the way that the world goes ’round.

I was sitting in the bathtub counting my toes,
When the radiator broke, water all froze.
I got stuck in the ice without my clothes,
Naked as the eyes of a clown.
I was crying ice cubes hoping I’d croak,
When the sun come through the window, the ice all broke.
I stood up and laughed thought it was a joke
That’s the way that the world goes ’round.

© 1978 John Prine

“Picture Show”

A young man from a small town
With a very large imagination
Lay alone in his room with his radio on
Looking for another station
When the static from the mouthpiece
Gave way to the sound below
James Dean went out to Hollywood
And put his picture in a Picture Show.
James Dean went out to Hollywood
And put his picture in a Picture Show.

[Chorus:]
And It’s Oh Daddy get off of your knees
Mamma why’d you have to go
Your darling Jim is out a limb
I put my picture in a Picture Show
Whoa Ho! Put my picture in a Picture Show

Hamburgers Cheeseburgers
Wilbur and Orville Wright
John Garfield in the afternoon
Montgomery Clift at night
When the static hit the mouthpiece
Gave way to the sound below
James Dean went out to Hollywood
And put his picture in a Picture Show.

[Chorus]

A Mocca man in a wigwam sitting on a Reservation.
With a big black hole in the belly of his soul
Waiting on an explanation
While the white man sits on his fat can
And takes pictures of the Navajo
Every time he clicks his Kodak pics
He steals a little bit of soul.
Every time he clicks his Kodak pics
He steals a little bit of soul.

[Chorus]

Yie Hi! Put my picture in a Picture Show
Here we go!
A young man from a small town
With a very large imagination…

© 1991 John Prine

I am so blessed…

Well, I am indeed, sick, gang. But it is very, very mild. So far, my only real complaint is that my blue tooth speaker has such a short battery life.  Streaming Agatha Christie movies on my iPad in bed and as soon as it gets to a key scene, the speaker will undoubtedly shut off. And so then I just go to sleep while it recharges.

But that’s the worst of it.

Alas, today I will be brief! Thanks for visiting, gang. Have a terrific Tuesday wherever you are in the world! I love you guys. See ya!!

 

A Splendid Day Is Upon Us, Gang!!

Yes, that’s right!!!

We won’t be able to go out and do anything in it, but it will indeed be splendid. (Here in Crazeysburg, anyway — super sunny and almost 70 degrees Fahrenheit. I will at least go out later and take a walk.)

It’s hard to believe that a week from today will be Good Friday. And then a week from Sunday — Easter. How on Earth did that happen? One minute, it seemed months away. Then the world went up in flames. And now…

Well, I guess in honor of Easter, that scholarly book I ordered the other day, which re-examines the role of Judas in Christ’s crucifixion, arrived yesterday.

It’s now my “downstairs” book. It’s on my kitchen table, and I couldn’t resist beginning to read it, even while, upstairs, in my bedroom, I’m deep into reading Love in the Time of Cholera.

If you think about it, the temperaments of each book are kind of similar and perfect for the approach of Easter.  (Heartbreak, unrequited love, intense love, let’s kill Jesus, etc.)

I feel like I’m better today than I was yesterday. I’m sort of sticking to my plan to stay clear of my desk & any writing projects for now, and just read. Try not to think too much. Try not to expect too much from myself right now.  Ease into the rhythm of this pandemic without trying to fight it. And allow myself to love because I choose to love.

Yesterday, I spoke on the phone with a couple of close friends/ex-husbands in NYC and it is really intense and scary — what they are dealing with right now.  I think they are getting ready to experience a surge of deaths from COVID 19 that will outpace the rest of the world. Just awful.

My ex-husband was explaining the details about how it is over there right now, and then he said, “I had to run up to Harlem to get my drugs and buy more needles…” and I was really taken aback. The only thing I know for sure about that particular ex-husband is that I never know what to expect from him, ever, and so I thought: Wow, he’s on heroin now. This pandemic has really hit him hard.

But it turned out, he was talking about insulin. But that kind of shocked me, too, because I didn’t know he was at that stage.

But, anyway, once I realized what he was talking about, all I could say was, “Did you wash your hands when you came back home?”

I know I must sound super annoying to everyone who’s in the thick of this pandemic, but I can’t help it.

He paused, and sort of sighed and then said, “…yes, I washed my hands.” Sounding, like, you know, that was the least of his worries right at that moment.

I’m still calling my dad everyday, and completely on automatic, I did the same thing to him.  Yesterday, he said that someone from the main nursing home facility had brought him over some books to read.  And even though I know they’re all on lockdown there and following extreme sterilizing procedures, I sort of freaked out — “someone” had brought him books and he just let the books come right into the house, right?

And I leaped in and said, “Dad, did you wash your hands?”

Sort of startled, he stopped what he was saying and said, “Yes, I did…”

ME: “Are you sure, Dad? You don’t sound sure. Did you really wash your hands?”

HIM: “I washed my hands.”

ME: “Okay…” (But I didn’t actually believe him.)

And I thought to myself: My god, this is so weird. I could recall being, like, three years old, and sitting down to the dinner table and my dad asking me if I’d washed my hands.

ME: “Yes.” (Not wanting to get up again and go do it.)

HIM: “You’re sure you washed your hands?”

ME:  “Yes.”

[Liar, liar/pants on fire/your nose is longer than/a telephone wire… — Ed.]

Is this the face of a girl who would tell a lie? You bet’cha!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Anyway…

So today is Abstract Absurdity Productions day. I believe we are going to begin creating our pitch deck. (A PowerPoint slide presentation.) So that should be intense and kind of fun. I have another webinar that I still need to take re: points and backend negotiations stuff. Maybe over the weekend. God knows, there’s no rush right now.

All right, gang. I’m gonna get the day underway over here. I hope you are having a decent Friday, wherever you are in the world. Be easy on yourselves in your captivity, okay? I’m leaving you with my breakfast-listening music from this morning (still on a Louis Armstrong kick over here.) I just love this song. It was popular in my wee bonny girlhood, but sung by the Mamas & the Papas back then. It’s actually a song from the early 1930s, though. And it is so evocative of love and all the best things about romance. So enjoy. The light will come again and you wanna be ready for it!! Okay. I love you guys. See ya!

“Dream A Little Dream Of Me”

Stars shining bright above you
Night breezes seem to whisper “I love you”
Birds singing in a sycamore tree
Dream a little dream of me

Say nighty night and kiss me
Just hold me tight and tell me you miss me
While I’m alone and blue as can be
Dream a little dream of me

Stars fading but I linger on dear
Still craving your kiss
I’m longing to linger till dawn dear
Just saying this

Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you
Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you
But in your dreams whatever they be
Dream a little dream of me

Stars fading but I linger on dear
Still craving your kiss
I’m longing to linger till dawn dear
Just saying this

Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you
Sweet dreams that leave all worries far behind you
And in your dreams
Whatever they be
Dream a little dream of me

© 1931 Gus Kahn, Fabian Andre, Wilbur Schwandt

I Suggest Cigarettes, Whiskey, & Sleeping Pills!!

“‘A sex-crazed whore who sings of her own wantonness,’ one theologian wrote…”

NO! Not about me, he wrote that about Sappho.

I spent yesterday reading a wide-flung bunch of stuff.  In particular, some fragments of Sappho’s poems. These translations were in an early-20th Century literature collection, and so it was interesting to read the preface to Sappho’s poems, wherein the editors were taking that really odd approach (in my opinion) to the life and works of Sappho — downplaying any homoerotic references in her work, attributing it to some sort of Greek custom where young women had erotic relations with each other in order to prepare them for marriage and motherhood.

Okay… hmm. (Is that, like, every guy’s dream or something?)

If you read the huge amount of endless stuff written about Sappho, you will find all of man –& woman –kind, coming up with all sorts of strange and sometimes seemingly farfetched ways to explain the life and times of Sappho. (And it’s interesting to note that here in contemporary times, where we value and identify with the individual, and so we believe that she was simply writing about her private erotic longings for other women, we could be furthest of all from understanding Sappho, who lived in an ancient era where the “group” was what personally identified people, not the individual.)

Anyway. I found it interesting that the particular translations of Sappho that I read yesterday were well-written but lacking in some of the intense passion I’ve read in other translations of her poetic fragments over the years.

And then in the same book, I read some translations of Baudelaire that I thought were awful. And they were translations written by Edna St. Vincent Millay, who was, you know, a substantial poet in her own right. But I found her translations to be the least moving translations of Baudelaire’s poems that I had ever read.  (My favorites are Louise Varese’s translations from the 1940s.)

And then, of course, I had to once again confront how we are sort of prisoners to whoever is translating the work we’re reading.

A few days ago, I once again took Love in the Time of Cholera from the bookshelf and toyed with the idea of reading it (I am still in love with that person I really should not be in love with and sometimes I’m okay with it and sometimes it just feels devastating).  And since we are in this unprecedented pandemic and since I am so incapable of not loving with every cell of my entire being, it seemed like an appropriate book to get lost in.

However, I didn’t want to break my heart even more…

But I am daily confronted with the fact that I simply cannot write right now. I can’t focus. I can’t find a thread in to any of my work. I can’t find the inspiration to begin something perhaps brand new. I am stuck. Completely. Day after day. Hour after hour.

This morning, I awoke at 4:29 AM and I was already crying.  And I cried all through breakfast.  I felt like I was never going to write again and that, based on what I had written so far (45 years worth of stuff), I was a complete failure. Whether or not it’s true, when you’re feeling that way, it’s real. And I cried through my little journalings at the kitchen table (my Inner Being dialogue today was brief and to the point: they told me to “step back, breathe” and: “do NOT dismantle your desires; step back and let them BE.”)

But still I cried when I began my morning meditation, which, you know, is not really the most productive frame of mind to go into meditation with, however, it actually was an incredible meditation. By the end of it, I had new tears, but they were of joy. I had a complete transformation.

Last evening, I actually had begun reading Love in the Time of Cholera because I simply could not resist the pull of it any longer, even though I have brand new books here waiting to be read, ones that I just bought. And this morning, it became apparent that I’m just going to have to ride out this pandemic in whatever way it finds me each day.I don’t really have a choice.

Early yesterday evening, during my now daily routine of pacing around the kitchen, at loose ends with myself while trying to watch another episode of DCI Banks, I came really, really close to just going out on to my porch and lighting up a  cigarette, drinking a  shot of whiskey, and then taking a sleeping pill to obliterate the rest of the night.

These are my old habits, but I outgrew them. I haven’t had them for years. I don’t need them anymore, but it is undeniable that I was intensely creative during those old habits; and yet… what I did instead last night was finally picked up Love in the Time of Cholera and just started to read, because if I’m going to die from a broken heart, I’d rather have clarity about it than be obliterated by it.

Oh well.

So if I end up not writing anything at all, but reading other people’s works all day long and on into the night, then that’s the way it is likely supposed to be right now.

(And I was also struck anew last evening by the recurring question of translators because the English translation of Love in the Time of Cholera (by Edith Grossman) is so exquisite, that I cannot even imagine what Marquez’s books are like in the original Spanish.)

So that’s where I am today. I’m resigned to keeping clear of my desk, to lying around and reading Marquez (in translation). And loving it. And loving my broken heart and everything that I love about who I love. And just letting life be, for now.

It is a beautiful day here. I will probably take a walk later this afternoon. Also do Booty Core. (I have to say, I am not a real big fan of Booty Core. I much prefer the yoga, which I do most of the time. But Booty Core saved my legs and my hip joints, so I’m gonna stick with it forever, a couple days a week.)

Yesterday, the item pictured below arrived! It was reduced for clearance, so I ordered it. It’s one of those flight bags that stores under the seat so, clearly, I’m planning on flying again — getting back to work once this pandemic moves on.

All righty, gang. Thanks for visiting. Have a great Thursday, however it finds you and wherever you are in the world. I leave you with this — a song I was thinking about the other day for the first time in decades, “Backstreet Girl” by The Rolling Stones, from their Between the Buttons album (and on Flowers in the US). It’s a stunning song, from over 50 years ago. That doesn’t mean I actually like it, but it is thought-provoking — the intense misogyny of it. And it’s weird that I’ve known all the words by heart since I was about 12.  Okay, with that — I love you guys. See ya.

“Backstreet Girl”

I don’t want you to be high
I don’t want you to be down
Don’t want to tell you no lie
Just want you to be around
Please come right up to my ears
You will be able to hear what I say
Don’t want you out in my world
Just you be my backstreet girl

Please don’t be part of my life
Please keep yourself to yourself
Please don’t you bother my wife
That way you won’t get no help
Don’t try to ride on my horse
You’re rather common and coarse anyway
Don’t want you out in my world
Just you be my backstreet girl

Please don’t you call me at home
Please don’t come knocking at night
Please never ring on the phone
Your manners are never quite right
Please take the favors I grant
Curtsy and look nonchalant, just for me
Don’t want you part of my world
Just you be my backstreet girl

©  1967 Jagger- Richards

Yes. I know. I know.

You’re going to think I don’t know what the fuck I’m talking about when I say I’ve been building web sites for myself since 1997.

However, I have managed to come upon yet another annoying glitch with the set-up of the Abstract Absurdity Productions website (I guess I’m just hellbent on embodying the “Absurdity” aspect of this project), that the WordPress “Happiness Engineers” assure me they can address within the next 24-48 hours.

Honestly. I am so fucking serious.

I’m, like: you’re kidding me, right??!!

Jesus.

So here I sit, on a rather chilly but very sunny Sunday, with all this web work to do and I yet again cannot do any of it.

So, what I did instead was sat at my kitchen table and tried to come up with some enormous reserves of will power to not write to this person that I said I wouldn’t write to anymore.

I was thinking of a poem by Langston Hughes that embodies everything I feel right now. But I couldn’t recall the actual poem, just one specific line from it. So I took down my ancient, brittle, dust-mite-ridden copy of Selected Poems by Langston Hughes (©1959 — but I haven’t actually owned the book since the year before I was born; I bought it in the mid-1970s).

And  when I opened to the Table of Contents, I discovered many little asterisks next to many of the poems, and I suddenly recalled that when I was 17, I was writing a one-person play and that the dialogue consisted of nothing but poems by Langston Hughes.

Don’t you find that really interesting? I kind of do. I remember that I worked really hard on it but that, eventually, I felt like I was in over my head and I gave up.

And as I opened the book to each poem that had an asterisk — lo! these 43 years later — it was so interesting to see that all the words came back to me, like they were etched in my brain.

And it was also really interesting to see the poems I had selected for the play. Because even though, when I’d re-read them today on the page and felt I had them memorized somewhere deep inside me, at first, I hadn’t recalled any of these poems. For instance, this extremely interesting one for my 17-year-old white self:

Ruby Brown

She was young and beautiful
And golden like the sunshine
That warmed her body.
And because she was colored
Mayville had no place to offer her,
Nor fuel for the clean flame of joy
That tried to burn within her soul.

One day,
Sitting on old Mrs. Latham’s back porch
Polishing the silver,
She asked herself two questions
And they ran something like this:
What can a colored girl do
On the money from a white woman’s kitchen?
And ain’t there any joy in this town?

Now the streets down by the river
Know more about this pretty Ruby Brown,
And the sinister shuttered houses of the bottoms
Hold a yellow girl
Seeking an answer to her questions.
The good church folk do not mention
Her name any more.

But the white men,
Habitués of the high shuttered houses,
Pay more money to her now
Than they ever did before,
When she worked in their kitchens.
(Langston Hughes)

Or how about this one:

To Artina

I will take your heart.
I will take your soul out of your body
As though I were God.
I will not be satisfied
With the touch of your hand
Nor the sweet of your lips alone.
I will take your heart for mine.
I will take your soul.
I will be God when it comes to you.
(Langston Hughes)

I don’t know, I found that just really interesting. Apparently, when I was 17 I was already exactly how I am now — the things that matter to me, I mean. They still move me, they still matter.

And then I even recalled vividly that the opening to my play was this poem (and I still think it makes a great opening for a one-person play):

Harlem Night Song

Come,
Let us roam the night together
Singing.

I love you.

Across
The Harlem roof-tops
Moon is shining.
Night sky is blue.
Stars are great drops
Of golden dew.

Down the street
A band is playing.

I love you.

Come,
Let us roam the night together
Singing.
(Langston Hughes)

Well, perhaps I’ll work on that play again sometime. I probably won’t be in over my head anymore.  And I did indeed find the poem I was actually looking for — hard to believe it’s a poem retrieved from my wee bonny 17-year-old girlhood. I leave you with it, gang!

Beale Street

The dream is vague
And all confused
With dice and women
And jazz and booze.

The dream is vague
Without a name,
Yet warm and wavering
And sharp as flame.

The loss
Of the dream
Leaves nothing
The same.
(Langston Hughes)

Langston Hughes; 1901-1967

Apparently, It’s Been Going On For Millennia!!

Hand-washing, that is.

Pontius Pilate springs vividly to mind, in fact.

Okay, you know, I usually don’t like this blog to be about current events because you can get  enough of that stuff all over the place. But I do have to say that, yesterday afternoon, I went to go drop off my water bill at what we lovingly call here “City Hall” (a tiny store front), and I headed past our local gas station and my mouth fell open. Literally.

And it was snowing like crazy, too, with very high blizzard-like winds but the snow wasn’t sticking, or anything — it was just so weird outside. (This was shortly after the strangely unanticipated funeral procession drove past my kitchen window — see yesterday’s quick post). Anyway, everything just felt so weird. And then I saw that the price of gas had plummeted!! It is currently $1.83 a gallon. It is so cheap that it’s bizarre.

What’s even weirder, is that I usually go further out of town, into the middle of nowhere, to buy my gas because it’s almost always cheapest there. But, suddenly, right smack in the middle of Crazeysburg was the cheapest gas I’ve seen in 30 years. For no discernible reason whatsoever.

And we have our one little dollar store here, and it has plenty of toilet paper, and also food. All kinds of processed, packaged, and frozen food. Not the kind of food I buy, though (except for ice cream, in the event I need to ponder something). Still, we have food. I mean, don’t come visit or anything, because we don’t want you to clean us out. My point is only that we have all this stuff that the big cities and the nearest towns are all out of, and now we also have the cheapest gas I’ve ever seen — I really do think I’m living in the Land that Time Forgot.

Well, onward.

Yesterday, in the mail, I received a poetry book that I had ordered recently and it arrived signed by the poet. It was the best inscription I’d ever read. For some reason, she knows I’m a writer, which took me aback a little, but her inscription was mostly about best wishes for “seeing beauty amidst disaster.”

That, to me, could not have summed up all of life, and specifically my own life, more perfectly.

I’m looking forward to reading the book — it’s an award-winning chapbook. I will write more about it after I read it. I get the feeling that the poems are extremely intense (they’re about disaster, actually). I’m gonna find out.

I am also going to get that darn web site working today if it kills me. It is just insane, how much trouble I’m having. And it’s just tiny bits of trouble here & there, which accumulate into just a really frustrating headache. So we shall see. But I guarantee you that I have been  building websites since 1997 — and those include many award-winning websites!! — and yet nowadays, these “user-friendly” and “easy-to-use” website templates  are counter-intuitive, rarely do what I need them to do and they make me lose my mind.

New topic.

I had a brief text exchange yesterday with my sister, just to start the process of dipping my toe in that water of needing my birth mom to be here for extended periods when I have to be in LA. (My mom lives with my sister.) And my sister assured me she would make it happen.

So, between the two of us…

My poor mother — her fate is now sealed and she doesn’t even know. But to be fair, she really does like staying here. She gets all that privacy and gets to do stuff out in the garden, with my many flowers (mostly meaning: pulling the weeds that I tend to ignore now because pulling weeds would require that I leave my desk).

Which reminds me. I went into the guest room to water the plants this morning, and just look at this poinsettia!

This poinsettia is almost 5 years old.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Beautiful, right? Plus, there was a ladybug on the window, too! (Although I’m kind of starting to believe that these are just ladybugs, you know? Maybe not signs of anything more than unexpected life. Which of course, is a good sign.)

However, I digress.

But my point was that it takes so much off my mind, knowing that even if I have to be away for extended periods, my mom will be here, taking care of my house and my many cats.

Well, I’m gonna scoot. I want to get back in bed and read poems for awhile. Then gear up to face that web site again. I hope you have a really nice Sunday, wherever you are in this pandemic-driven world. Just do what you think is best, okay? And keep in mind that we’re never really gonna get it (life) right, you know? So just let it evolve into whatever it needs to be — life, love, best-laid-plans, etc.  One thing I know for sure about all this stuff is that everything we think we understand is probably way off course and that everything always comes back around for another shot or a closing statement. And then we personally define whether that’s good or not so good. And then on we go. Right? All righty. I love you guys. See ya. And remember… (really nice version of this song if you’re willing to still listen to Michael Jackson.)

What are the odds?

I was sitting at my kitchen table, reading a very short story by Ben Nickol,  titled “Opening Night”.

It was very good but very sad. About a little girl who”s in a school play and then gets killed on the way home and then how the family dynamic changes immediately and forever.

Really well written but just so sad.

I tossed the book onto the table, got up and went over and leaned on the kitchen counter, looked out the kitchen window in order to think, to process, and a funeral procession was driving by.

Sort of unnerving, really. Talk about the immediacy of life. Or death. God, life is so strange.

Okay, well, the web work today made me crazy yet again because I could not unlock the domain from GoDaddy as hard as I tried. Finally called support and got someone who appeared to be trying to help about 5 customers at once — I’m not kidding. And it turned out that the problem was they had somehow connected an email to that domain that I have not had in over 10 years…..

Fuck. It only took half an hour to figure that problem out. So then they finally fixed everything and assured me it would be good to go in a few more hours!!!!!!!

So. I gave up. For now. Hope you’re having a more productive day wherever you are in the world! See ya, gang.

Getting Even MORE Ducks In A Row!

Okay. I am going to show you the (allegedly) FINAL version of our logo for Abstract Absurdity Productions. (And I love it!)

 

 

 

 

 

 

And to be honest, gang, I am absolutely overwhelmed by the responses we are getting to the company overall — not just our logo, but I mean our Mission, our raison d’etre, our inspiration (primarily European New Wave cinema from the 1950s & 1960s) , the storylines of our imminent micro-shorts (completely absurd plots). All of it.

And not only do we have that great cinematographer as part of our company profile now, but yesterday we got a social media expert onboard, as well,  who loves our European sensibilities and wants us to get our package together immediately in order to pitch it to an additional very high profile TV streaming platform. (We are already well connected to one other one.)

So it is extremely exciting, gang. But overwhelming, too. In a way, you know. As in: I might have to live in Los Angeles a lot of the time. I was absolutely not anticipating that.

And since the theater projects are in NYC and Canada, what does that mean?

It means that I’m sort of curiously running the potential conversation through my brain as to how I am going to convince my birth mom to live here in Crazeysburg for pretty much the rest of her life…

I didn’t sleep well at all last night. Well, I slept well, during the meager hours that I actually slept. I was awake a lot of the night. I made a decision about something on Thursday that I am determined to stick to because I know it’s the right thing. But it’s like being on one path — a path you really, really love being on. And then being re-directed by the entire Universe, basically, to suddenly go down another path. A path I can’t even really see yet, so I’m just walking it blind now, but knowing that it’s the right thing.

I don’t want to have a broken heart about all this because I know that’s not a thing that anyone wants for me in this situation. So I’m trying to just move forward.

So I laid there in the dark, the birds were already starting to sing outside my window somewhere. And I decided to stream Tom Petty’s song “No Reason to Cry,” from the amazing Heartbreakers 2010 album , Mojo.

And I’ll tell you what — I’m willing to bet money on the fact that Tom Petty knew for sure that girls would cry when they listened to that fucking song. Tom Petty-type girls, anyway.  And I did fucking cry. Because I’m overwhelmed right now. And the room was dark. And the sound quality on my iPhone is really, really good. Tom Petty’s voice filled my room like some sort of crystal bell ringing, right? So I cried a little bit.

But I also know that Tom Petty mostly wanted people to just live. Live life, fight for what you believe in, do the right thing. Stuff like that — don’t just lay in the dark and cry. So I switched to the song “Let Yourself Go,” also on Mojo. But it’s a song that I feel better represents who I really am. So I was able to move out of the tears and think more clearly.

And right then, I came to the decision (I’ve been debating it for a week now) to cancel the audition tomorrow for the literary arts festival that’s taking place in early June. It’s just too close to the trip to Zurich — assuming the trip even happens with this insane coronavirus craziness going on.

I was telling my new friend in Switzerland, regarding that literary festival, that aside from it being only a ten-minute reading, it’s a heavily edited version of a chapter from Blessed By Light that I really, really love. I am not emotionally attached to the piece at all now because I had to change my protagonist’s voice pretty extremely to get him to not only be family-friendly, but also to fit in the really short time-allotment.

So I emailed the festival people right then, before the sun was even up. And now, the Zurich thing can happen, as long as Los Angeles doesn’t become some sort of huge looming specter in early June, too… that hinges on when the cinematographer can be in LA.

Well. I forgot to mention that the coronavirus has delayed the opening of Nick Cave’s art exhibit in Copenhagen.

The announcement went out on Instagram yesterday morning. I’m guessing the book will still come out on schedule, though. So I’m making sure to keep 17 million US dollars freed up in my checking account, because I pre-ordered the book (in British Pounds Sterling) and I wouldn’t want to come up short on the day they decide to deduct the charge (for the book plus the expensive overseas shipping) from my account.

(Oddly enough, spell check doesn’t like that word “pre-ordered” and it offered me the word “pee-ordered” instead. I’m not real sure what the heck that would mean or why it would ever make sense to use it. I mean, like, what the hell would be going on when you’d need to say “pee-ordered” and it would actually make sense? Anyway.)

Well, I don’t have to do Booty Core or yoga today. And even though I have a ton of work to do on the new web site, I’m waiting for stuff from Peitor to arrive in my inbox. So until that occurs, I think I’m going to go back to bed and stare out the window for a little while. Drink some coffee. Wonder about life.

So I’m gonna scoot. Thanks for visiting, gang. Have a real good Saturday, wherever you are in the world. I’ll leave you to choose your own preference today: to cry or not to cry. Or maybe a little of both. It’s up to you — I trust your judgment completely. All righty. I love you guys. See ya.

“Let Yourself Go”

Rain on the river I’m soakin’ wet
Waitin’ on friend who ain’t come yet
And he might not get here for three or four days
Got to make a little bit go a long way

I’ve got a blond-headed woman who likes to come around
Cute little hippy girl lives in town
Brings a bag of records and she plays ’em ’til dawn
Give me a little lovin’ then she got to go home

When times are hard
When you start feelin’ low
Let yourself go
When the river’s risin’ and the world feels cold
Let yourself go
Let yourself go

I got a 442 sittin’ in the sun
Well it’s been ten years since she used to run
Man she was a beauty in ’69
But there ain’t no more comin’ down the line

When times are hard
And you start feelin’ low
Let yourself go
When the river’s risin’ and your world feels cold
Let yourself go
Honey let yourself go

c – 2010 Tom Petty

Booty Core in a Bubble!

Yes, that’s me, doing Booty Core in my bubble in Crazeysburg. We now have 4 cases of the virus in the State of Ohio — all of them up near Cleveland, which is a couple hundred miles from me, and is a large metropolitan area with a busy international airport.

It’s interesting to see how the local media handles it, though, compared to the national cable news. Much more low key with no hysteria. Just a concern for the elderly and the at-risk people.

Well, last evening, Peitor decided to tinker with the new logo, and I love it yet again!! Here it is:

 

 

 

 

 

By the way, if you’re someone who usually views this site on your phone and you’re noticing that now a lot of the text gets misplaced directly after an image — I have no idea why it’s suddenly doing that. Or why some images cause it and some don’t. And I cannot get it to stop. So, sorry about all the scrolling…

Anyway. Life goes on.

I had sort of a rough day yesterday, trying to wrap my mind around several things. The most recent one being that we now have that amazing cinematographer onboard for Abstract Absurdity Productions. And because our concept is so cinematic and artistic and absurd, he’s willing to be part of our company profile. And we haven’t even made out first movie yet.

The reason that something wonderful like that causes me to have a rough day is because of that tendency I have to “have an idea” and then, sure enough, it turns into something like this.  I’m excited, for sure, but it feels a little overwhelming.  How am I supposed to really spend all that time in LA this summer? Maybe it will work out just fine, I don’t really know. But I’ve got so much on my plate ( and even before the Coronavirus, it was all up in the air, date-wise).

Peitor is clearly the “director” part of the company and I am the “producer” part — a ton of paper work for me and organizing and creating budgets. Not to mention that the scripts, that we create together, have to be on paper before we shoot them — even though these are micro-micro shorts that we’re talking about shooting in LA this summer. It’s still 3 of them.  And a cinematographer who is willing to go to LA specifically to shoot those films — well, it has to be incredibly organized.

So when I got the flurry of texts late last evening, after having spent the day on accounting work for the company, and the web site nonsense, and trying to figure out how to be a film editor in the space of 14 seconds…

Okay, well!!

I just had a 45-minute phone conversation with Wayne, my ex-husband in NYC.  And I got to unload onto him everything I was in the process of unloading here — plus some other stuff that’s really, really confounding me right now.

And he said: “You wouldn’t be Marilyn Jaye Lewis if things weren’t so complicated. You’re going to pull it all together — I already know this about you and you do, too.”

And he added that he was a big fan of mine. So that was very, very nice, right? I’ll tell you, my marriages work so great when I’m not actually married to the people. And I’m only partly kidding. And it does give me much food for thought. That’s for sure.

Anyway! Now it is almost noon and I need to get started here, gang! Thanks for visiting. I hope you have a really good Thursday, wherever you are in the world. I love you guys. See ya.

Oh Anyway, At Least I’m Sort of Happy

What a day, gang.

I did manage to take one seminar this afternoon on short film financing that was actually quite interesting.

And I did manage to sort of figure out a little about how to work the Lightworks film editing software. I watched the instructional videos. It does not look too complicated.

But earlier, I once again had another insane time trying to set up the web site. I am just so sick of these “new & improved” and allegedly “user friendly” web templates that only make you want to shoot yourself.

And while wanting to shoot myself, I attempted to call Peitor for his help and he was of course off doing yoga and listening to the tranquil sound of Tibetan singing bowls.

I thought that perhaps I should just put the silencer on my gun so as not to disturb him….

Just kidding, of course.  I am not going to shoot myself.

I did manage to take a walk, though, to try to get my brain back on track. I took this cool photo of the beloved train tracks across from my house — looking west. (You can probably guess that when the sun sets, these tracks do indeed look awesome.)

Train tracks looking West

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Then I had to do some accounting work for Abstract Absurdity Productions, and so that’s always fun.

And now my brain hurts.

But the good news is: Peitor has gotten us a great cinematographer!! Honestly. I can’t post here yet who it is, but he has agreed to be in LA to shoot three of our micro-micro shorts this summer.

(But now I seriously am going to shoot myself — I told you this was going to happen, right? That every single thing I needed to do this year would happen at the same time?)

Still. I am really happy, gang. But also really, really exhausted. I need to do Booty Core now and I’m not exactly sure how I’m going to find enough energy to get out of my desk chair. Perhaps I’ll just topple over and focus on floor exercises today…

Meanwhile, I love you guys. Have a really good evening, wherever you are in the world, okay? Thanks for visiting. (But please talk quietly, the bunnies are sleeping.)

Image result for beatrix potter bunnies sleeping