Tag Archives: Tom Petty

What A Weekend!

Sorry for the sporadic postings, gang. Sometimes grief grabs me by my little ears and just  shakes me around. I have some hard decisions to make in my heart these days. But, overall, I’m kinda doing okay.

I reach for the CBD, the Pharma GABA, the ashwaganda… depending on my mood. I will get through it.

Also, I did my taxes yesterday, hoping against hope that when they actually want all that money I owe them, the IRS will already be gone.  Time will tell. Luckily, the State actually owes me money (because my writing business (aka “self-employment”) tanked last year — should we say “yay”?? Not sure. But anyway, I’m getting money from them.)


There was almost too much news over the weekend. I can barely keep track of all of it.

Mostly, if you step back and take in the broad view, it’s all good, because it all seems to be leading to a truly positive outcome.

However, the up close, day-to-day stuff is absolutely nerve-wracking.  For instance, they seem to be preparing the stage for our beloved fake k  a m a l a to become pres i den t of these lofty United S  t a tes, and sweep the fake b* den away for good. Probably an Am en d ment 25 type of thing, as promised by Tr ***p back in January. We’ll see.

Curiously, though, even certain M S M anchormen are starting to blatantly point out — yes, on TV — the physical differences in the current fake b* den and the original b* den, who once walked the actual Earth (before he “got shot” on December 21st. With the “v  a c  c  i ne,” that is. Allegedly, a lethal v ac  c  ine.) Anyway, a certain M  S  M anchorman said:  “No way is this the same guy.” And if that isn’t bludgeoning people over the heads and yelling “WAKE UP!”, I don’t know what is.

Tralfaz: Goldimouse Hammer Bash

Also, they seem to be prepping the stage for p  r  in  ce  h a  r  r  y to need the number for the Suicide Hotline really soon. (According to a post by D*n Sc*  vino late last night.) (If ha  r  r y isn’t already “gone”, that is.) (And O  p r  a h is absolutely wearing an ankle bracelet these days, gang.  Signaling that no way is she willing to get chipped… she’s got places to go and people to see! For now.)

And D*n Sc*  vino also posted footage on Saturday regarding “the precipice.” If you are a [17] follower, you know what the precipice means: It won’t be fun, but it’s still a good sign that we are all on course.

Okay. Well, both Michael J  a  co and Monkey W*rx assure us that there was no way Tr*** was in Switzerland last week. And since Monkey W*rx, in particular, follows m* l i tary flight patterns (see below), I am forced to believe him!!

Other than that, though, below are some of the podcasts I really enjoyed. (I also saw some seriously intense, sad stuff, but I’ll let you roam the wild Internet frontier and find that stuff yourselves, gang, because it can get truly depressing — the evil men do, ad infinitum.

So. I’m going back to bed for a bit. Have a super Monday, wherever you are in the world. I leave you with my breakfast-listening music from this morning, a song that every so often saves my life. Tom Petty, “Wildflowers” (1994). Thanks for visiting, gang. I love you, guys. See ya.


You belong among the wildflowers
You belong in a boat out at sea
Sail away, kill off the hours
You belong somewhere you feel free

Run away, find you a lover
Go away somewhere all bright and new
I have seen no other
Who compares with you

You belong among the wildflowers
You belong in a boat out at sea
You belong with your love on your arm
You belong somewhere you feel free

Run away, go find a lover
Run away, let your heart be your guide
You deserve the deepest of cover
You belong in that home by and by

You belong among the wildflowers
You belong somewhere close to me
Far away from your trouble and worry
You belong somewhere you feel free
You belong somewhere you feel free

© 1994 Tom Petty


Below: A catch-up with M i chael J * co last night (38 mins):

Below: Monkey W *rx and the flight patterns (21 mins):

Below: This was awesome!! From Saturday. Roundtable with Pa* tri  ot Str  e e t fighter and Dave N * no Ro dr i guez (1 hr. 38 mins):

Below: Nicholas  V en i a min and Alan Fountain discuss exe c t u tions, timelines. (40 mins):

Below: X* 2 R * port (36 mins):

Below: X * 2 R * port Chats with Sean St o ne (46 mins):

All’s Well That Ends Well!!

I don’t think ‘scary’ is the right word for it, because this is the third major Presidential voter fraud scandal here in the US over the last 20 years and we’re all getting sort of used to it.

Disheartening is a better word for it, since really, how upset you get over it seems to depend on which side you’re on. If you’re on the side that wins, most people honestly don’t care how they got there.

Alack and alas, as luck would have it, I’ve been on the losing side all three times!

Plus, I was a victim of voter fraud in an election year  where the candidate I was cheated out of voting for actually won anyway. I know 100% for sure, though, that voter fraud does indeed exist here. And it is a truly demoralizing feeling to be publicly cheated out of your right to vote, right there at the polls — and then to have it miraculously restored at the very next Primary election, the moment they don’t care who wins.

However, it really doesn’t seem to matter anymore which Party you cast your vote with, the move toward voter fraud is basically la mode, indefinitely.

Unless you’re a candidate like Hillary was, who thought she was going to win and didn’t see any need to rely on voter fraud. (Sort of a weird compliment to give a politician such as she.) (Although she learned her lesson with a vengeance.)

What is most disturbing to me this time around, though, is how “in cahoots” the mainstream media is with the DNC — the media announcing who won, when there are still votes being counted and lawsuits being filed as I type. There is one half of the country who is still counting votes, both real and fraudulent.

Even Tom Petty’s official Instagram site, stated to “Count Every Vote!” — and he was a hardcore Democrat and his daughters are serious Trump-haters. So, clearly, it only takes a brain to see that something here has gone awry…

And it only takes a heart to see that most people the world over do not give a fuck.

So on we go. Lawsuits, vote counts, protests. And then, more than likely, one more corrupt politician gets back into the White House and the entire world celebrates. Such is the hatred toward Trump (and Israel). And such is the love of money (because if you think for a minute that the same politicians who want to give you the blessings of Socialism would ever for an instant be willing to live on the wages you’re going to get during the coming inflation, you’re out of your pea-picking little mind!).

Okay, well. I’m learning to survive in poverty here in the Hinterlands. And to survive happily.  And I continue to be blessed by three rare people who are trying to keep me from going completely under. (All of whom voted Democrat, btw, and now see me as a sort of dithering crazy porn-writing catlady who’s always mumbling something disturbing about the US Constitution…) (The actual document, not the ship.)

USS Constitution's Crew - National Maritime Historical Society

21 Things You May Not Know About the U.S. Constitution | Mental Floss

And I will keep learning how to survive, because all that really matters to me anymore is to keep on writing my porn! And as long as that freight train keeps barreling past my house and never stops to actually pick me up and take me to Auschwitz, I will consider my tiny little American life a blessed one.

It really honestly does get down to the absolute bare minimum, the older one gets around here. If you can go to bed happy and feel reasonably free (i.e., the Gestapo not looming right there next to your bed), and wake up happy about the day starting all over again, and you find even the tiniest group of people who bring a smile to your face each day, you’ve got a blessed life. Everything else is gravy, gang. (Not that I mind gravy — as long as it’s vegetarian-friendly!) But I don’t need gravy anymore. I really don’t.

Okay. On that happy note!! Have a blessed Sunday, wherever you are in the world! Thanks for visiting, gang. I leave you with another Monkees’ song — “Words,” from their 1968 album Pisces, Aquarius, Capricorn & Jones Ltd. A song that is sort of appropriate for this weekend. When I was a little girl, I found this song sort of delightfully  unnerving. So listen and enjoy!! And stay “nerved” for the coming media battle (Count the Votes vs. MoveOn.org). All righty. I love you guys. See ya.


Girl, don’t you know every time I see you smiling,
It hurts so bad, ’cause when I see you, I start crying,
I’ve tried everything to stop, but there’s no denying,
That falling in love with you, girl, is just like dying

Oh, don’t walk away,
Oh, how can I make you stay?
Don’t turn away,
I can still hear you saying those words that never were true,
Just spoken to help nobody but you,
Words with lies inside,
But, small enough to hide till your playing was through

Girl, don’t you know we could work it out with talking?
You won’t look around or slow down your walking,
I’ve given you everything with a kiss to seal it,
You had to get your kicks out of trying to steal it

Now, I’m standing here,
Strange, strange voices in my ears,
I feel the tears,
But, all I can hear are those words that never were true,
just spoken to help nobody but you
Words with lies inside,
But, small enough to hide till your playing was through, ah

Now, I’m standing here,
Strange, strange voices in my ears,
I feel the tears,
But, all I can hear are those words that never were true,
Just spoken to help nobody but you,
Words with lies inside,
But, small enough to hide till your playing was through
Words that never were true, just spoken to help nobody but you,
Words with lies inside,
But, small enough to hide till your playing was through
Words that never were true, just spoken to help nobody but you

© 1966 Tommy Boyce & Bobby Hart

Still Alive & Well!!

Yes! I am talking about the petunias!

There is a layer of frost on my grown-up car this morning. There is frost on the rooftops. Frost on the lawns and on all the autumn leaves lying all over the lawns. And yet, the petunias are doing just fine.

I guess it has to be a real killer “killer frost” to faze these petunias.

So that was a sort of little happy burst of wonder when I went downstairs for breakfast this morning at 4am.

I also saw that another new song was dropped for the upcoming album, Idiot Prayer: Nick Cave Alone at Alexandra Palace. And this one is actually a new song — “Euthanasia.” It was in my Amazon music library this morning. I just love this song. It is so pretty.

And while I’m thinking of it, I forgot to post yesterday that Nick Cave sent out another Red Hand File on Thursday that was very interesting, regarding a reader’s concerns about Narcotics Anonymous and stemming the seemingly endless tide of heroin addiction. You can read it here.

And also this morning, someone from Europe that I follow on Instagram, who only posts photos and quotes (in English) of various  writers and poets from all over the world, asked if he could quote me on his page today. I was so flattered. In all honesty, I love his page because I have found out about some really interesting writers and poets from South America and Europe by following his page.

He quoted from the ending of Neptune & Surf, and I sent him a photo of me, taken by Valerie while we were at Coney Island. This was during the years that I was actually writing Neptune & Surf. (N & S takes place on Coney Island in 1955.) (The photo is from 1994 or 1995.)

Since I now know how to capture people’s Instagram feeds, I share it with you here. (I really was so touched, gang.)

So my morning has been off to a pretty good start around here today.

I’m planning on just spending the day working on the new erotic short story, “Novitiate.” I’m at one of those junctures where the story begins to just go off the charts in terms of the eroticism, so it requires 110,000,000 % of my concentration.  (Luckily, I’m not prone to exaggerate, otherwise I’d probably throw some really huge number out there…)

Okay, now, on a more serious note.  I have to very soberly question what’s up with the new Tom Petty album — Wild Flowers & All the Rest. Slavish devotee of Tom Petty’s that I am, he (and Rick Rubin, the producer) had said over the years that there were something like 25 additional songs that were not included on the original album, but that Tom Petty had wanted to release on a follow-up to Wildflowers some day.

And this new album has been touted for many, many months (years?) as that album. However, even while there are 54 (!!) songs on this new album, there are only 6 (!!) songs on this collection that I would consider to be actually new, never-heard-before songs.

There are many songs that are never-before-heard versions of songs we already know — meaning they are his home demos. Or perhaps songs with their original lyrics, that wound up changing when the songs were eventually released on other albums. Or “live” versions of songs, etc.

But there are only 6 songs that I don’t recall ever hearing before, ever.  So where are the other 19 or so “brand new songs”?

I’m wondering if, next October, when we once more commemorate the anniversary of his death, they will be releasing the all-new Oops We Forgot to Include These follow-up to the follow-up of Wildflowers

I’m not 100% super happy about this, gang.

Anyway.  On we go, right?

Okay, sometime next week, I think I will finally be a guest on one of M. Christian’s podcasts (he co-hosts two podcasts), discussing The Guitar Hero Goes Home, and probably also talking positively about sex-positive topics. I will keep you posted!! I will try hard to speak like a grown-up. We shall see if I succeed or not. (Although I have already told them I will discuss anything except politics and the virus. So I’m not sure if there are any grown-up topics left…)

Regardless, I’m excited!!

Okay, let me get started here, folks. I hope you have a great Saturday underway, wherever you are in the world! I leave you with my breakfast-listening music from this morning. I was once again back to More of The Monkees! This one, another great tune penned by Mike Nesmith, a member of the group, “The Kind of Girl I Could Love”.  I truly love this song, it is so upbeat (well, I love the whole album). Play it loud. And enjoy. Thanks for visiting, gang. I love you guys. See ya!!

“The Kind Of Girl I Could Love”

Girl, you look mighty good to me
And I know that you’ve got to be
The kind of girl I could love.

You’ve got the sweetest pair of eyes
And your kiss would be paradise
The kind of girl I could love.

You do something to my soul
That no one’s ever done.
If you’re looking for true love
Then let me be the one.

Girl, deep in my soul I’m sure
And my heart has no doubt that you’re
The kind of girl I could love.
The kind of girl I could love.
[Repeat and fade]

© 1967 Michael Nesmith, Roger Atkins

One of Those Mornings

I awoke at 3:56am today, and the first thing I did was check my Amazon music library for the new Tom Petty album (which I apparently paid for at 12:01 am) and the only things in there were the 5 songs they had already dropped weeks ago…

So, after breakfast, journaling, meditation, cleaning up after 7 cats, etc., I spent about 15 minutes just trying to find the actual customer service page on Amazon. Then it took close to 30 more minutes to straighten out the problem.

I haven’t listened to it yet but at least now it is there. And I hope the rest of the day is just easy-peasy…

Yesterday, there was something on Instagram indicating that some of Nick Cave’s fans don’t like Cave Things because they feel it is mercenary and exploitative. And I guess he has been “cancelled” by some of his “cancel culture” fans because of it.

I do think the stuff is really expensive, but it kind of amuses me.  Plus, I am a capitalist, and I feel that if the market will bear it, then one should reap the rewards of it.

I certainly would do it if I thought anyone on Earth would pay me £300 plus shipping for anything whatsoever.

On a similar note, though — yesterday was a little depressing for me. The Guitar Hero Goes Home is not exactly selling like hotcakes, and no one has reviewed it, except for the initial reviews I got before the book was published. So there it languishes. Even though, because it is experimental fiction and not erotic fiction, I did not really expect it to sell that great. And I was sort of hoping that after I died, there would be some sort of market for it. And I’m actually really okay with that. But what depressed me, was that I scrolled through the out of print book titles of mine that are being sold on Amazon and they are once again,  going for extremely high prices.

For instance, a copy of Entangled Lives, selling for $967 plus $3.99 shipping (I’m guessing that Nick Cave autographed it…) (Just kidding.). A mass market paperback of Neptune & Surf selling for $132 plus $3.98 shipping.  Seven “new” editions of a hardcover version of When the Night Stood Still — each selling for $98.96 plus shipping, and that book never came out in hardcover, ever, so that’s just criminal all the way around.

What bothered me most was that a print edition of Twilight of the Immortal is selling for $244.99 plus shipping, and that edition is full of typos, which is why I canceled the contract with that publisher and pulled it from stores all over the world. And then hired a professional editor to edit the eBook edition. But it doesn’t really matter too much, does it?

And I felt two things: why can’t people pay those kinds of prices while the books are still in print and I can benefit from it in some way? And why is there more of a market for my out of print books, than for a brand new one that is just now “in print”?

I can’t really answer that.  But it makes me kind of sad — that my name is worth more than my actual living self.

So that sort of helped yesterday feel sucky. (But it does bode well for that idea that The Guitar Hero Goes Home will sell great after I’m dead…)

Otherwise, I did get some writing done on the new erotic short story (“Novitiate”). And in case you haven’t seen it yet, I posted a brief excerpt from it last night.

So, you know, it’s a sort of “onward” kind of day around here.

Tonight will be that killing frost, so I spent some time saying goodbye to the petunias yesterday.  And we shall see what next summer brings.

Other than that, I don’t really have too much to say here today, gang.

I leave you with last night’s listening music.  “Heart of Gold,” by Neil Young, from off of his incredibly great album Harvest (1972). Listen and enjoy. Have a wonder-filled Friday, wherever you are in the world. And thanks for visiting, gang. I love you guys. See ya.

A Glorious Thursday Before the Frost!

Yes, tomorrow is allegedly bringing with it a killer frost, and so I will be bidding a fond adieu to all my petunias today.

Even though I don’t usually grow petunias, because of the virus, I wasn’t able to get what I usually like to plant in the flower boxes on the porches. However, the petunias made me really, really happy this summer. Just a constant riot of color — not to mention one of the flower boxes on the front porch served as home base to my lovely toad. (Through his impeccable patience, I eventually learned how to not water his head when watering the petunias…) (Nobody stares at you quite as patiently as a toad with water on his head.)

And in honor of tomorrow bringing the first real frost, today is an amazingly lovely fall day.  Cool but not cold, sunny, with gorgeous leaves everywhere — most of them still on the trees for as far as the eye can see.

And I’m doing laundry. This is the time of year where I start to bring out the flannel sheets for my own bed – the bottom sheet, only. I don’t usually need all the flannel sheets until closer to Thanksgiving (late fall).

So everything is changing and I am doing totally okay with it. I’m not morbidly missing the summer. (We’ll see how tomorrow goes — the “new” Tom Petty album drops tomorrow. It might make me really sad and really miss the summer, but we’ll just wait and see.)

Tom Petty Wildflowers & All the Rest

I keep thinking that, one of these days, life will just be fine and I’ll be okay with everything that comes my way. (I’ve been thinking this for 60 years now, but that fact should not cloud our judgment! Today could end up being the very day when suddenly I am forever totally okay with everything…)


Well, the publisher needs an excerpt from “Half-Moon Bride” to put on their website, and they suggest that it be, you know — erotic. To get people to want to read more of the story (i.e., to buy it).

So I’m reading it over for the first time since I wrote it, trying to process this whole insane story. It is just, like, pornographic from start to finish, gang, so where do you jump in and create an “excerpt”? You kind of have to read it from start to finish, to get any real grasp on it. Separating out even the smallest segment of it just ends up seeming like utterly insane porn, in my opinion.  (Two hermaphrodites on their wedding night; one extremely giant-sized, the other one rather petite (and a truly clueless virgin). And if you don’t know those facts ahead of time, then it really comes off sounding insane.) (i.e., the clueless virgin loses her virginity while trying to come to terms with also suddenly having a P-spot and her first erection…) (aka: the joys of hermaphrodite sex!!)

9,384 Laughing High Res Illustrations - Getty Images

But the publisher needs me to do this ASAP, because they asked for it last week, so I need to figure out an “excerpt” that will not make me seem like the most insane writer in the annals of recorded history.

Once I do that, I will get back to work on the newest erotic short story around here, “Novitiate.” (If I can come up with excerpts from either story that seem tame enough for the blog, I will post them this evening. We’ll see!)

And over at Cave Things, a new charm is coming soon that I’m sure you’ll want to grab as soon as it’s available:

Isn’t that cute?? I’m guessing it will cost about £300 (plus shipping) and sell out in about ten minutes…

All right, well. I need to go downstairs and check on that laundry and finish making the bed. I hope you have a lovely Thursday wherever you are in the world and in whatever season it is where you are!! I leave you with my driving  to town & back music from yesterday. This is such a great song for driving really fast on an almost empty highway, with blue skies and gorgeous fall trees all around you for miles and miles and miles. I hadn’t listened to this song in years.  Rod Stewart’s legendary version of “Rhythm of My Heart,” from his 1991 album, Vagabond.  Needless to say, to get the full effect of this song, you have to turn the volume up to eleven

Okay!! Thanks for visiting, gang. I might be back tonight to regale you with brand-new literary “erotica”. We’ll see how it goes. I love you guys. See ya!

“Rhythm Of My Heart”

Across the street the river runs
Down in the gutter life is slipping away
Let me still exist in another place
Running under cover of a helicopter blade

The flames are getting higher in effigy
Burning down the bridges of my memory
Love may still be alive somewhere someway
where they’re downing only deer
a hundred steel towns away

Oh the rhythm of my heart is beating like a drum
with the words “I love you” rolling off my tongue
No never will I roam for I know my place is home
where the ocean meets the sky
I’ll be sailing

Photographs and kerosene light up my darkness
light it up, light it up
I can still feel the touch of your thin blue jeans
Running down the alley I’ve got my eyes all over you baby
Oh baby

Oh the rhythm of my heart is beating like a drum
with the words “I love you” rolling off my tongue
No never will I roam for I know my place is home
where the ocean meets the sky I’ll be sailing
I’ll be sailing

Oh I’ve got lightning in my veins
shifting like the handle of a slot machine
Love may still exist in another place
I’m just yanking back the handle
no expression on my face

Oh the rhythm of my heart is beating like a drum
with the words “I love you” rolling off my tongue
Never will I roam for I know my place is home
where the ocean meets the sky
I’ll be sailing

Oh the rhythm of my heart is beating like a drum
with the words “I love you” rolling off my tongue
No never will I roam for I know my place is home
where the ocean meets the sky
I’ll be sailing

The rhythm of my heart is beating like a drum
with the words “I love you” rolling off my tongue
Never will I roam for I know my place is home
where the ocean meets the sky
I’ll be sailing

© 1986 Traditional;  & John Capek, Marc Jordan

We’re Gonna Try Again Today

Yesterday was intense, gang.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Little house across the street.

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

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

Well, okay.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

© 2020 Bruce Springsteen

Does It Get More Exciting??!!

I’m of course referring to the WEATHER!!

The next 3 days in a row, it’s going back up to 80 degrees Fahrenheit and sunny.  So I can pretend, however briefly, that it’s not really fall.

Then, of course, as soon as it’s really undeniably fall, and all the leaves have changed and the October sky gets that shade of really deep blue — then I’ll act like “Yay! It’s Autumn!! My favorite time of year!!”  And life will go on, ad infinitum.

I was actually conceived in the month of October — it’s the month I consider the moment I chose to come back to Life, so it’s a special month for me. All sad Tom Petty things notwithstanding. And also the death of my best friend Paul happened in October, as well. It’s a month I have a lot of attachment to.

Well, okay. So yesterday was a lot better. I moved forward with 1954 Powder Blue Pickup. I still have a ton of work to do on that gangbang section today.  I really walk a fine line between keeping it believable, keeping it erotic, pushing the boundary of questionable consent, and yet not making it so realistic that I make  myself sick…

But at least I’m getting there. And once that part is completed, there’s really only one more segment and the novella will be done!!

And then  off to the publisher it goes for their consideration…

I forgot to give you a head’s up that the new date for the premiere streaming of the staged reading of my play, Tell My Bones, will be Sunday night November 22nd. Not November 8th.  (Since this will be the anniversary of JFK’s assassination, perhaps it’s a lofty & important omen of some kind.) But I will keep you posted as it gets closer. And remember, it will be FREE!!

All right, well, once again, there is not much going on here besides working on the new novella and finally being in a better frame of mind again, too. It was a couple of difficult days, but they have officially passed.

Last evening was so lovely — I had all the windows open again and I just love that feeling that life is permeating the house. And I once again came to that understanding that death is only a transition, and that if anyone is waiting for me on that side of the veil, they’ll still be there when I get there. I don’t have to rush anything just because I’m lonely.

Also, quick update on The Guitar Hero Goes Home. The cover art has been fixed and is ready to upload. Yay!! And now I have to try to fix that formatting problem I have with the layout of the text. And then I’ll reload all of it to Amazon at one time. But that won’t happen until I finish writing 1954 Powder Blue Pickup. Meanwhile, the book is for sale, there’s nothing actually wrong with it — I just want it to look a little different. And, of course, the eBook is for sale, as well. No problems with that layout at all.

(And a huge thank you to all of you who are already buying it. I really appreciate it.)

And now! I will get yoga happening here, and get down to work.

Have a wonderful Thursday, wherever you are in the world and with whatever you’re getting up to! Thanks for visiting. I leave you with my late-night listening music from yesterday– a huge hit from The Monkees, circa 1967, and it is still a popular favorite among Monkees fans: “What Am I Doing Hangin’ Round?” From their album, Pisces, Aquarius, Capricorn, & Jones, Ltd. Okay!! Enjoy. I love you guys. See ya!

“What Am I Doing Hanging ‘Round?”

Just a loud mouth Yankee I went down to Mexico.
I didn’t have much time to spend, about a week or so.
There I lightly took advantage of a girl who loved me so.
But I found myself a-thinkin’ when the time had come to go…

What am I doin’ hangin’ round?
I should be on that train and gone.
I should be ridin’ on that train to San Antone,
What am I doin’ hangin’ round?

She took me to the garden just for a little walk.
I didn’t know much Spanish and there was no time for talk.
Then she told me that she loved me not with words but with a kiss.
And like a fool I kept on thinkin’ of a train I could not miss…


Well it’s been a year or so, and I want to go back again.
And if I get the money, well I’ll ride the same old train.
But I guess your chances come but once and boy I sure missed mine.
And still I can’t stop thinkin’ when I hear some whistle cryin’….

© 1967 Michael Murphy, Owen Castleman

Sun, Fog, Cold, Warm: You Name It, We Got It Here In Crazeysburg!

Just weird weather, I guess. But we’re getting it, like, all at once here this morning.

I woke up extremely sad today.  Just extremely.  And that’s also weird because I had such a great day yesterday and went to sleep in the happiest little mood.

Part of it was getting on Instagram first thing, and being reminded by many of the little Tom Petty-related accounts I follow, that in ten days, it will be the 3rd anniversary of Tom Petty’s death.

First of all — that isn’t possible. And in some ways, it feels like thirty years, not three.

Second of all — it’s like this sort of nation-wide Tom Petty thing now, to do all kinds of commemorative stuff on the anniversary of his death. Including, bringing out “new” albums around that time, too, so that we can’t possibly miss the facts that: a.) he’s dead; and b.) yay — more new songs. So — is he actually dead?

It’s fucking weird. Plus, he had the foresight to die only a handful of days before his birthday, so October just becomes this sort of washout, if you’re a Tom Petty fan.

Anyway. I no longer sit around, morbidly thinking about Tom Petty being dead, I’m okay with it now. But the Instagram stuff just sort of hit me first thing — my eyes barely open, still dark in my world, and suddenly I’m thinking about all this sadness and loss and my girlhood gone, and time flying away from me.

However. Here’s one of my favorite photos of him. He’s around 52 here, I think. It’s from the tour supporting the release of the album, The Last DJ. An album that is absolutely brilliant, but the industry mercilessly panned it because they didn’t like the picture he painted of them — and yet, alas, I think we all know, especially in hindsight since the Internet killed the music industry, that he was right. (And Bob Dylan allegedly told Tom Petty, regarding The Last DJ, that just because the industry was panning it, it didn’t mean the album wasn’t good.)

He’s off of heroin here, and officially with Dana, finally, but I don’t know if they were actually married yet. They were together a long time before they actually got married.


On a happier note, though, today is Nick Cave’s birthday!! And he’s actually still alive. So that’s good. (I’m actually hoping I don’t outlive him. Here is a list of people I don’t want to outlive: Nick Cave, Keith Richards, Bob Dylan, and my friend Valerie.)

Because of his birthday, I had posted a handful of photos of Nick Cave on my Instagram page, but then I took them all down this morning. It just suddenly seemed odd and too personal.

I’m funny about photos (even the one of Tom Petty there above).  I save them because I love them. And so pieces of my actual love are attached to the images. And I don’t think that things that matter to me, like, for real matter to me, belong on social media.

So even the fact that I’m posting that photo up above there — it feels a little weird.

But on another topic entirely…

This is something that left me sort of thunderstruck yesterday. I saw this photo on Instagram, and it struck me as one of the most erotic photos I have ever seen.

And I thought it would be interesting to share it on the blog — as an example of how my mind works. Since, for the most part, I write such intensely graphic, explicit stuff.  But where the images come from, is this whole other realm of my mind, and doesn’t actually stem from the libido, per se.

I’m not even a Brezhnev “fan,” or anything like that. It has nothing to do with Brezhnev, really.   It’s the energy in the photo. It shot me to the moon and back.

And the photo stuck with me for the entire day, and long into the evening, and was one of the first things on my mind (that didn’t make me sad) when I woke up this morning.

Yes, I am in just a really, really sad mood here today. But I think of emotions as weather — you know? Only they move across the inner landscape, not outside your window. So I’m just going to ride it out. And focus on the new novella and hope for the best.

I got some great (albeit, a little disturbing) work done on 1954 Powder Blue Pickup yesterday. But I have decided to just allow the book to write itself, and to say what it needs to say. (And I’m still not talking about that darn gangbang segment, which I think I will finally be tackling today. And it’s an organized gangbang, not a rape — so I’m not planning to get all “Last Exit to Brooklyn” here or anything. But I probably will be inching into that territory. However, it’s the segment that comes before that, where the girl did that unexpected thing, that I still find sort of disturbing. She painted me into a sort of corner that I wasn’t sure how to get the story out of. But anyway. I did it.)

And so today should be a good day, all sad things considered along the way.

So, I’ll close this and probably do yoga. And then get back to work on the novella. Have a terrific Tuesday, wherever you are in the world. Thanks for visiting, gang.  It feels like a sort of toss-up here — to leave you either with the “live” version of “Dreamville”, a song off of The Last DJ album, but that might be too sad for me right now. So I think I’ll leave you with something else, from those years when he was still full of all that angry, wonderful, pent-up, fighting energy — a “live” version of “Louisiana Rain,” that I just love. (Recorded at Wembley Arena, in London England, in December of 1982.) Enjoy. I love you guys. See ya.

“Louisiana Rain”

Well it was out in California by the San Diego sea
That was when I was taken in and it left its mark on me
Yeah she nearly drove me crazy with all those china toys
And I know she really didn’t mean a thing to those sailor boys

Louisiana rain is falling at my feet
Baby I’m noticing the change as I move down the street
Louisiana rain is soaking through my shoes
I may never be the same when I reach Baton Rouge

South Carolina put out its arms for me
Right up until everything went black somewhere on Lonely Street
And it was just some mean old poison that I took up my nose
Thank God for love that followed the angel’s antidote

Louisiana rain is falling just like tears
Running down my face, washing out the years
Louisiana rain is soaking through my shoes
I may never be the same when I reach Baton Rouge

Well I never will get over this English refugee
Singing to the jukebox in some all-night beanery
Yeah he was eating pills like candy and chasing them with tea
You should have seen him lick his lips, that old black muddied beak

Louisiana rain is falling at my feet
Baby I’m noticing the change as I move down the street
Louisiana rain is soaking through my shoes
I may never be the same when I reach Baton Rouge

Louisiana rain is falling just like tears
Running down my face, washing out the years
Louisiana rain is soaking through my shoes
I may never be the same when I reach Baton Rouge

© 1979 Tom Petty

Things Are Pretty Swell Here in Crazeysburg!!

Yes, we have finally hit on the cover layout for The Guitar Hero Goes Home, now all we need to do is insert the text on the back cover and I can order the test print!!

I already know that the page numbering is screwed up and I can’t fix it, because my manuscript is locked into that Beta template that no longer exists. But if that’s the only thing that’s out of whack, I’m going to be okay with it. (The page numbers begin on the first page, which is the copyrights page, which is never where the page numbering begins, but that’s that.)

Here is a sample of the cover design without the info for the back cover:

It’s actually a very bright yellow, which isn’t really coming across here, except in that little square for the barcode. But you get the idea. The color really just pops.

So I’m very happy! We are almost there, gang.

Another thing that has me over the moon with happiness: Wow!! My brand new vacuum cleaner arrived yesterday and I can’t believe how fantastic it is.

I have had so many different types of vacuum cleaners throughout my life, from really cheap no-name brands, to the expensive Dyson models. I’ve had canisters and uprights and no-cord stick models. And my favorites by far are the Eureka Uprights.

I thought I really loved the Eureka Airspeeds, but this time I bought a Eureka Powerspeed because it was on sale and I have to watch every penny right now.

When I took it out of the box, I was feeling disappointed because it just seemed so cheap compared to the Airspeed. Meaning really cheap plastic, and less parts, and it just didn’t seem like it was going to tackle all that cat hair.

But, wow. I could not believe how great it was. It is just the most awesome vacuum cleaner I have ever owned.  And it is light as a feather. And it was just amazing, the amount of cat hair it picked up.  I haven’t seen my carpet looking this good since I moved in. (Although “good” is qualified by the fact I actually need to replace all the carpeting because it’s really old and has stains from the previous owners. But still!!)

Between that dust buster I bought a few months ago, and now this new vacuum cleaner, I am at last a very happy homemaker.

Okay, I had the funniest dreams. Both of them had my adoptive mother in them, but in a very nonthreatening way.

In one dream, I was standing at her bedroom door, trying to get her attention to tell her something, but she was in bed using a vibrator that was so loud, she couldn’t hear me.  (So weird, right??) (And as far as I know, my mother was not the vibrator-using type. There was a vibrator still in its box, with no batteries, that was stuck in a drawer in the buffet in the dining room (!!). It sat there  for a few years, until I finally figured out what it was, when I was about 13, and I absconded with it to my room and there it remained, fulfilled in its purpose for being, and unmissed by anyone else in the house.) (And I guarantee you, the vibrators today are way more amazing then they were back in those days, but we made do. Beggars can’t be choosers.)

And in the other dream, I was getting ready to go to Girl Scout sleepaway camp and I was worried that I was going to miss the bus that was going to take me there. And then I had a sort of epiphany and I said to my mother, “I don’t think I should go to camp. All the girls in the tent will be 9 years old and I’m 60. It just doesn’t make sense.” And then my mother smiled at me. This smile that implied I had finally grown up.

So weird! But really funny when I woke up and thought about it all. (I’m still not planning on acting my age anytime soon, but I don’t think I need to go quite so far back as 9.)

Okay! The weekend has begun over at Bad Seed TeeVee, where they are going to show music videos made by fans of Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds throughout the whole weekend.  I’ve watched a couple of them so far, and they are, once again, really imaginative.  You can watch them here.

And as I mentioned yesterday, the official Tom Petty website has begun releasing songs from the upcoming Wildflowers part 2 boxed set onto YouTube, so now we can watch them until our wee bonny hearts are content.

(I believe it is actually going to be called Wildflowers & All the Rest.)

The collection won’t be coming out until mid-October, but I really do think it’s going to be an amazing set. I think Tom Petty, wherever he is now, is really happy about these songs being released finally, since he wanted them released in his lifetime, but apparently could not figure out how best to market them if he did.

What better way than to market them posthumously, when they are guaranteed to sell?

Problem solved.

Okay, gang! I have not yet worked out here. And I’m not sure what I want to do– yoga, treadmill, aerobics… So I’m going to think about that and then get this day underway.

Thanks for visiting, gang. I hope you are enjoying your Friday, wherever you are in the world. I leave you with 2 of the new releases from Wildflowers part two (“There Goes Angela” — I love that song — and his original home demo for the song “Wildflowers”  — a video that features Tom with one of his many dogs and a cat.)  Enjoy!! I love you guys. See ya.