Tag Archives: Tom Petty

My Coffee NEVER Arrives Like This!!

I always have to go down to the kitchen and get the coffee myself, and in the process, try not to trip over hundreds of scampering cats who can’t stand me.

Okay. Perhaps I exaggerate – there are only 7 cats here who can’t stand me.

But I’m not exaggerating when I say that I’ve never had this sort of announcement when the coffee was ready. Least of all, by a guy who wore a seriously nice robe such as the one pictured above! (And I guarantee you; I have had plenty of nightgowns that looked like hers, so that can’t be the issue here.)

I guess it’ll just remain one of those eternal mysteries, gang – why it is that vintage advertisements never seem to reflect the life I’ve lived.

Still awaiting comments & edits from NY on Blessed By Light. In the meantime, I’m trying to sort of urge my mind into the Tell My Bones groove. The play could not possibly be more different from Blessed By Light if it tried, so I seriously have to find a way to steer my mind away from one creative track and onto another.

It feels like that “changing horses in midstream” kind of thing. My mind doesn’t really feel ready to let go of Blessed By Light, but it has to. It is almost July and rehearsals will begin in a few weeks, and the director wants to see all my revisions for the entire play before we get started. (The rehearsals, though, will primarily be for the staged reading version of the script, which is only a 30 minute condensed version of the whole play.)

Loyal readers of this lofty blog no doubt recall that I went through a lot of stress, creating that staged reading version of the script back in January/February, and made significant changes to the storytelling at that point that haven’t been incorporated into the overall script yet. So I have to tackle that. And of course tackle it as the heat of July approaches.

But I actually do okay, writing in intensely unbearable heat. Sleeping in it is where I have serious problems.

Okay!

Yesterday’s post, curiously enough, yielded lots of traffic from Russia that I don’t usually experience – and none of it came through the WordPress Reader. Indeed curious, right?

Freaked me out just a little bit, I have to say. But on we go.

The last few days have yielded another sort of interesting development.

Even while being incredibly happy with finishing the new novel, and really happy with how it reads as a completed book, I’ve had these weird physical things that have started to perplex me. Relentless and usually overwhelming fatigue is an ongoing issue. Now pain issues. And now bruises appearing from out of nowhere that I can’t explain.

Yesterday evening, I found several more bruises. But you know, that sudden out of body experience I had while meditating yesterday morning felt really profound to me.  That idea that it was futile to go on because there was too much “nature” out in front of me, and yet that feeling of peace about being right where I was, because everything was so beautiful right where I was.

Obviously, I don’t like seeing these bruises.  And yesterday, I found 4 more.  I like to believe it’s just some weird byproduct of being a vegetarian and maybe not getting enough of some sort of vitamin. Still, whatever it ends up being, that sense of peace came over me again yesterday and it was profound. I felt totally okay with everything.

I’m so happy that I finished the novel, and I know I’ll finish the play, and I feel certain I’ll finish Girl in the Night: Erotic Love Letters to the Muse.

I have several other projects that I’ve already started – 3 plays, another novel, and a memoir; and then TV adaptations for 2 of my older novels. But yesterday, it suddenly felt like, well, if I don’t complete those projects for whatever reason, it’s okay. It’s these 3 primary ones that are front & center right now that matter most to me and I know for sure I’m going to finish those.

It’s a type of thinking I’ve never really had before, but it all felt really, really good to me. Like absolutely everything is all right, no matter what path I end up finding myself on.

Plus I think that the people that I love in this life know that I love them. And that’s really important to me.

Loyal readers of this lofty blog know all about Greg, the boy I fell in love with when I was 11 years old and he was 12; and I stayed in love with him until he was killed in an accident the summer I was 14 and he was 15.  And then all sorts of horrible things began to unravel in my world after he died. And I never got a chance to tell him that I loved him. I was a child, you know?  Throughout that whole relationship. Even though we had a ton of sex. I was still a child, really. I was overwhelmed by all the feelings I had for him, but it would never have occurred to me to say “I love you.” It just wasn’t part of my emotional landscape yet.

And I don’t think anything ever felt worse to me than having him suddenly be gone, forever, without being able to tell him that I loved him.

But ever since then, boy, I’ll tell you. I try to express how I feel towards people as best I can. Even though on so many levels, I am a really self-involved person, I do actually care deeply about people. Obviously, readers here know that I have this life-long processing of physical abuse and rape issues that I still deal with many decades later; things that have caused me to have intimacy problems that I try to process in the most productive ways I can. Still, it makes “relationships” very hard for me to maintain. But underneath all the drama, I still care deeply about people.

And I guess in some ways, even though this sounds sort of lame or even like an emotional cop out, my writing is always about human emotions and the emotional complexities of “being here” and the messages we give each other by “being here.”  I do care very much about the human condition, the human heart, and I try to put all of that into my writing and hope that it continues to affect people positively.  Even when there’s a lot of sex going on in what I’m writing, the human heart is always the central issue for me. That struggle for the heart to connect while it’s still here.

Love people. Help them feel loved. Let people know they’re not alone. Life is the same innate journey for all of us, even while we experience it each in our own unique way. I really believe there is an undercurrent to all of it that is exactly the same for all of us, and it comes from love.

Okay.

I still did not set up the laptop. I have some revisions I need to make by tomorrow to the micro-short video script that Peitor and I are working on, so I will probably avoid the laptop yet again and focus on that today! Or at least this morning. And then avoid the laptop by doing stuff like washing my hair, doing yoga, finding something to stare at and then stare at it. Study Italian. Play the guitar…

I so don’t want to deal with that laptop, and yet I also can’t wait for it to be ready for me to use!! What a conundrum!

All righty!

The Conversations with Nick Cave continue in Brighton for the next couple nights and then will completely disappear from the landscape for a couple of months, wherein I’m certain he will have all sorts of private (lower case ‘c’) conversations and wear whatever he wants to wear! Instagram will somehow survive and continue to get all clogged up with all sorts of things that may or may not mean anything.

As usual, we shall see!

The breakfast-listening music was a little sad today – one of Tom Petty’s many “divorce” songs before he finally got up his nerve (basically) to divorce Jane. It’s a song I’ve posted here numerous times over the years just because I really love the darn song: “Only A Broken Heart.”

(You know, if you like Tom Petty and have never read either his official biography, Petty, by Warren Zane, a really good book and a NY Times Bestseller from 2015; or Conversations with Tom Petty by Paul Zollo, a phenomenally good book from 2006; you should read them. He talks about pretty much every song he ever wrote and why he wrote them and what was going on in his life when he wrote what he wrote, as well as songs that might mean a lot to you that he barely even remembers writing because it meant almost nothing to him. Even his huge hit “Wildflowers,” a really gentle little love song/folk song, he says was actually a song he wrote for himself; because he knew he was unhappy but that he deserved to be happy and he needed to get a divorce… It’s just all very, very interesting if you like Tom Petty.)

Okay, enjoy your Friday, folks. Wherever it takes you! Thanks for visiting, gang. Please know I love you guys so much!! See ya!

“Only A Broken Heart”

Here comes that feeling I’ve seen in your eyes
Back in the old days, before the hard times
But I’m not afraid anymore
It’s only a broken heart

I know the place where you keep your secrets
Out of the sunshine, down in a valley
But I’m not afraid anymore
It’s only a broken heart

What would I give, to start all over again
To clean up my mistakes

Stand in the moonlight, stand under heaven
Wait for an answer, hold out forever
But don’t be afraid anymore
It’s only a broken heart

What would I give, to start all over again
To clean up my mistakes

I know your weakness, you’ve seen my dark side
The end of the rainbow is always a long ride
But I’m not afraid anymore
It’s only a broken heart

c- 1994  Thomas Earl Petty

Good Morning, Glories!!

Those Welsh people don’t bandy that word “God” about too easily. They seem to prefer words like “man” and “myth.” Which, of course, still means that everyone in Wales loved the Conversation with Nick Cave that took place there last night. Even people who were as “far away as they could possibly be,” seat-wise, said that it was an incredible night.

Yes – same suit, or 1 in 1700 that look exactly the same . This is clearly a “conversation” suit.

My favorite Instagram photo of Nick Cave to come out of the weekend, though, was not from the concert, but taken at a service station somewhere with Paul Weller. I don’t know where they were, I only know that it was black & white there. Or maybe it was just the photo that was black & white… Anyway, I love that photo and I wish that I could somehow get it off my phone and onto my wall.

Yesterday was a really, really good day, gang. Some good news came in over the phone. Unfortunately it was business-related stuff that I can’t blog about yet. But I just felt so happy all day.  It has to do with one of my plays and one of my TV pilot projects. I will, of course, keep you posted.

I did indeed chat on the phone with Peitor for a few hours yesterday, too. Not work-related, however.  We won’t resume working on the scripts until next Saturday.  Just lots of “life” going on there in his world.  Some of which I didn’t even know about. It’s so interesting how you can know someone really well – I would say that Peitor is my closest friend – and still not know a whole lot about what might be going on in his head.

Of course, he is a man who always manages to keep things under control. He never leaps to emotional weirdness, like some people we know (who live alone in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of haughty yet beautiful cats).  He’s always perfectly dressed, perfectly groomed, perfectly been-at-the-gym every day, perfectly gone -off-to-the-meditation-place where they have those tranquil-sounding ringing bowls ; just always perfectly perfect.

So even if he’s disturbed about something, he’s perfectly calm and well-groomed about it.

I, on the other hand, leave grooming to those days when I think I might actually see somebody, you know? (I’m exaggerating, of course; I’m stupefyingly vain.) But my “emotional” stuff – wow, right? You usually don’t have to wonder if something might be bothering me, or if there “might be” something on my mind. You can’t accuse me of being passive-aggressive, either, that’s for sure. I’m not gonna tell you one thing and secretly harbor a totally different feeling.

But one thing I really, really value about Peitor is how even-keel he is, emotionally.  It helps keep me centered; it grounds me. Even though most of the stuff I go through I keep to myself, sometimes,  when I feel like I’m going to explode, usually from exasperated confusion over the entire human race, I’ll text him:

ME:  r u someplace where u cn talk right this second?!!!!

HIM (usually): yes

ME: [punching numbers on my phone]

(phone rings)

HIM: “Hello, Marilyn.”

ME:  [great big bunch of indescribably intense emotional gobbledygook weirdness]

HIM (talking very, very, VERY calmly): “You sound angry.”

I just love shit like that because it stops me in my tracks. It completely derails whatever outburst is going on in me.

Anyway. Yesterday was nothing like that. It was a good day. It truly was, on all fronts.

It’s a quiet, rainy Sunday morning here. I woke up in another one of those erotic euphoria things again — it has been several days since that has happened, so it was really nice. And I hope it’s gonna just set the whole tone for my day around here.

It is, of course, Father’s Day. Here’s a photo I love:

This is, of course, Tom Petty in socks & PJs, playing a harmonica. I don’t know which daughter this is. (He had 2, kind of far apart in ages, and then later in his life, when he re-married in his 50s, he adopted a son named Dylan.)

And here’s a photo closer to home, though from a very, very long time ago:

The photo has no date, but I’m guessing it’s my 3rd birthday, which means my dad is 33 here and that it’s 1963. (My adoptive dad.)  That’s our first house in Cleveland.

Okay, the church bells are ringing right now outside my window, which means that Sunday morning is really getting started here in Crazeysburg.

As the picture way at the top indicates, I am doing laundry here right now and I’m gonna go finish all that up, get more coffee and get the day underway!! I am getting dangerously close to actually finishing Blessed By Light, gang. Hard to believe. But then I have to seriously hit the ground running with revisions on the play.

Thanks for visiting. I hope you have a blessed and beautiful Sunday, wherever you are in the world.  I leave you with one of my all-time favorite songs, gang. Truly. Just one of my favorites. I hope they play it at my funeral really loudly and that everybody is happy about lives well-lived. (It’s one of those songs that makes me think very fondly of Gus Van Sant Sr although it was a favorite song long before I met him.) Okay. I love you guys! See ya!

“Begin the Beguine”

When they begin the beguine
It brings back the sound of music so tender
It brings back a night of tropical splendor
It brings back a memory ever green

I’m with you once more under the stars
And down by the shore an orchestra’s playing
And even the palms seem to be swaying
When they begin the beguine

To live it again is past all endeavor
Except when that tune clutches my heart
And there we are, swearing to love forever
And promising never, never to part

What moments divine, what rapture serene
Till clouds came along to disperse the joys we had tasted
And now when I hear people curse the chance that was wasted
I know but too well what they mean

So don’t let them begin the beguine
Let the love that was once a fire remain an ember
Let it sleep like the dead desire I only remember
When they begin the beguine

Oh yes, let them begin the beguine, please make them play
Till the stars that were there before return above you
Till you whisper to me once more, “Darling, I love you”
Then we suddenly know what heaven we’re in
When they begin the, begin the, begin the beguine

When they begin the, begin the, begin the beguine
When they begin the beguine

c- 1935 Cole Porter

Here’s Hoping Today’s Wonderful!!

Because yesterday —  hmm, not so much.

It was another cry baby day. Even though I got good writing done,  I’m just not wanting Blessed By Light to end.

I’ve never experienced these types of feelings before with anything I’ve ever written. Usually I can’t wait for something to get out of me and onto the paper and out into the world. It’s a pretty joyful thing.

However, these last 10 months of writing this novel (albeit, with a ton of other projects stuffed in there, too) have been the most magical 10 months of my life. They really have.

Of course, it doesn’t mean the magical life ends because the novel gets completed. I’d like to think that once the novel is out of me, my life will get even more magical.

I have other projects directly on the heels of Blessed By Light that I will be focusing on next. And they’re all pretty exciting: 2 plays, the string of micro-short videos with Peitor for Abstract Absurdity, my Erotic Love Letters to the Muse, the magic realism murder mystery Down to the Meadows of Sleep (the Hurley Falls thing), and I’m still working on the TV pilot projects.  And then getting together that writers retreat in Perugia Italy for next year.

That’s a whole lot of stuff there. And all of it is exciting to me. It really is.

Still, the whole process of writing Blessed By Light has been so different from anything else I’ve gone through. It has just felt so beautiful and so unexpectedly personal, or intimate, really.

Last evening, after spending several hours on the novel yesterday, I got into my cry baby mode and could feel myself shutting down.

By shutting down, I start rejecting everything, emotionally turning my back on everything. And I really, really wanna stop doing that, forever. (I rarely let those things spiral anymore, but if/when I do, those are the things that lead to those horrific suicidal depressions and I just don’t ever want to go there anymore.  It’s all just old garbage, you know? Garbage that’s attached to people who supremely sucked.  I just don’t have any room for it.)

I finally forced myself to focus on my Italian, which is always really distracting and fun, and then I turned out the light and stared into the space of the summer night outside my open window. It was raining real quietly so that was nice. But I still felt a little like I was losing track of everything; the days are really just zipping by.

I’m forgetting birthdays, losing track of holidays, only remembering to pay bills at the last minute. Stuff like that. Everything is speeding past.  And pretty soon, you know, I’m actually going to be dead.

Not tomorrow or anything (I don’t think), but it’s now sort of being lifted up like scenery on the far horizon: the ending of this life. And I know it’ll be here in a heartbeat, even if it’s still 30 or 40 years away. Years are simply barreling past.

I recall vividly being in my late 20s and realizing for the first time, really, that at some point I would go through menopause and not be able to have children. At that juncture, I was dating 3 different men, each of whom really, really wanted to have a baby with me.  Even though I was attached to each of them in different ways, I couldn’t see myself committing to an actual child with any of them. even though I really, really wanted to have a baby.

And at that point I saw that women don’t just have an indefinite amount of time to make that kind of decision about having children. And it frightened me, you know, to realize for the first time, that time flies and things permanently change. But I was still singing with my band, and just starting to become a published fiction writer. I was poor. And, more importantly, I wasn’t in love.

And then in a heartbeat, a fleeting heartbeat, gang, it was all over for me. I went into perimenopause at 40 and was done with the whole process by age 46. WTF, right?

Unbelievable, how fast that came at me. It was so depressing.

And so now when I look at age 59 and realize that, even though I still feel 12 years old, I’m not. The last half of my life is well underway. And lots of my colleagues died in their 60s.  I don’t think I’m going to die in my 60s, but regardless, time just barrels on. And there are things I want to do in this life. Not just projects, but things I want to feel.

And when I feel myself losing track of so many things, it gets scary.  And I start to feel like the time is as good as gone and maybe I should just give up on everything. That I fucked-up this life and maybe I’ll do better in the next one, and I should just let time fly and not even try to keep up with it and find “happiness.”

And that’s sort of how I was feeling last night when I fell asleep.

Then I had a very interesting dream.

One of those dreams that you know for certain comes from that higher place – the Higher Self, Inner Being, God, whatever label you want to give to that personal Source that sustains you. The dream came from that place. I was with Tom Petty and I was deconstructing the Bluebird of Happiness.

Isn’t that kind of amazing? I mean, just how specific is that?

The Bluebird of Happiness was sort of put together like a wooden birdhouse and Tom Petty was helping me carefully take apart all the pieces so that I could really examine them. Then I put it all back together again and I was very happy with the result, because I knew that my happiness had meaning.

And then an actual bird began singing outside my window and woke me at 4am – which I believe was a way to ensure that I would remember the dream.

Loyal readers of this lofty blog perhaps recall that right before I bought this house and moved here to Muskingum County, I was taking a walk in a park over by that house that I rented for awhile from a friend – back when I was trying to decide if I was going to move back to NY or not, and then decided not to.

I had had that series of weird near-death experiences, 2 of my beloved cats had died, I was muse-less and not expecting any more muses to arrive, ever.  I was working on a couple TV projects and 2 plays with Sandra, but I was thoroughly uninspired. I really just thought my life was over. That I was going to just sort of drift in vague contentment and eventually be done with it.

And that day, walking in the park, for the very first time in my life, I saw a bluebird. An actual bluebird. I’d seen millions of blue jays in my life, but had never seen an actual bluebird. It landed right at my feet.

And it was a beautiful summer day. I took it as a sign. A literal sign that this was the Bluebird of Happiness. Not to give up. That happiness could still come.

And right away this strange little village in Muskingum County came into my life and this wonderful old house that, in and of itself, made me so happy. The house and the town were filled with spirits that were so conducive to creating. And then I suddenly started writing Blessed By Light last August. And then in the early fall, BAM, you know? The muse arrived on all cylinders and absolutely took over my life.  Everything changed.

And so I took this dream last night as a sign. A true sign. That my happiness is viable, even up to the very end.

Even if I only live to be 65 or 70 (which I have no clue, I might live to be 117), even so, the years are going to fly. But it’s still important to fill those speeding years with joy and delight and desire, because I’m still here, you know.

I don’t imagine I’ll ever get married again; I don’t actually know. But I’m certainly not going to have children.  And even if all I do is put joy out in the world in the form of projects – you know, whether it’s erotic joy or spiritual joy, depending on the project. It’s still worth it.  And I might even fall in love. It could happen.  My private world could end up being about more than just living with 7 rescued feral cats who wish I would just go away!

All right. Long post here today! I’m gonna scoot now.  I leave you with my breakfast-listening music from today. The original version of “Trailer” by Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers from 1984 (not the version he did in 2015 with Mudcrutch).

Very upbeat and SO very fun! Addicting.

Okay. Have a terrific Thursday wherever you are in the world! Thanks for visiting. I love you guys. See ya!

I graduated high school
I bought her a trailer
In a little park by the side of the road
I could’ve had the army
I could’ve had the navy
But no I had to go for a mobile home

Yeah I guess I gave it all for you babe
There wasn’t room in that trailer for two babe

I kept up with my interest
I kept up with my payments
She never said goodbye
I never asked why
Man we used to dance to Lynyrd Skynyrd
Boy she used to look so good at times

But I guess I gave it all to you babe
There’s not room in no trailer for two babe

Well I guess I gave it all for you babe
All for you and your trailer too babe

c- 1984 Tom Petty

What Is It About Brides?!

I look good in the dress, you know.

I wear the wedding gown really well. But the moment it goes into storage…

Wow. I just don’t know what it is.

I’m bringing this up because yesterday was the 18th anniversary of Tom Petty’s marriage to Dana York and she posted video footage of their wedding on Instagram and those two looked happier than you can possibly imagine. (Second marriages for both of them.)

I was happier on my first wedding day than I was on my second, but that’s still not saying a whole bunch. (I guess it says that I can be persuaded to do just about anything – twice.)

I awoke at 3:46am today – yes, awash in those wonderful waves of Eros, yet again. But then the first thing I thought of was that video of Tom & Dana’s wedding and of how happy they were. And I began wondering what (if anything) was the matter with me.

I have just never been the kind of gal who thought much about the idea of getting married.  Partly because I was born in that part of the 20th Century where men still owned everything imaginable, and I thought of marriage as ownership. And I have never wanted to be owned. The thought of being an ornament on someone’s arm has always horrified me.

The other part was of course my sexuality. Even as a young teenager (when I started getting raped by guys from the outside world and then men from inside my loving home), I could already tell that my sexuality was more than most people could really deal with.

At least, in Ohio.

When I moved to NYC everything changed. It was so great, so liberating, in the truest sense of the word.  Because  NYC in the 1980s – well, my sexuality fit right in.  Everyone was off the charts. I think Manhattan was not only the casual sex capital of the world at that point, but also the extreme casual sex capital of the world.

Then, of course, most of the people I knew got AIDS and died. I was certainly spared in that regard, but it was just really stupid of me to think that I could squeeze myself down into something that could fit into a marriage.

I always wanted to have kids. Even back as a very little girl, I just assumed I was going to have a lot of children. I really, really wanted children. But I never really wanted to get married.

Instead, I got married twice and had no children.

The only marriage that ever truly appealed to me was the marriage between E.B. White and his wife, Katharine Sergeant Angell White.

E.B. White is probably my favorite essayist of all time. He also wrote children’s classics like Charlotte’s Web and Stuart Little, but his essays are literary gems that struck chords really deep in me and have stayed with me forever. (“Once More to the Lake” is probably everybody’s heartbreaking favorite, but I also really love his essay “Goodbye to 48th Street,” among many others.)

His wife was a legendary fiction editor for The New Yorker when that magazine was in its literary golden age.  They met, fell in love, she left her husband, they got married, moved to Maine and bought a farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. And then  seem to have done nothing but amazing things for each other’s literary lives.

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He was, of course, neurotic, and she was often the rudder keeping him pointed in the right direction.  But the part I always loved most about their marriage was that, in their house, they had offices across the hall from each other.  They’d each go into their offices in the morning, write all day, and then both emerge at 5 o’clock, have one martini and a cigarette, talk about what they’d written (or angst-ed over) and then have dinner together and go to bed. (Sadly, I don’t know what they did in bed, besides sleep, otherwise I would of course regale you with all those details here.)

To me, that has stuck with me as the idea of the most perfect (as well as unattainable) marriage.

Another “relationship” that has always really appealed to me was Lillian Hellman and Dashiell Hammett’s. But it seems to have involved tons more booze & cigarettes and a lot of shouting.  I’m not big on the shouting stuff.  And they did not get married, but stayed together for 30 years and wrote various masterpieces. And that appeals to me enormously.

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I guess you can see that I am all about the writing.

It’s not that I am not all about love, or not into love, or a disbeliever in love. Love is everything to me. But love is woven in there inextricably with my writing. I don’t know why I can’t separate it. And I guess it does make me very self-involved, although I don’t feel like I am. I feel like my love is enormous and spills over into everything, benefiting everyone – and yet, more importantly, love helps me write better. And that means everything to me and so I guess it makes me self-involved.

But it’s still all about love.

Loyal readers of this lofty blog are no doubt painfully aware that I am totally, 100%, thoroughly in love with my muse. He has changed my life – and so quickly, so unexpectedly. Came into my life on all cylinders, blasted open my writing and turned it completely around.

It’s not that he is my reason for being – the kind of thing that maybe people feel when they are wearing those beautiful clothes and having weddings; but he gives me clarity on my reason for being, which has wound up being the most amazing gift I could have ever hoped to receive.

Clarity on my reason for being.

I don’t know that I would have ever realized just how much I needed that if it hadn’t happened of its own accord.

You know, I watched that short video footage of Tom & Dana’s wedding on Instagram yesterday, over & over & over. And I was simply astounded by how happy they were. (Yes, I pondered it!)  And it wasn’t any kind of bullshit – those two were incredibly happy. You could just see it.  And I felt a little bit like a failure because I can only seem to feel that happy when I’m alone, finding the most perfect word.

So I don’t understand myself and my “alone-ness” any better than I ever did, but I still feel happier than I’ve ever been and just so blessed to have the most amazing muse.

It’s probably best to just not think about it too much. Because I think it’s going to end up being something good for the whole world; I really do.

Okay. I’ve got lunch today with the director of Tell My Bones at 12:30. So I’m gonna scoot now and try to get some writing done before that. I think today is going to be just another stunning day out there. I’m so looking forward to it.

I hope your Tuesday is just as splendid, wherever you are in the world.  I leave you with this, the song Tom Petty wrote for Dana, long before they were married, back when he was heading towards some real dark times, but (he has said repeatedly in interviews) he was already in love with her & waiting. Okay! Thanks for visiting! I love you guys, See ya.

 

I dreamed you
I saw your face
Cut my lifeline
Went floating through space
I saw an angel
I saw my fate
I can only thank God it was not too late

Over mountains
I floated away
‘Cross an ocean
I dreamed her name
I followed an angel
Down through the gates
I can only thank God it was not too late

Sing a little song of
Loneliness
Sing one to make me smile
Another round for everyone
I’m here for a little while

Now I’m walking
This street on my own
But she’s with me
Everywhere I go
Yeah, I found an angel
I found my place
I can only thank God it was not too late
I can only thank God it was not too late
I can only thank God it was not too late

c-1995 Tom Petty

Of Gods & Men & the Undecided

Man, the stuff with the new music material is getting so interesting. I am discovering just how much I already know but that I am now gaining conscious access to in a completely different way.

Everything is getting so much more simplified. (I don’t know – can something get “more” simplified? Wouldn’t it just be “simpler”? You figure it out and get back to me. My brain’s not completely awake yet.)

I cannot wait to see how this material actually works with someone who knows nothing about music. I think it’s going to be extremely interesting, and probably gratifying.

I’m having weird sinus stuff in my head today – well, since last night. I guess pain is the correct word for it. I rarely get headaches of any sort, so when I get weirdly intense, pressure-based ones deep in the center of my head, my first thought is always that a tumor is growing. But some sort of more rational voice (a voice I rarely ever listen to, so I usually don’t give credence to it) is telling me that it’s more likely all this relentless rain and humidity over the last 5 days that’s causing it.

Whichever: Life-threatening tumor or sinus headache; all I know is that my brain is functioning at less than ideal capacity this morning.

I wasn’t even going to blog today. I was going to save my creative brainstuff for the novel, since the writing went so well yesterday. But it seems that I have to get this stream of other words out first, before the Voice from the novel kicks in.

On Instagram yesterday morning, Dana Petty posted the most amazing photo of Tom  that I had ever seen. And he was a man who had thousands and thousands and thousands of pictures taken of him in the course of his 66 years of life. And this one was simply unbelievable to me.

He looked like a Spirit.  He truly did. Like a luminous Spirit. It was taken by Dana in a hotel room in Amsterdam a few years ago. It’s actually his reflection in an enormous mirror, while he’s sitting on the end of a king-sized bed. It looks like it’s the middle of the day. He seems to be intently watching an old black & white movie on a television that seems to be just a little bit above the mirror. It’s hard to figure out in the photo because the TV is reflected on something above and behind him. The whole thing is just ghostly, really.

He looks larger than life and yet not even part of life at the same time. I couldn’t stop looking at it.  All day long, I would go back onto Instagram and look at it – pondering it to no end.

It’s weird to think that I was actually a lot taller than he was, because, in my mind, he really was larger than life. All those rock & rollers from my girlhood that I absolutely worshiped – it turned out that I was a lot taller than all of them. Even when I wasn’t wearing heels, and I’m definitely a gal who likes to wear heels of some sort.

Even Cher, who I’d loved since I was about 5 years old – I thought of her as being the tallest woman ever. And I wound up towering over her, too.  Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis, too. A woman of mythical proportions, frankly. And she was just a wisp of a woman.

It does weird things to you, when you’re just towering over all these people who, in your private mind, should have been enormous.

Robert Redford. I mean, my gosh. I never worshiped him, or anything close to that, but he was iconic. An iconic actor from my girlhood! And I totally towered over that guy, to the point that I felt like I needed to back away. I simply didn’t want to know that I was way too tall to be standing next to him in public. And I wasn’t wearing heels, either. And I really don’t think of myself as that tall.  It was too freaky.

Thank goodness Keanu was taller than me – even when I was wearing high-heels. I met him at a party once and he was taller than me. Even though Keanu doesn’t actually mean anything to me, personally or emotionally; for some inexplicable reason, I just don’t want to be taller than Keanu.

This height thing I have is also why it’s been impossible for me to ever have any sort of “kittenish” demeanor, you know? Especially when I’m wearing heels. I’m always greeted more, like: Oh god, here comes trouble.

Many’s the time, folks, that I’ve wished I could be greeted more as “kittenish.” For sure. (Of course, part of it is my mouth; no one ever knows when I’ll be in a foul mood and cursing like a sailor. I have a real problem with the “f” word, even on a good day.)

Well!

In addition to the music material being really incredible yesterday, the Italian lessons went up a notch, too. So that was cool.  They are no longer just throwing words at me, with the occasional phrases.  They are sneaking grammar in now, too.

I’m glad that I already did study some Italian a long time ago, and of course, I’m relying a lot on my knowledge of French, too, so none of this is too difficult. Yet. And so it keeps it really fun. It’s not stressing me out, at all.

Which is good, because I have no shortage of areas within my life that heap stress on me if I so desire them to! At any given moment of any given hour of any given day! Or night!

Plenty-O-Stress, if I want it!

And I really do want to learn Italian this time around.  It’s funny, but it occurred to me recently that the reason I was trying to learn Italian 35 years ago was because Peitor and I had become friends and he wanted me to go to Italy with him.  But I gave up on Italian very early on because I found it too difficult.

(And yet I taught myself to read, write, and speak Mandarin Chinese, so that’s really weird, right? Who the hell knows what goes on in a brain – mine, specifically.)

When Peitor and I met, it was one of those things where we became instant friends – and very good friends. And, obviously, true friends since it is now 35 years later and we couldn’t be closer. We bonded immediately, and not in any sort of amorous way. We came to the conclusion that we were likely brother and sister in another life, since there is no erotic attraction between us at all, but we’ve been incredibly close since the absolute moment we met.

Anyway, all these decades later, I will likely be going to Italy now because of him but not with him, and I’ll be speaking Italian. Isn’t life strange?

Okay.

On that oft-regaled topic here of Nick Cave’s Conversations in Europe… He was in Belgium last night.  For 3 hours. Well, on stage for 3 hours. I’m guessing he was in Belgium a little longer than that, but I guess if all these people are right, and he is actually God, then maybe he’s good at teleporting or something.

HIM (as God): Into Belgium, out of Belgium, 3 hours, total.

I really just don’t know.

I do keep pondering this, though. Because so many people – in Europe, especially – refer to him in some way as God.

I woke up at 3:56am today and my first thought – aside from the aching headache that plagued me with fears of tumors – my first thought was: Does he want to be thought of as God? On some level? Maybe he is subconsciously perpetuating this idea. I don’t know. I don’t think so, but I don’t actually know.

And I don’t actually know that he isn’t God. I have no ready proof, or anything.  But I just keep coming back to this thought that he’s not God. And why would he want to be? It seems like it would surely be hard enough just being Nick Cave. (Or beautiful enough.) (And you are not the only ones I pester with these questions, gentle readers. I pester him with these questions, too.  I leave no stone unturned in my ponderings.)

However, that said. Someone posted another fantastic photo of him last night, again in black & white.  And just beautiful. But most of the postings were in Dutch so I have no clue what anybody said, except for the “3+ hours” part that he was on stage. That was in English.

All righty!!

I’m gonna take a look at Blessed By Light now. See where we’re going with that.  And I hope this headache just goes the fuck away because all I really want to do is go right back to bed.

I didn’t have any breakfast-listening music today because of the headache, but I did have staring-out-the-open-window music from last night. Another true gem (excuse the pun) from The Last DJ:  “Like A Diamond.” I streamed it about 20 times before drifting off to sleep.

And based on that ghostly photo of him that plagued me all day yesterday, it was a fitting end to the evening. It’s such a haunting sort of song about, well, not dying. Ever.

Have a good Thursday, wherever you are in the world, gang. Thanks for visiting. I love you guys! See ya.

Madmen crawl
Across the wall
Knight gets away
Kings all fall
And queens chase men
And saints all sin
And good things
All must end

But she goes on forever
She goes on forever
Yeah, she’s gonna shine forever
Like a diamond
In the sunlight

Big full moon
Above the road
I’m a long long way
From tomorrow
Gotta light my way
Down this highway
To get to her

‘Cause she goes on forever
She goes on forever
Yeah, she’s gonna shine forever
Like a diamond
In the sunlight

Deacons steal
And Ma can’t feel
If you’re lonely
And behind the wheel
When the ground gives way
You have to pray
To the unknown
And hope it’s real

But she goes on forever
She goes on forever
She’s gonna shine forever

She goes on forever
She goes on forever
Yeah, she’s gonna shine forever
Like a diamond
In the sunlight

c – 2002 Tom Petty

Good Lord, I’m Back

What a fucking morning. And everything started out so good.

It began sliding downhill when I noticed that someone from overseas had come to my site during the night, looking for Michael Hemmingson. My dear colleague who is allegedly dead. And I visited the post from back in September that had brought them to the site, Me+ Reality = Never a Good Combination and it just broke my heart.

I still refuse to believe that Michael is dead.  I am simply not going to process that until they can show me a corpse or something, you know? And since it’s now been 5 years, I’m guessing that if there ever was a corpse, there certainly isn’t one now. But it just feels devastating and part of that is because I’m refusing to process his death. I know that. But a small part of that is that I honestly do not believe that he died, his politics were so dicey, so how do I process it?

And then I kept reading the post, and there was all that stuff I wrote about sex and fame and my writing career. And that was pretty disgusting but I’m not going to un-say it because it was true. And if the truth about myself sometimes makes me sick, oh well.

Then, a new video  was dropped today. Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers’ For Real. This was a previously unreleased song that came out posthumously on The Best of Everything collection a couple months ago. They did a video of the song and it dropped today on YouTube.

And as much as I told myself, “Do not watch this, it’s gonna break your fucking heart!” I watched it anyway. And I just sobbed, you know? It broke my damn heart.

Loyal readers of this lofty blog no doubt recall that I steadfastly refuse to process Tom Petty’s death, too. I cannot accept it. I understand that he’s dead, logically I understand it, but I refuse to actually process it and let it move into some sort of bygone place.

I can accept that the 66-year-old version of him died, but I can’t watch any of that video footage from the Hollywood Bowl, when he died 7 days later. Can’t do it, even though I know that that man is dead. I can’t bear it. And when I see this stuff from his early career, when I, too, was so young and so full of dreams and loved him so much, it just devastates me to have to think even for a moment that that guy is dead, too. I can’t do it. It kills me.

Even though I begged myself not to watch that video… I could not resist the lure of how beautiful he was.

Oh well.

I guess you just never know what you’re going to do in the space of a morning, do you?

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Do You Wake-Up Dreaming?

Or is it just the muse??

Wow, what an incredible morning. I awoke at 4am, just as the first birds were starting to sing. Now that all the windows in the house are open, the sound of the birds singing fills the whole house.

It’s so beautiful, because, by 5am, you can hear thousands of birds singing all at once.

Out here in Crazeysburg, there literally are no other sounds at this hour for many miles in all directions, except an occasional car (or the barrelling freight train with that awesome train-whistle scream, but that had already come through around 3am). The “peace in the valley” out here really highlights just how many birds there are. And it’s overwhelming when they all sing at once.

It’s one of the reasons why I don’t want to put air-conditioning into the house. Even though I had all the duct work and the furnace upgraded to handle air-conditioning. (The house is 118 years old, and didn’t even have electricity or indoor plumbing when it was first built.)  I can’t bear the thought of shutting out the sound of all those birds, or, as the summer goes on, the sound of the crickets and the cicadas.

The only time I even think about air-conditioning is when a heat wave comes through and my bedroom gets up to 102 degrees Fahrenheit and then in that soul-draining, mind-dulling, suffocating HEAT, I think, Why the FUCK haven’t I gotten this place air-conditioned yet??!!

But, anyway. I digress.

I awoke at 4am with the energy of the muses swirling all over me in the bed. It was breathtaking, really. It was such an erotic feeling. It made me think of how it might feel to spin a cocoon all around myself or something. Obviously, I don’t actually know if that would be an erotic sensation, having never spun a cocoon, but energetically, that’s what it brought to my mind. It was a really joyful feeling. Bordering on jubilation.

I have a feeling it’s going to be a really productive writing day if the muses are up and already so frisky at this hour.

The last thing I saw on Instagram last evening was a photo Dana Petty had posted of a butterfly landing on her thigh as she was sitting out in her garden. When I awoke today, in that incredible sort of erotic swoon, the first thing I thought of was that photo and it occurred to me that it was probably Tom Petty’s energy in that butterfly. Or his essence or something. Visiting her. Now that he’s off in the great beyond place, really “Learning to Fly.” That made me feel happy.

Loyal readers of this lofty blog no doubt recall that I usually meditate first thing in the morning, but recently I moved my meditation time to midday, right after lunch, and it seems to be helping me re-focus, or re-charge, in a more productive way.  And I come out of the meditations now inspired with a specific thing to do, so I get right back to work.

Yesterday, I came out of the meditation remembering that Peitor was waiting on me to send him a bunch of notes he’d lost on some scripts we were developing when I was in L.A. back in December. And I realized that all those notes were still in texts on my phone. So I went scrolling through 4 months of texts and got all those notes copied and sent to him, and then I remembered how, I don’t know, how sort of strange it was, when I was there in L.A. He was in his bed in the bedroom, I was on the futon in the living room, and we were texting each other script notes at 5am.

I mean, we could have easily spoken to each other if his bedroom door had been open. Yet we were texting. Still needing to communicate with each other even though neither one of us wanted to be out of bed yet; not wanting to commit, yet, to the day.

But what a great trip that was, oh my gosh. And I loved his apartment so much, the energy in it was so conducive to being creative. He used to have this great townhouse with a garden, by the corner of N. Fairfax and Sunset Boulevard. Then he and the guy he married got an apartment together right next door to the Sunset Marquis Hotel (which is such a cool hotel to hang out in),  and the new apartment is like straight out of 1967 or something like that. I didn’t think anything could be better than the townhouse was, but the new apartment is sort of magical – the energy inside it.

Plus, this trip, Peitor’s husband was off producing a TV show in Toronto, so we had the whole place to ourselves, which made us behave like unsupervised little kids or something.

That morning that he and I were texting at 5am, I had just discovered that Nick Cave’s The Ship Song sounded unbelievable in the earbuds of my new, upgraded iPhone and I was playing it over and over and over. It was mesmerizing, how good it sounded. I couldn’t believe I had waited so long to upgrade my iPhone. And the song had played “by accident.” I was listening to We Call upon the Author to Explain on Youtube, and I missed the repeat thing, and so The Ship Song suddenly came on and, it was like, Holy Fuck this sounds SO good!! It was like the Universe decided to suddenly give me this amazing gift, and the sun wasn’t even up yet. I had always loved that song, but this time I felt enveloped by it and the beauty of it was so powerfully overwhelming in those earbuds. And then I couldn’t stop playing it until Peitor finally came out of the bedroom.

So, you know, meditating midday not only helped me remember that Peitor needed those notes, but then all those beautiful memories unfolded, like a double gift from the Universe in the form of total recall.

Okay, well. I’m gonna get this day started over here. Chapter 21 in Blessed By Light awaits its erotic unveiling. I leave you with this really sexy little Tom Petty song from 1978, Casa Dega. I’ve been playing it down in my kitchen the last few mornings while having my breakfast. So, enjoy! It’s such a cool & sexy little song. Thanks for visiting, gang. I love you! See ya.

Well the clouds go by in the big blue sky
As the sun beats down on casa dega
And the moon pulls the tide and the tide brings night
But night is more than just a night in casa dega
Oh baby now I think I’m starting to believe the things that I’ve heard
Cause tonight in casa dega I hang on every word
That she said to me as she holds my hand
And reads the lines of a stranger
Yeah and she knows my name yeah she knows my plan

In the past in the present and for the future

Oh honey now I think I’m starting to believe the things that I’ve heard
Cause tonight in casa dega I hang on every word

That she said…

Baby fools pay the price of a whisper in the night in casa dega
Time rolls by, night is only night, can I save you?

Yeah more than just a night…