Tag Archives: writing

Just For The Record…

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Well, good morning.

I’m back to not breathing so great, but I did sleep well.  So I’m not going to worry; I’m just going to focus on letting myself get better however that happens.

It is really cold out there today but super sunny. I really do feel good, all things considered. I’m planning on doing at least a little work with Peitor later today on Abstract Absurdity Productions stuff.

You know, this morning, I saw something on Instagram that really offended me. A well known artist/musician from LA, created a work of art that declared that America was doing what it does best (regarding the virus): Saving the rich and letting the poor people die.

What a sweeping accusation, right?

That is so offensive to me on so many levels. I also feel it’s irresponsible, but one of the valued things about being an American is that you get to express yourself here, regardless of whether or not you offend people or are irresponsible.

In this extremely large country, where  a whole lot of people have the virus (614,180) (although there are 20 States where the impact of the virus has been negligible compared to a few key highly populated areas in other States), Corporate America, as well as the Armed Forces and the Federal Government, stepped up production on ventilators, respirators, surgical gowns, masks, etc., to ensure that if you had to be hospitalized in this country — regardless of how much money you make — there’s going to be a hospital bed for you and the supplies that are needed to try to keep you alive.

And even though I don’t believe in health insurance companies (I belong to a Christian healthcare cooperative), still, the largest insurance companies in this country removed the co-pay and the minimum out-of-pocket expenses you have to pay if you have to be treated and/or hospitalized for the virus. And if you can’t pay or don’t have any insurance at all, the Government covers you, so that no one gets turned away from medical care.

I know that there is an issue (that we always have, all over the world, frankly) with poor people of color having more underlying, often stress-related health issues, that are putting them at risk to get the virus and die from it (and any other serious diseases, for that matter), but that’s different from saying that America saves the lives of the rich and lets the poor people die.

There are thousands of healthcare workers in this country right now working extremely hard to keep people from dying. It is so unbelievably disrespectful to them to say that America saves the rich and lets the poor people die.

Also, in Ohio once a week, local and County Governments, along with hugely profitable private Corporate Food Service suppliers, give a week’s worth of groceries for free to low income or no income individuals and families. Every week. And it’s not garbage food, either. It’s real food. You don’t have to pay a dime for it.

And if I can’t pay my mortgage right now (which I can, thank  God), I can get my payment deferred. Honda also offered me two months’ worth of deferred payments on my car if I needed it. Two giant corporations, trying to help people not lose their homes or their cars or take a bad hit to their credit reports.

And this morning, I woke up to find $1200 in my checking account — from the Federal Government. My lawn care guys texted yesterday, needing work and since the Government gave me a bunch of money, I can not only afford to pay them to come out and start dealing with my horrific lawn, but I can also afford to pay them to deal with that new hole in the roof of my barn caused by those high winds we’ve been having.

Readers of this blog know that I’ve been stressing about that roof of my barn and the state of my horrible backyard — and I just feel that the Government gave me money to ensure that I could pay my bills and pay people for their services and keep the money circulating as best as possible right now so that nobody has to go without too much during this pandemic. (Plus, the lawn guys are willing to come out and help me even though they know I have the virus.)

And  just on a personal note, even while I don’t have good relationships with most of my adoptive family, the fact of the matter is that they all came over to America as indescribably poor Jewish immigrants, fleeing pogroms in Eastern Europe and Russia. And they managed to become extremely wealthy people, because they worked their fucking asses off. And they gave back to their communities, their Country, and to Third World Countries — with both enormous amounts of actual money (sometimes to the tune of tens of millions of dollars), as well as donating their time and skills (a lot of them are doctors).

It could be that some people are experiencing an America that defies all of this that I’m experiencing. Or it could be that they’re only reading stories in newspapers, and in fact live in an income bracket that doesn’t require them to have to actually live among low income or no income people during this pandemic (or at any other time).

As a word of caution, though, I just want to point out that our new Democrat nominee for President has no fewer than 7 women now accusing him of sexual assault and the same newspapers that go after Trump for every single thing (they think) he says or does, are not covering that sex assault story. At all.

I’m just saying: you gotta be careful not to live in a bubble. You could be making yourself crazy for all the wrong reasons.

And as we say here in America, in the poorest taste imaginable: “Other than that, how was the play Mrs. Lincoln?”

On that lofty harbinger of a note, I will close this and go back to bed and wait for my lungs to get over this virus.

Have a good Wednesday, wherever you are in the world. Thanks for visiting, gang. And appropriately enough, I leave you with last night’s listening music, a favorite song from my wee bonny girlhood, “Wild World,” by Cat Stevens (1970 — I was 10 when this was a huge hit). It’s from his legendary album Tea for the Tillerman. Okay. I love you guys. See ya.

“Wild World”

Now that I’ve lost everything to you
You say you wanna start something new
And it’s breakin’ my heart you’re leavin’
Baby, I’m grievin’
But if you wanna leave, take good care
I hope you have a lot of nice things to wear
But then a lot of nice things turn bad out there

Oh, baby, baby, it’s a wild world
It’s hard to get by just upon a smile
Oh, baby, baby, it’s a wild world
I’ll always remember you like a child, girl

You know I’ve seen a lot of what the world can do
And it’s breakin’ my heart in two
Because I never wanna see you sad girl
Don’t be a bad girl
But if you wanna leave, take good care
Hope you make a lot of nice friends out there
But just remember there’s a lot of bad and beware, beware

Oh, baby, baby, it’s a wild world
It’s hard to get by just upon a smile
Oh, baby, baby, it’s a wild world
I’ll always remember you like a child, girl

Baby, I love you
But if you wanna leave, take good care
Hope you make a lot of nice friends out there
But just remember there’s a lot of bad and beware, beware

Oh, baby, baby, it’s a wild world
It’s hard to get by just upon a smile
Oh, baby, baby, it’s a wild world
I’ll always remember you like a child, girl

Oh, baby, baby, it’s a wild world
It’s hard to get by just upon a smile
Oh, baby, baby, it’s a wild world
And I’ll always remember you like a child, girl

© – 1970 Islam Yusuf

Thoughts On A Post-Virus Rainy Morning

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I’m trying not to get zealous and overdo it around here, but I do think the virus has moved out of my lungs, finally.

I awoke at 4:30am and laid there for awhile, feeling absolutely fantastic. My breathing was completely back to normal for the first time in 9 days. Plus, my bed felt really incredible. On the phone yesterday, my dad had persuaded me to change my sheets and wash the blankets, etc., because I’d been in the same bedding since before I’d gotten sick.

And then I realized I’d also been wearing the same darn chemise with the same white tee shirt on top of it for the entire time, too.

Even though I had found the energy everyday to take a 2-minute shower, I would just get right back into the same chemise, tee shirt, and collapse back into the same bed linens.  And I realized that my dad was right — it was probably a good idea to get up the energy to do some laundry.

Just FYI — even though, on the outside — or I should say “verbally” — my reaction to anything any man ever tells me to do is to automatically  say “no;” I am in fact intensely submissive by nature and, 99.9% of the time, I will first say “no” and then do exactly what I’m told.

MY DAD (on phone): “You really ought to wash those sheets, Marilyn. That virus is probably all over them.”

ME (on phone): “I don’t think so. I’m so tired. I don’t think the virus lives that long on fabric…” (gets out of bed, washes sheets, then washes everything else in sight)

(The only man I say “no” to and then steadfastly adhere to that intensely negative mindset is the second husband. When/if he ever advises me to do something, I not only automatically say “no,” but a filter type thing — called “You’re Not the Boss of Me” — also gets lowered down over the inside of my brain to ensure that no advise he is trying to give me permeates my consciousness in any way whatsoever.)

Okay. Anyway. All those clean sheets and blankets and the clean tee shirt/chemise helped me get the best sleep I’d had in awhile.

And now I’ve officially switched to the Spring/Summer sheets, too — the 125,000-thread-count pure cotton sheets from Italy. So it was really just a great night’s sleep, and I woke up breathing. Like I used to do 9 days ago.

I don’t know how you guys are about Easter (assuming you celebrate it at all), but for me, even though it’s a joyous holiday, it’s also a day where I do a lot of thinking about my life. Meaning, if the Resurrection is telling me anything at all, it’s telling me to look at my life before I die. Is this how I want to be living it? If not, then here’s yet another chance to try to get it right.

Usually, every single darn year, my answer is “no, this is not how I want to be living my life,” and in this case, the word “no” is not because I have a serious issue with male authority. It’s because whenever I’m pressed to really take account of my life, I’m simply never satisfied with how I’m living it.

The older I get, the tighter the focus gets on “my work.” If I die today, and leave this huge amount of unfinished work behind, it would be okay. Because I honestly believe that we get to finish in the Afterlife whatever we left unfinished here.

However, I also believe really strongly that I didn’t come here to be physical and to start a bunch of projects, just to go back over there (wherever there is) and finish them there, you know? Why bother to come here at all then, right? So I am hopeful that, before I die, I’ll finish all these many projects I have that are half-finished. Even if I don’t get them out into the world, I’d like to at least leave a tidy stack of finished novels, memoirs, stories, micro-short screenplays, and plays on my desk, with a little handwritten note to my sister on the top of the stack: Please take care of these. Thank you.

(Plus, I still really, really want to record that album with Peitor, of maybe 14 or 15 of my favorite songs that I wrote when I was a singer-songwriter, too.) (Readers of this lofty blog, perhaps recall that back when a VP at Columbia Records was trying to get me signed there, Peitor produced a demo for me in his studio that I absolutely loved. He made my songs & my voice sound like nothing else I had ever heard before; I really felt he captured a certain magic in my songs. But the VP at Columbia Records famously said to me, “Why are you singing like this? I can’t do anything with this.” So I’d really like a chance to go back into the studio for real this time, and have Peitor produce all of my best songs. Maybe title it: This is Why I’m Singing Like This, Even If You Can’t Do Anything With It…)

So, since it was Easter yesterday, I was thinking about this stuff — my life. And realizing that I’m going to be 60 in about 14 seconds, so I really need to make a commitment to trying harder to get this stuff done.

Part of the challenge is that most of my projects aim a little higher than I can reach, so I always have to evolve as a writer while I’m in the process of doing the writing.  My vision for what I want to achieve with my work is always way out there beyond my grasp, so I am always in the process of finding my way.  (When I first began writing Neptune & Surf in 1994, inspired by an extremely long day/night of drinking in Coney Island with Holly Lane, I had never written anything longer than short stories.  I know for a fact that I re-wrote the opening page to that book 60 or 70 times before I could even undertake writing the rest of the book; I was trying to learn how to write.)

Well, anyway, I decided yesterday that for however long I continue to be alive over here on this side of reality, my mind is just going to have to work harder. Find better words. String them together in a better way. And then if I die anyway and nothing’s finished, well, I’ll worry about it when I get to the Afterlife.

On other topics — I am now deeply into Love in the Time of Cholera and just loving every moment of that book. It is indeed better to be reading it during not only a pandemic, but also to be in some weird form of all-consuming love that has no roadmap whatsoever. It’s good to be reminded that for all time, throughout everything, people have managed to love unconditionally with no hope of grasping any conclusion, while life just went barreling on and tumbling down all around them.

So. I’m learning to just let each day be whatever it has to be.

The Nick Cave art book, Stranger Than Kindness, is just really interesting — thought-provoking; indeed a ponderer’s paradise. Although his handwriting is often just indescribably indecipherable. Lots of original versions of song lyrics are in the book.  And I really love seeing what writers write, re-write, re-visit, and then compare it to what was ultimately chosen as the finished vision.

I’m not super well-informed about The Birthday Party era of Nick Cave’s career. I have the Boys Next Door album (CD) that has the song “Shivers” on it and I think that album is so good. It really captures that era of music so well. The songs are very good, too, when placed directly in that whole scene. But I didn’t know anything about the Boys Next Door or the The Birthday Party when I first discovered Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds in 1985. I was so blown away by the Bad Seeds stuff that I hit the ground running with that. (Plus, it was really difficult and expensive to get import albums back then, even in NYC, and I was extremely poor back then.) Over recent years, I have since watched various videos of The Birthday Party on YouTube and they are really good songs.

I also have had the book King Ink, since forever. (Scarily enough, I now see that I have had it for 31 years now. It is really extremely difficult at this moment to wrap my mind around that number.) I remember the day I bought it so perfectly. I was in St. Mark’s Bookstore, on St. Mark’s Place in the East Village. I had no money to speak of, but I was planning to buy some of those underground zines that I used to love — and I got published in several of them, too, btw.

My eyesight must have been amazing back then because I remember the whole sky cracking open when I suddenly saw, way over at the front of the store, way up high, behind the cash registers, far, far from where anyone could possibly touch it or steal it, there was a book written by Nick Cave.

I was, like, holy fucking moly. And I put everything down that I was thinking I was going to buy and went directly to the cashier and asked him if that book was by Nick Cave the songwriter, and he said yes, and then I told him I had to have that book. He looked at me dubiously because he had to climb up on a ladder to retrieve it and he said sort of disgustedly, “It’s $25…”

I was quite taken aback by that amount because I truly couldn’t afford that amount, but I still had to have it, so I made the guy get it down for me, and I bought it without even knowing what the fuck it was. It was the only copy of the book that they had (it was an import from England) and I felt like the cashier was going to grab it right back from me because I’m sure it was written all over my face: oh my god, I can’t afford this. So I bought it. (And we won’t discuss the myriad insane things I had to scramble around and do back in those days to try to scrape together my fucking rent even without buying a $25 book.)

Well, long story even longer — all The Birthday Party song lyrics were included in King Ink. So I have at least known the lyrics to their songs since 1989. But I didn’t know the music to them until years later.

Their songs are very, very interesting. Intense, dark, funny, and, well, intense. And a couple of the original handwritten lyrics are included in Stranger Than Kindness. So I was thinking about those songs a lot yesterday, too. I played “Mutiny in Heaven” on YouTube several times. While it’s obviously dark, I think it’s just an incredible song.Unbelievable. (It is down below the photograph.)

Anyway. In the photo from one of my bookcases in my family room just now, you can see that I thought it was worth the $25 I didn’t have — 6 moves and 31 years later.  (Oh, and down at the bottom of that horizontal stack, is a book that contains the script and some movie stills from Francois Truffaut’s famous film, The 400 Blows. I took the book out of the local library when I was 15 and loved that book (and the film itself) so much, that I wound up stealing that book from the library and was not allowed to use the library ever again. But you can see that I thought that book was worth it, too — 14 moves and 45 years later.)

Okay, see ya, gang. I gotta scoot! Thanks for visiting. I love you!!

 

“Mutiny In Heaven”

Well ah jumpt! and fled this fucken heap on doctored wings
Mah flailin pinions, with splints and rags and crutches!
(Damn things nearly hardly flap)
Canker upon canker upon one million tiny punctures
That look like…
Long thin red ribbons draped across the arms of a lil mortal girl
(Like a ground -plan of Hell)
Curse these smartin strings! These fucken ruptures!
Enough! Enough is enough!
(If this is Heaven ah’m bailin out)
If this is Heaven ah’m bailin out
Ah caint tolerate this ol tin-tub
So fulla trash and rats! Felt one crawl across mah soul
For a seckon there , as thought as wassa back down in the ghetto!
(Rats in Paradise! Rats in Paradise!)
Ah’m bailin out! There’s a mutiny in Heaven!

Ah wassa born…
And Lord shakin, even then was dumpt into some icy font
Like some great stinky unclean!
From slum-chuch to slum-church, ah spilt mah heart
To some fat cunt behind a screen…

Evil poppin eye presst up to the opening
He’d slide shut the lil perforated hatch…at night mah body
Blusht
To the whistle of the birch
With a lil practice ah soon learnt to use in on mahself
Punishment?! Reward!! Punishment?! Reward!!
Well, ah tied on…percht on mah bed ah was…
Sticken a needle in mah arm…

Ah tied off! Fucken wings burst out mah back
(Like ah was cuttin teeth!!)
Ah took off!!!
(Rats in Paradise! Rats in Paradise!)
There’s a mutiny in Heaven!

Oh Lord, ah git down on mah knees
(Ah git down on mah knees and start to pray)

Wrapped in mah mongrel wings, ah nearly freeze
In the howlin wind and drivin rain
(All the trash blowin round ‘n’ round)
From slum-heaven into town
Ah take mah tiny pain and rollin back mah sleeve
(Roll anna roll anna roll anna roll)
Ah yank the drip outa mah vein! UTOPIATE! Ah’m bailin out!
UTOPIATE!
If this is Heaven ah’m bailin out!
Mah threadbare soul teems with vermin and louse
Thoughts come like a plague to the head…in God’s house!
Mutiny in Heaven!
(Ars infectio forco Dio)
To the plank!
(Rats in Paradise! Rats in Paradise!)
Ah’m bailin out!
(Hail Hypuss Dermio Vita Rex!)
Hole inna ghetto! Hole inna ghetto!
(Scabio Murem per Sanctum…Dio, Dio, Dio)

©  1983 Nick Cave, Mick Harvey

A Success — So far!!

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Well, I made it to the market in town and back, without coming closer than 6 feet to anyone at all. Here’s hoping I get through another week without any symptoms.

Although, I have to say that my idea to get to the market the moment it opened on a Sunday morning, when it was also pouring down rain — well, it was an idea shared by a whole lot more people than I was expecting.

But still! I got in & out of the market in under 15 minutes.  And now the trip to town is done for another week. Next week, the virus will likely be at it’s peak, though. But we’ll just take it one week at a time.

Yesterday was a bit of an interesting thing. It ended on a really good note for me — although, I was really alarmed to learn that Marianne Faithfull had been hospitalized in London with the virus  yesterday. They say she is stable — I hope this is true.

But other than that, I ended the evening feeling really happy yesterday.

However, the early part of the day was not so good.

Man, when you least expect it, people can get really unglued from all this stress.  I called a colleague in NY yesterday, to find out how she was doing — she had called and left me a voicemail the night before, so I was not expecting her to be off-the-charts crazy by yesterday morning. But she sure was. And then the emotional damage she transferred over to me, had left me feeling really assaulted, you know? From out of nowhere.

So then Peitor talked to me on the phone for about an hour and was so helpful — he brought me in from that ledge. He truly did — he got me firmly on to a much healthier train of thought that helped my outlook for the rest of my day. (Plus, I am just so fucking in love right now, gang, despite everything, and I just love that.) But it also meant that Peitor and I didn’t work on Abstract Absurdity Productions stuff yesterday. But we are scheduled to work this afternoon instead.

The drive home from the market this morning was enchanting. The rain had stopped and the clouds were beginning to disperse, but there were still enough clouds to keep the sun from really coming through yet, so the filtered light was ethereal.

None of the trees have leaves yet, but there are just tons of dogwoods and tulip trees in this whole region and all of them are in full bloom right now.  My drive to town and back is full of hills, and this morning, on my drive home, from the tops of the hills I could see down into the various valleys, into the tiny towns, and all those dogwoods and tulip trees in bloom, cows and horses dotting the hillsides; and now the red-winged blackbirds are back, too — they were everywhere! And, of course, almost no people or cars anywhere…it was just like a painting or something. So breathtaking.

Red-winged Blackbird (Agelaius phoeniceus) World birds online ...
Always a sure sign that Spring has arrived in Ohio!

I was so relieved to have the shopping behind me for another week, and the ride was so beautiful, that I didn’t even feel like speeding. I was really enjoying the drive.

In town, the gasoline prices are now at $1.60 a gallon! Of course, I have no need for gas right now, since I only make one trip to town each week. (Which, of course, is why the gas prices have plummeted — no one needs gas right now.) But it was really something see.

And the shops that have those lit marquees out in front of them all had upbeat sayings on them. You know, “Keep Smiling.” Stuff like that.  It really did feel like a dream. The farther you get from the bigger cities (even in Ohio), the friendlier the people are; the kinder they are. I know I’m eventually going to have to spend a lot more time back in NYC, and more time in LA, once all this virus stuff passes through — and I don’t regret any of that. I’m looking forward to it. But, man, living out here in the Hinterlands, in the middle of nowhere, has been the most amazing experience for me, ever.

All righty, gang. I hope you’re able to enjoy your Sunday, wherever you are in the world. I need to get ready for my phone call with Peitor now, so I’m gonna scoot!! I’ll leave you with a song & a prayer for Marianne Faithfull — counting on her full and complete recovery.  Stay well. I love you guys. See ya.

“The Gypsy Faerie Queen”

I’m known by many different names
My good friend Will calls me Puck and Robin Goodfellow
I follow the gypsy faerie queen
I follow the gypsy faerie queen

She walks the length and breadth of England
Singing her song, using her wand
To help and heal the land and the creatures on it
She’s dressed in rags of moleskin
And wears a crown of Rowan berries on her brow

And I follow, follow, follow
The gypsy faerie queen
We exist, exist, exist
In the twilight in-between

She bears a blackthorn staff
To help her in her walking
I only listen to her sing
But I never hear her talking anymore
Though once she did
Though once she did

And I follow, follow, follow
My gypsy faerie queen
We exist, exist, exist
In the twilight in-between

And I follow, follow, follow
My gypsy faerie queen
We exist, exist, exist
In the country in-between

Me and my gypsy queen

© 2018 Marianne Faithfull, Nick Cave

A Splendid Day Is Upon Us, Gang!!

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Yes, that’s right!!!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

HIM: “I washed my hands.”

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

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

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

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

ME:  “Yes.”

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

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

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Anyway…

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

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

“Dream A Little Dream Of Me”

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

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

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

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

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

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

© 1931 Gus Kahn, Fabian Andre, Wilbur Schwandt

It Does My Heart Good…

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It does my heart good, you know? From my desk, I can look out the window and see that the starlings have fucked up the gutters on my neighbor’s house, too. So now I don’t have to feel quite so guilty that my gutters are a complete mess.

I’m not the only one.

And I can also clearly see the starling, sitting happily in my neighbor’s fucked up gutter. She stares out serenely at the world, obviously thinking: God made this gutter just for me, for my nest. What a wonderful world.

I can only guess that all the starlings sitting in their nests in my own fucked-up gutters are wearing the same contended expressions on their tiny faces.

The gutters on my roof sit up way too high for me to see into them, and whenever I walk too close, the birds fly away anyway.

But it’s life — living things, God’s creatures, or whoever makes these sacred creatures — so I don’t really care. What matters more to me is that life goes on and that the starlings return every Spring, along with the robins, to build their nests and hatch their little baby birds, who will come back again next Spring — ad infinitum.

Well, okay!!

Peitor and I did indeed work on Abstract Absurdity Productions stuff yesterday!! And it went very well. We got our synopsis written for Lita måste gå! (aka Lita’s Got to Go!), which is great because synopses are my least favorite thing on Earth to write. I think it’s okay to share the synopsis with you here, because Peitor is showing it to people in LA.  And it will soon be on our new web site anyway (she says confidently, as if she’s going to get back to work on that web site at any moment!!).

If you don’t follow this blog all the time, Lita måste gå! is an 8-minute film, a fictional story, with 4 lines of dialogue — but the dialogue is in Swedish with English subtitles, hence the double title.

Our filmmaking style — in all of our upcoming projects — is an homage to Luis Buñuel, Roman Polanski, Ingmar Bergman, Alfred Hitchcock, François Truffaut, Jacques Tati, Michelangelo Antonioni, and Fellini — as well as to the Abstract principles of the photography of the Bauhaus School. 

The premises of all our projects are completely absurd, but handled very seriously — almost poetically — so that the fact that it’s absurd only quietly creeps up on you.

Synopsis:

Lita måste gå! (aka Lita’s Got to Go!)

Lita is everybody’s worst nightmare of a maid. Every day, when Gerta returns to her apartment, an uneasy feeling comes over her that something dreadful is going on. Trying to understand the source of this uneasiness, Gerta begins to investigate. Is what she’s sensing real or imagined? Is it something in the apartment or is it her maid? Whatever it is, the fear in the pit of her stomach grows more inescapable each day. Whilst Gerta goes out to ease her mind, Lita’s cleaning antics escalate to a level that the furniture can no longer endure – the writing desk wrestles her to the floor. The doctor is called in to examine Lita’s lacerations and contusions, but writes off her absurd accusations to an overstimulated imagination. Unsatisfied, Gerta calls in the services of a specialist – and then the Desk Whisperer arrives. In a hushed, tender exchange between the desk and the Whisperer, he gets to the root of the problem. It is here that Gerta learns that Lita’s got to go and that the writing desk longs to return to the forest. Heeding the words of the Desk Whisperer, Gerta then fastens the desk to the roof of her Citroen and drives out to the countryside. In the forest, placing her desk at the foot of a tree, Gerta knows that all is now right again in her world.

So there you have it, gang! That’s the plot to the 8-minute script that it took us 15 months to write! And it’s 19 pages of shots, POVs,  lenses, sound cues and blocking, with 4 lines of dialogue (in Swedish) that don’t come in until page 15.

(And just FYI, the average 90-page script should take you about 6-12 weeks to write.)

But I couldn’t be happier. I fucking love this project!!

Well, in just a few minutes here, my ex-husband out in Seattle is scheduled to call me for a little happy chat.  I haven’t spoken to him since November, I think, even though we email each other many times, every single day. So I’m looking forward to it.

If you aren’t aware, Seattle was one of the first places in the US (if not the first?) that had an outbreak of Covid 19 wherein someone died. Then the State (Washington) was one of the first to go into quarantine, and they seem to have avoided the horrific stuff going on in NYC now because of it.

I was kind of worried that since he is Chinese, he would have been the target of some of that racist awfulness that broke out, but, thankfully, he was not.

So, yes, I have one ex-husband in the thick of it in Seattle, and one ex-husband in the thick of it in NYC. A business partner and dear friend in the thick of it in Los Angeles. And many more friends and colleagues in the thick of it in San Francisco and various areas of the NYC boros. So just pray, right? And just keep hoping that everybody stays indoors. (Although, Dr. David Price, from NYC’s Cornell Medical Center, stresses in a recent video to the world that preventing the contagion hinges almost entirely on washing your hands and not touching your face, period. As well as staying indoors and away from people.)

Okay! On that hopeful note, I better scoot, gang. Thanks for visiting! I might check in again later. We shall see! Have a good Wednesday, wherever you are in the world. I leave you with one of the most beautiful songs, ever. Listen, absorb it, enjoy it and just cherish yourselves, okay? I love you guys. See ya.

“What A Wonderful World”

I see trees of green
Red roses too
I see them bloom
For me and you
And I think to myself
What a wonderful world

I see skies of blue
And clouds of white
The bright blessed day
The dark sacred night
And I think to myself
What a wonderful world

The colors of the rainbow
So pretty in the sky
Are also on the faces
Of people going by
I see friends shaking hands
Saying, “How do you do?”
They’re really saying
“I love you”

I hear babies cry
I watch them grow
They’ll learn much more
Than I’ll never know
And I think to myself
What a wonderful world

Yes, I think to myself
What a wonderful world

Oh yeah

© 1968 George Douglas, Bob Thiele

Sorry I’m Late!!

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I was too busy, this morning, dancing with the cat…

Actually, I was busy scribbling away at something else. But here I am now. And I’m getting geared up to work with Peitor on Abstract Absurdity Productions stuff!

I think!

Loyal readers of this lofty blog no doubt recall that since the pandemic started to really explode across everything, Abstract Absurdity Productions has had some problems getting itself focused. (And to be honest, and not funny at all, several of Peitor’s family members here in the US now have the virus — and his 93-year-old mom is quarantined in Italy and has been throughout the pandemic — so it is really getting emotionally tense for him. So, really, we do just play it by ear and see what he feels up to at any given time, you know?)

But we do at least plan on working today, getting the synopsis together for our micro short film, Lita måste gå! (aka “Lita’s Got to Go!”). And I haven’t done a single solitary other thing for the web site — which was supposed to launch tomorrow — because I haven’t been able to focus on anything for very long.

Although I am getting really good at staring. And also at pacing around. And also at staring at all my many half-finished projects in stacks on the floor of my bedroom. I’ve gotten really, really good at all these things.

Nick Cave just sent out one of his Red Hand Files letter things. It was very, very interesting indeed. You can read it at that link. I know it probably seems weird to say this (to think this) but I keep feeling that underneath all of this, we are all blessed in some hard to define way. In ways that maybe we won’t be able to understand until time has passed, or perhaps in the next life, you know?

I keep feeling that when a non-pandemic life resumes for those of us who find ourselves still here, it will bring with it a “new normal” that will transcend anything we’ve known before now. I’m not sure in what way, but I feel it will be worth all of this. I guess we’ll find out.

I, personally, have developed a sort of “intense apathy” that I have never had before. Buy that, I guess I mean that each day feels very much under a microscope, yet things that usually matter so much to me, just flow by my awareness like water going down to the sea or something. Things still matter to me, but I can’t control anything at all. Nothing whatsoever. Just waiting. It’s not necessarily sad, or anything; just waiting.

I’m still able to laugh (a lot) when friends call on the phone. I can still feel an intensity of joy that flows through me all day, every day — an undercurrent of my own Identity that is riding out the outer current, the experience of “Now.” There is a real joy in “beingness” that still feels very sacred to me.

And I am also totally loving being fucking asleep. I am so thankful for sleep. Escape. Wake-up. Then see how & where life begins again. (For most of my adult life, I had trouble sleeping — anxiety issues. Ever since that man came into my life and then died a couple of summers ago, I have no sleep issues anymore. Isn’t that interesting?)

(I apologize in advance for my typos. I’ve noticed I have a lot lately. I try to go in and correct them, but I still don’t catch all of them.)

I cut my hair on Sunday. Just trimming off the dead ends, as I do every few months. But I am usually so intensely precise about it. Yet this time, there’s a part in front that is not even.  A part that’s a little tiny bit longer, but I have decided that I love the asymmetry of it. And asymmetry is usually something I have no tolerance for! I don’t think it’s actually noticeable — but the fact that I am just letting it go is kind of unheard of for me.

So we shall see who I will be as the months go by, right?  (Hopefully someone who has nice, even hair but I guess we’ll find out!)

Okay, gang. I need to get ready for my meeting here. I might post again later. I hope you’ve been having a good Tuesday, wherever you are in the world.  Don’t forget to count your blessings, okay? Counting them is how they multiply. Being aware of all the good things is how you recognize and become more and more aware of more good things that are coming. And they always do arrive when you care enough to expect them. All righty.

Thanks for visiting, gang.  I leave you with the song that was in my head when I awoke this morning at 4 AM, and was thinking about someone I consider my dearest friend in the world. And I share it now with you, too, okay? I love you guys. See ya.

“Lean On Me”

Sometimes in our lives
We all have pain, we all have sorrow.
But if we are wise,
We know that there’s always tomorrow.

Lean on me when you’re not strong
I’ll be your friend, I’ll help you carry on
For it won’t be long
‘Til I’m gonna need somebody to lean on.

Please swallow your pride
If I have things you need to borrow
For no one can fill those of your needs
That you won’t let show.

You just call on me, brother, when you need a hand
We all need somebody to lean on.
I just might have a problem that you’ll understand,
We all need somebody to lean on.

Lean on me when you’re not strong
And I’ll be your friend I’ll help you carry on
For it won’t be long
‘Til I’m gonna need somebody to lean on

You just call on me, brother, when you need a hand
We all need somebody to lean on.
I just might have a problem that you’ll understand,
We all need somebody to lean on.

If there is a load
You have to bear
That you can’t carry
I’m right up the road
I’ll share your load
If you just call me.

Call me if you need a friend
Call me, call me, uh-huh
Call me when you need a friend
Call me if you ever need a friend
Call me, call me
Call me, call me
Call me, call me
Call me, call me
Call me if you need a friend
Call me, call me
Call me, call me
Call me, call me
Call me, call me
Call me

© 1972 Bill Withers

Before I Say Goodnight…

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Interesting day here, gang.

I did take a look at the manuscript for the novel-in-progress, Down to the Meadows of Sleep: The Hurley Falls Mystery, and I really liked it! So I’m going to do a little work on that and see where it takes me. (I haven’t done any work on it since the summer of 2018 — right when I met the man that I fell in love with who then died.)

My ex-husband in NYC called me this morning to see how I was getting along, and I told him about my problem with focusing right now, and he encouraged me to focus on writing as little as one page a day, on any project at all, so that I could begin to feel like I was making some progress. And so I did that and it really worked. I feel a lot better.

And apparently the Vice President of the United States, Mike Pence, reads my blog, because I saw him doing an interview today on Instagram (of all places) wherein he talked about the number of people in the US who were taking the Covid 19 virus test and testing negative, and he said that these are the numbers currently:  just under 10% in this country test positive for the virus, and over a million tests have been administered now. So that was good to hear, even though they expect that the next 2 weeks will see the virus peaking in this country.

I mentioned here recently that my ex-husband in Seattle emails me several times a day now to give me information about the virus, or to make me laugh, or just to inform me about things, in general — I wrote him this afternoon about the anxiety I feel whenever I have to leave Muskingum County and go into the next county, where they do have the virus (so far, we don’t). And how it kind of takes me a while to get back to normal after that.

And he emailed me this in return and it meant so much to me. It brought tears to my eyes. (This is a man I married 39 years ago, as of April 9th — a very long time ago. We haven’t been married anymore for a very long time, but he and I have been through a lot together — married or not.)

And so I’m sharing it with you, gang, as I say goodnight, close down my computer and go down to the kitchen to stream another episode of DCI Banks.  Listen to it and think of a friend who loves you, okay? (It’s probably me!!) Thanks for visiting. I do love you guys. Stay well. See ya.

“You’ve Got A Friend”

When you’re down and troubled,
And you need some love and care,
And nothing, nothing is going right
Close your eyes and think of me,
And soon I will be there
To brighten up even your darkest night.

You just call out my name
And you know wherever I am
I’ll come running to see you again
Winter, spring, summer or fall
All you have to do is call
And I’ll be there
You’ve got a friend

If the sky above you grows dark and full of clouds
And that old north wind begins to blow
Keep your head together and call my name out loud
Soon you’ll hear me knocking at your door

You just call out my name
And you know wherever I am
I’ll come running to see you again
Winter, spring, summer or fall
All you have to do is call
And I’ll be there
And I’ll be there, yes I will.

Now, ain’t it good to know that you’ve got a friend
When people can be so cold?
They’ll hurt you, yes, and desert you
And take your soul if you let them,
Oh, but don’t you let them

You just call out my name
And you know wherever I am
I’ll come running to see you again.
Winter, spring, summer or fall
All you have to do is call
And I’ll be there, yes I will.
You’ve got a friend

You’ve got a friend
Ain’t it good to know, you’ve got a friend?
Ain’t it good to know?
Ain’t it good to know?
Ain’t it good to know, you’ve got a friend?

Oh yeah, now
Oh, you’ve got a friend
Yeah, baby
You’ve got a friend
Oh yeah…
You’ve got a friend

© 1971 Carole King

Yeah, well…

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Man, is it windy here, gang. You would not believe it. It began yesterday, continued all through the night, and continues this morning.

The wind was so strong, in fact, that it blew a couple sections of my neighbor’s privacy fence completely away, along with many individual slats in their fence.

However, you will notice by the photo below, that these missing segments of fence in NO WAY assist any of my dead leaves in their mission to get into my neighbor’s yard!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I know. Isn’t it terrible? This situation with my dead leaves? Lest you think my sloth has gone unpunished — when I opened my back door this morning to get that photo, the wind blew just a ton of mouldery-spore allergen type stuff right up my sinuses and now I have a colossal sinus headache.

And now that the President has declared that our lockdown will continue to at least the end of April, if not actually the end of May, I honestly cannot imagine, at this point, that I won’t be raking those fucking leaves. God knows, I’ll have nothing but time… I’ll be really hard pressed to come up with a viable excuse for not raking them. I mean, I do own a fucking rake… and I know how to use it…

And in all honesty, if that segment of my neighbor’s fence that’s closest to my god-awful accumulation of dead leaves did give way, and suddenly all my dead leaves blew into his yard? Wow, I get the feeling he would be so fucking pissed at me.

So, yes, this morning, I resigned myself to this notion that I am going to have to rake those darn leaves.

Meanwhile.

Yes, our lockdown is set to continue — for maybe even as much as 2 more months. And with this in mind, I laid awake last night, wondering if maybe I might not want to get out the manuscript for Down to the Meadows of Sleep: The Hurley Falls Mystery, and read it over and maybe work on that right now? (See last evening’s quick post.)

If I recall correctly, I’m about 50 pages into it.  Even though it’s a murder mystery set primarily in a graveyard, it’s also sexy and funny and upbeat and quirky. So it might be good for my brain right now. I’m going to at least read it over and see.

Even though I have all this time to myself during this pandemic, I’m having trouble focusing on which project-in-progress of mine I really want to focus on.

I’m having trouble focusing, just in general. For me, because I lived in NYC during the AIDS crisis and during 9/11, those two tragedies were much harder for me to cope with than this current pandemic. During the AIDS crisis, literally dozens of my friends died quick & horrible deaths in the span of about 2 years — this was before anyone really understood what was killing them. And then 9/11 was sort of just unspeakable.

I have the type of PTSD that comes from a lifetime of physical, sexual, & mental abuse (C-PTSD, also called Complex Trauma Disorder). And even though Wayne and I were officially separated by the time of 9/11, we still lived in the same apartment but he was stuck in the South of France and couldn’t get a plane back to NYC. I had just gotten out of the hospital because of a bad MERSA infection that no one could figure out how I’d gotten, and they’d also had to do a biopsy on something in my throat because they thought I might have cancer — and then 9/11 happened in the midst of that and so I was in full-blown C-PTSD that entire time, and I was all alone in the (quite lovely) apartment, going nuts.

And whether or not you were alone, NYC during and post-9/11 was absolutely awful. And that is an understatement.

And now, even though I know this current pandemic is real and that for people who die from it, it is a really awful death, I’m still living in a place that hasn’t been touched by the virus and absolutely everything in my immediate world is exactly the same, except for social distancing in the store. My C-PTSD has remained absolutely dormant during a pandemic.

It is really just so strange. And yet all of my friends are in areas that are really hard hit by the virus, and of course that affects me, emotionally. So even though I have all this enforced time alone, it is really hard for me to focus. I sit at my desk, but I can’t focus in any meaningful way.

Perhaps switching to a novel that’s more fantasy and has nothing to do with reality as we know it, will help.

And speaking of social distancing, after my walk through the cemetery yesterday, I stopped in at the dollar store to buy two vital items: bathtub drain un-clogger and Hershey’s chocolate syrup! (Yes, I did buy more ice cream the other day; I was back to needing comfort food amid all those organic fruits & vegetables & yogurt & grains. And I ran out of chocolate syrup.)

Well, I went down that aisle that has the chocolate syrup in it, and there was a man standing right where I needed to be, and the store was almost out of chocolate syrup — I could readily see that from my social distance of 6 feet away — and yet I had to keep practicing social distancing. I could not get closer than 6 feet to that guy. So I tried patiently waiting for him to move, and then finally, such was my need to get my hands on one of those two remaining bottles of Hershey’s chocolate syrup, I finally said to him, “I’m really sorry, but I need to be right where you’re standing please.” (A sort of polite way of saying “Could you please move?”)

He sort of just looked at me, wondering, I’m sure, why I seemed 12 yet had all this long, silver windswept hair, and then he begrudgingly moved an additional 6 feet away.

Other than that though, so far, life is pretty much the same.

Although I am sleeping at really weird hours now.  I fell deeply asleep at 10PM last night, woke at 10:30, feeling like I’d slept at least 3 hours and was astounded to discover it had only been 30 minutes. Then I fell back to sleep until about 3 AM and then was texting back & forth with Kara for quite awhile.

Kara is always up at 3 AM, smoking cigarettes and drinking an espresso and trying to get some peace from the 6 wild dingoes that live with her. (They are not actually wild dingoes, but they are domestic dogs that were illegally bred with wild dogs and she rescued them and saved them from euthanasia. Much like me living with 7 feral cats that I rescued, never dreaming I was going to have to live with 7 wild animals for the rest of their natural lives  — and it started out as 12 of them…)  Anyway. Kara was awake, too, and so we were texting. We text every day.  Then I slept for 3 more hours. Then I got up.

It’s like that every day now — I either sleep too much or too little, but always at weird hours. And when I’m awake, I can’t focus. Even when I’m streaming those reruns of DCI Banks, I pause it every few minutes, then I get up and pace around and look out the windows and wish I still smoked and still drank because it seems like it would maybe give me something to really focus on, and then I sit back down and continue watching the show. It’s just weird.

But, still, you know — I feel really grateful for every moment. And all the moments that come on the heels of those.

Okay. On that note… I will get the day underway here, take a look at that manuscript and see how I feel about it.  Get another cup of coffee & hope it kills this sinus headache.  I hope this finds you doing well, wherever you are in the world. Thanks for visiting, gang. I’m still really only listening to Dylan’s “Murder Most Foul.” So, for now, I’ll just say that I love you guys. See ya!

If you listen carefully, gang, you can hear Dylan’s “Murder Most Foul” coming from that open window there. Okay. See ya!

Whew!! We Made it!!

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Yes!! I went out first thing this morning — drove into town to go to the market as soon as it opened, so that I could get my week’s groceries without having  to shop with too many people in the store.

(Ohio is on Stay-At-Home orders, which means we can go out for essentials but that’s it.)

And when I got back home, this time I paid attention to everything I touched before I washed my hands, so that I didn’t go through some sort of paranoia attack all day about whether or not I had washed every single solitary thing that might need washing…

And I’m hoping to do only one load of laundry today — instead of worrying that I didn’t get every single thing that my clothing might have  touched when I came in the door.

In short, I hope to have a nice day.

The weather here is unbelievable!! We did not get all the rain that was predicted — which is good because Wakatamika Creek has already become a veritable lake, flowing all over the bottom land. (It doesn’t affect the town, because the creek always floods and that bottom land always eventually absorbs it. In the nearly 200 years the town has been here, I guess they figured out not to build anything at all anywhere near that creek…)

Anyway. It is gorgeous outside. Most of the windows are open, which is such a relief for me, because I am allergic to cats and I have 7, so fresh air is just like the best thing that God invented, ever.

I am on Day 15 now of my quarantine. We still have no confirmed cases of the virus in Muskingum County — and here is something that actually pisses me off: Ohio has stopped reporting how many people test negative for the virus. The last time they reported the number, several days ago, it was close to 20,000 people who didn’t have it.  They only report now how many people have it and how many people have died from it. Which just totally skews everybody’s understanding of what is going on.

And when questioned why they stopped releasing the numbers, they let it be known that the nearly 20,000 who didn’t have it, did not even include the amount of negatives coming from the private testing sector. The State itself (not the private sector) is testing 500 people a day! And 1400 people have tested positive (that includes those who have recovered and 28 who have died). So who knows how many tens of thousands of people in Ohio don’t have the virus?

It just feels so manipulative and political, doesn’t it? (If you don’t live in America, you probably can’t get a real sense of how many politicians want to blame Trump for absolutely everything imaginable, even if it means having to “misrepresent” or downplay the facts. It just gets ludicrous.)

The Health Department here in Ohio also seems to be relying on a forecasting formula that the Federal Government has stated is outdated now because the forecasts did not match what is actually happening in Italy.  It just feels so controlling — try to make everyone feel hysterical so that they no longer trust the Federal Government.

It is just so hard to know what the heck is going on anymore, so it’s still best to just stay inside and wash.

And speaking of Italy — that Instagram photo I posted last evening (lower left of this page if you’re on a computer) is of Pope Francis giving the Urbi et Orbi blessing in a deserted St. Peter’s Square last night. Isn’t that one of the most amazing sights?

And speaking of the Pope… I spent yesterday catching up on some back issues of Biblical Archaeology Review (which has nothing to do with the Pope, just the Bible). What a cool magazine. But so hard to spell!! (I’m guessing that the next Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds album will have both the words “Archaeology” and “Apocalypse” in it so that I can go out of my fucking mind trying to spell it…) (See various references to my inability to spell the word “Apocalypse” as well as the 2004 double-album title Abattoir Blues/The Lyre of Orpheus.)

I love Biblical archaeology. I love the stuff they discover, and how it helps us re-frame what was handed down in the Bible (for instance, before contemporary times, women had a very different way of interpreting what is written about Eve in Genesis because they relied primarily on Genesis 1 and let that inform how they interpreted Genesis 3 — meaning, in short, they believed that Eve was the spiritual equal of Adam and also that Adam was standing right next to Eve during that whole serpent thing, so, um …) (Also, the King James Version of the Bible misinterpreted the word for “pupil” to mean “apple” so the saying “apple of his eye” actually reads “pupil of his eye.” I just love stuff like that!)

And I especially love it when archaeology supports what is written in the Bible. I love all that ancient historical stuff.  Oh — and I ordered a scholarly book from Amazon yesterday that’s a couple years old already, but it re-examines Judas’s role in what happened to Jesus, along with the role of the Jewish High Priests, and it apparently redirects the blame to Herod. That the High Priests were providing shelter to Jesus from the Romans during Passover, and that Herod intercepted that.

(Folks, you really, really gotta closely examine that relationship between Herod and Jesus at every turn. Something really, really bad was going on there. We’ll probably never really know what. But it has something to do (I think) with the Romans having appointed Herod King, when that was not the way the Hebrews accepted a “King.” And all the John the Baptist stuff is connected there, too.)

This all fascinates me, personally, because I am working on a one-man play (titled In the Days of the Flesh) about the (fictional) Gospel According to Caiaphas, which exonerates him from what happened to Jesus.

And here we are today! I’m gonna go eat my lunch now and get this day underway.  (And, btw, the market was completely stocked with absolutely everything.) I hope you are having a good Sunday, wherever you are in the world. Thanks for visiting!! (Oh, and another by the way!! Dylan’s new song, “Murder Most Foul,” already has 2 million views on YouTube — and that’s not counting my endless listenings because I bought the song immediately, so I stream it.)

I’ll leave you with my breakfast-listening music from this morning, “Casa Dega,” which I only listened to halfway, because the windows were open and I realized that the birds were singing and I preferred listening to them!! But anyway, this is not the version I listened to, but I like this one because it captures Tom Petty live in 1978, when he still had that awesome attitude he had when he was young. (He’s 28 here.) Enjoy, gang!! I love you guys. See ya.

“Casa Dega”

Well the clouds roll 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 night in Casa Dega

Oh

Baby I think I’m starting to believe the things that I’ve heard
‘Cause tonight in Casa Dega I hang on every word

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 plans
In the past, in the present and for the future

Yeah, 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

Then she said…

Oh

And you almost pay the price of a whisper in the night in Casa Dega
Time rolls by, night is only night, can I save ya?

Yeah, yeah
Alright
It’s more than just a night
Alright
Yeah, yeah

© 1978 Tom Petty

A Break in the Weather!!

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Well, so far, it’s only been mild rain so no more of my bathroom ceiling has landed on my bathroom floor.

(Btw, I don’t have an actual leak in the roof — there is a seam between where the roof meets the side of the house that needs re-sealing, and when extended torrential rains come with high winds, the water blows down in through that seam and then collects in the ceiling in my downstairs bathroom, and then — voila! Ceiling meets floor! Well, at least the plaster lands on the floor; it’s not the actual ceiling. But it does make a big fucking mess and now the ceiling needs re-plastering, too.)

Anyway, it is incredibly lovely here in Crazeysburg right now. The sun is up and the birds are singing and the temperature is  mild enough to have several of the windows open already. The cats are quite happy with this development! But by midday, we are supposed to get more rain…

If you follow my Instagram feed, you will no doubt have noticed that my joyful new coffee cup arrived yesterday!! “I like pretty things and the word Fuck”.  (You can see a photo of it down on the left there, if you’re on a computer, that is.) A woman artist, named CynthiaF, created this coffee cup design. She has many designs, in fact, that are quite flowery and that prominently feature the word “fuck” and they all make me laugh. But this one just really spoke to me, gang! (Other close favorites are: “Yippee Ki Yi Yay, Motherfucker!” and “Fuckity fuck fuck” and “She believed she could but she was TOO FUCKING TIRED so she didn’t” — that last one is a play on a popular girl-empowering slogan: “She believed she could so she did.”)

I’m gonna wait until after Easter to use my flowery new cup, though.

Also in yesterday’s mail, I got a collection of old photographs that my dad wanted me to have. I absolutely love photographs. Actually, even if I don’t even know the people in the photos — I love photographs.

Here is one that really startled me, though, gang. And not really in a good way. I remember this tree really well. This is back in Cleveland, summer 1968. I don’t remember the photo being taken. I think it’ s a sort of wistful picture of my older brother. Although I don’t remember him ever having bangs! (aka “fringe”) And I love the fact that he climbed that tree barefoot.

What startled me, though, was how sad I looked. And it’s obviously a candid shot; I’m not trying to look one way or another.  And looking at the photo yesterday only reminded me of how intensely intense my whole fucking childhood was, because every single moment of it was determined by the unpredictable, wildly-swinging moods of my adoptive mother. I hate to say that I’m glad it’s over — there is so much about my childhood that I loved. But I guess I’m glad it’s over — all the relentless stress of it.

Me and my older adopted brother, summer, Cleveland, 1968

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And speaking of the 1960s in America… WOW, is that new Bob Dylan song, “Murder Most Foul,” amazing, gang. I don’t know how many times I’ve listened to it already. It is just chilling.

I’m guessing you need to be a Bob Dylan fan to like the song, and maybe you need to be of a certain age or era, to fully appreciate the many, many cultural references. And maybe you even need to be an American to get all of the horrific references to the conspiracy behind Kennedy’s murder. Still, it is just a staggering song. After my first listen (the song is 17 minutes long), I felt like: Okay, I guess I can die now because this is the scope of my whole life, summed up, right here.

It really felt that way.

I know a lot of people hate Americans. And I personally know a number of Americans who hate Americans and America, even though they still live here. But I have always loved being an American, even with all its turmoil and all its terrible things. I still love America. And “Murder Most Foul” really captured for me the paradox of that love.

But one of the truly exciting things for me was that the song “Nature Boy,” by Nick Cave & the Bad seeds, is referenced in the song. I was so fucking thrilled. They are now part of that landscape for all time.

So. Abstract Absurdity work did not happen yesterday. It just never got off the ground. Which is okay. We have time. There is no need to force it, you know, when emotions are high there over the virus stuff.

I got a text from Sandra yesterday that new pages of revisions on our other play will be coming my way starting today. (The Guide to Being Fabulous, which is now back to its original title of Hiding in Plain Sight. Although I kind of get the feeling that a third, as yet unknown, title will ultimately be chosen. We will find out!!)

But I’m excited to get back to work on this play.  It is still set to go into production later this year in Toronto — of course, the timing will now hinge on how long everything in the world is held captive by this virus. Eventually, though, the world will get back to normal, and, as they say, the show will go on!  And I, for one, am living for that moment!!

All righty, gang.  I’m gonna get started here.  Still not sure what I want to work on regarding my own stuff. We’ll see. (And now I really look forward to the evenings around here because I am really enjoying those reruns of DCI Banks!)

So things here are good. Tomorrow I need to go back into town, though, to go to the market. So we’ll see if I have another paranoia attack over everything I touch when I get home. (The county where the market is located has 3 confirmed cases of the virus now.) Regardless, I’m guessing tomorrow will be all about washing, washing, washing!! But today will probably be a nice, quiet one.

All righty. Thanks for visiting! I hope good things are coming your way today, wherever you are in the world. I leave you with “Nature Boy,” from the 2004 hard-to-spell double-album, Abattoir Blues/The Lyre of Orpheus, by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds. If you’ve never heard it before — enjoy! (I guess, if you have heard it before, enjoy it again!!) Okay. I love you guys. See ya!

“Nature Boy”

I was just a boy when I sat down
To watch the news on TV
I saw some ordinary slaughter
I saw some routine atrocity
My father said, don’t look away
You got to be strong, you got to be bold, now
He said, that in the end it is beauty
That is going to save the world, now

And she moves among the sparrows
And she floats upon the breeze
She moves among the flowers
She moves something deep inside of me

I was walking around the flower show like a leper
Coming down with some kind of nervous hysteria
When I saw you standing there, green eyes, black hair
Up against the pink and purple wisteria
You said, hey, nature boy, are you looking at me
With some unrighteous intention?
My knees went weak,
I couldn’t speak, I was having thoughts
That were not in my best interests to mention

And she moves among the flowers
And she floats upon the smoke
She moves among the shadows
She moves me with just one little look

You took me back to your place
And dressed me up in a deep sea diver’s suit
You played the patriot, you raised the flag
And I stood at full salute
Later on we smoked a pipe that struck me dumb
And made it impossible to speak
As you closed in, in slow motion,
Quoting Sappho, in the original Greek

She moves among the shadows
She floats upon the breeze
She moves among the candles
And we moved through the days
and through the years

Years passed by, we were walking by the sea
Half delirious
You smiled at me and said, Babe
I think this thing is getting kind of serious
You pointed at something and said
Have you ever seen such a beautiful thing?
It was then that I broke down
It was then that you lifted me up again

She moves among the sparrows
And she walks across the sea
She moves among the flowers
And she moves something deep inside of me

She moves among the sparrows
And she floats upon the breeze
She moves among the flowers
And she moves right up close to me

© 2004 Nick Cave, James A Sclavunos, Warren Ellis, Martyn Casey