This was my favorite house on Earth. We lived here from 1966 to 1971, in Cleveland, OH. My bedroom window is there at the top left, behind the tree. I had my first orgasm there, my first period, my first crush on a girl, my first crush on a boy -- many, many firsts. I first fell in love with my biological father in that bedroom. It was after a dream I had about him in the fall of 1966, when I was 6 years old -- decades before I knew who he was. I was happier in that house than I've ever been in my life (so far! The century's young, gang.)



Here is me in midtown Manhattan, coming out of a diner & lighting up in 1984. The photo was taken by Scot Gamble.



Here is me with some band mates, when I used to play in the folk clubs in the Village. We're in my apartment on E. 12th Street, February 1984. My girlfriend Valerie took this photo.



This was a lighting test Polaroid from a photo shoot back in 1995 or so. I ended up liking this test shot better than any of the actual photos they took of me that night. It was so frustrating. And a really long, grueling, fruitless shoot.



I love this photo! It still cracks me up. I am 25 here. I look so goofy. No make-up, my hair is just sticking up all over, my face at a strange angle. And that magazine photo of Keith looks huge! Paul Martin was visiting from Washington DC, Thanksgiving 1985, and he'd bought me a Polaroid camera as an early Christmas present. We took tons of photos that week. Thank God, b/c now he's dead and all I have are the memories. The photo was taken in my bedroom on E. 12th Street. Just above my head out of view is what used to be my favorite photo of Jim Carroll. And the photo to the left of Keith was a great photo of Lou Reed.

        

How cool is that, gang? (Meaning the numbers for "Alice" over its opening weekend.) The great news is that I actually live with somebody who a) hasn't seen the movie yet; and b) really wants to -- so this means I get to see it again! Yay!

But there are so many movies out right now that I still want to see. Nothing like putting the most expensive one right back at the top of the list, right?? (None of the other films are in 3D IMAX).

I so want to see The fucking Last Station already! (In other parts of the world, it is simply called The Last Station --  fraidy cats everywhere chose to delete the F-word from its original title.) Goddamn it. I really don't want it to leave the, like, one theater it's playing in before it leaves town for the rest of eternity. I so love Christopher Plummer. Loyal readers of this lofty blog will no doubt recall that he has been intensely erotically appealing to me since I first saw him in the Sound of Music when I was 5 years old. I so adore him! (I guess he is one of the very few actors that do it for me. See my other post about Alice.) Plus it's a film about Tolstoy -- I'm not sure how erotically appealing he may have been (see below); he sported quite a good deal of non-erotic-seeming hair. However, it is a film about a writer and I never stop loving those kinds of movies, gang. Go figure! Yet the movie seems to only ever be playing at 10:53 AM or 9:55 at night. In short, it is in a theater that's not 100% easy to get to and/or park at, and the film is showing at such god-awful times. (People who know me well, know that if I'm not over-imbibing in alcohol, cigarettes, and some stupefying sexual frenzy downstairs in my office with Jay, then I am in bed by 9:30 PM! How corny am I??? It's only b/c I seriously love to be up before the sun comes up. Not sure why, but oh well.)



On another note that's still entirely about me....

I came to another epiphany, gang. About "my craft" and my real reluctance to invest any more of my energy and/or skill in projects that don't 100% excite me. So a couple of projects that were at the top of my "TO DO" pile simply got axed over the weekend and now I am free and clear to finish the edits on Freak Parade. Here's hoping my brain is clear & focused. We shall see when I put pen to paper once more (which of course is a euphemism or something like that, since I do almost everything  on the laptop now). But the combination of spring arriving and being able to go on my early morning walks again has really given my scrunched-up, agonized mind some clarity again! Finally!! Yippee ki yi yay.

Okey-dokey. Gonna get crackin' around here, folks. I seriously hope life is treating you good on this fresh, lovely Monday wherever you are and whatever you find yourself flailing around in! Keep the faith and fight the good fight! You have no idea how much it will matter to somebody down the road. Thanks for visiting, gang. See ya!

        

To be honest, gang, I could not care fucking less about the Oscars. I don't watch the Oscars (or any other awards shows, for that matter). I used to like the Oscars but only in the sense that I usually went to see all the films that would get nominated. But even then, I didn't usually watch the broadcast of the event. I'd look at the headline in the morning paper instead.

Back in the mid- 90s, if I was hanging out drinking and a TV set was on hand (you'd be surprised how often I was hanging out drinking and a TV set would be on hand), I at least enjoyed watching the red carpet stuff on E! with Joan Rivers & her daughter. But you know what, in my humble opinion, so few celebrities have any sense of real style anymore. They wear pretty clothes but it always looks as though they don't have any real strong sense of personal style, you know? They either like to shock for the sake of shock, or they look like un-evolved mannequins. So it  kind of bores me.

When I was 11 years old, going on 12, and saw photos of Bianca Jagger for the first time, man -- now that was style. She was unbelievable. I'd never seen a more exotic-looking woman in my life. Of course, I had only been on Earth for a little bit over a decade and hadn't really spent much time outside of Ohio, but still. She was so unusually beautiful in my opinion. She became my role model for personal style from then on. Throughout the 1970s, I positively lived for each new issue of VOGUE.

I guess she spoiled me b/c no one can ever really come close to her sense of style. She was an original who was very much molded by her cultural era. (I'm talking about her like she's dead, but she's not!)

Here's a photo of her from 1971 on her wedding day in St. Tropez, when she got married to Mick:

 
Back in the mid-1980s, when I worked at MoMA, I worked a very private lunch that the President of the museum was having for Bianca and a few other rich, high profile people, and I couldn't believe how tiny she was. By then, she'd gotten kind of severe looking; she didn't look happy at all. But those were rough times in NYC; everyone imaginable was dying from AIDS. But as she was leaving the room, I stood back at a (very) polite distance, just because I wanted to watch her, you know? She had been such a profound influence on me when I was growing up and I simply couldn't believe that was her, and that I was so much taller than she was (because in my little world in Ohio, she had been larger than life), or even that I was living in Manhattan and working at the Museum of Modern Art. It was kind of surreal. And right at that moment, she looked directly at me. I was so startled by this that I don't know if I even managed to smile. I wanted to say, "Oh my god, you were everything to me," but her gaze was so dark & intense that it was kind of paralyzing. I was speechless. I didn't say anything at all.

        

I just now made another little video for you guys.

It's about one minute and 23 seconds of my little spring flowers! They are pushing their little heads up through the dirt!! Yay!  (And it's in 3D IMAX!!) (Just kidding.) ha ha ha. But spring is as good as here, gang. Check it out:

http://www.youtube.com/MarilynsRoomVideo

And get out the Guinness & crank up Darby O'Gill and the Little People!! (Or Rum, Sodomy, & the Lash, if you're a little more on the hardcore side.) It's not a moment too soon, either, gang. Thank you, God, for spring. I am so ready for it this year.

        

I loved every minute of it, gang -- I kid you not. What a great movie. It was so fun from start to finish; we both (my cousin & I) got completely absorbed in it & were, like, in la-la land when it was over. In some kind of happy trance. 

And what an empowering movie for little girls. (If maybe a little too scary for really little kids.) This version of Alice will help offset the dis-empowering messages Walt Disney movies had been sending to little girls for decades. Yay. (Even though I loved all those old Walt Disney movies anyway. For some reason, I never believed in the Prince Charming myth -- mostly b/c I wanted to be Prince Charming myself. Perhaps too much testosterone?)

Go see it, gang. And see it in 3D IMAX if you can afford it. It was so cool!

I also immediately downloaded the soundtrack to the movie when I got home. It was such a great soundtrack. And it made me feel like, if I listened to it every night in the dark with, you know, candles lit everywhere, it would help me totally change my life. But that's just me and my never-ending weirdness. I'm always thinking something ethereal & outside myself is going to help me totally change my life. Not sure why I am always thinking that I need to totally change my life, but I have, in fact, been under that impression forever. And I'm guessing that when I finally do "totally change my life," it'll be b/c I'm dead. I guess we'll see, right? (In that case, though, me thinks you might know before I do if I was successful in that department or not.)

Here's a very weird thing. As most readers of this lofty blog, loyal or not, no doubt already know, I am a huge Johnny Depp fan. (Hopefully, this is not an indication that I am still at all overweight; it's more of a measurable inner spiritual quantity?) And people who've known me forever (i.e. past husbands who had to listen to me rant on & on at the dinner table about why certain brilliant movies got completely ignored by everyone on the face of planet earth, etc., etc.) also know that I've been a huge Johnny Depp fan forever. Still, I have never been erotically attracted to him. I think he's intensely beautiful, astoundingly photogenic. I think he is even a little tragic, also unbelievably gifted. But erotically, he has never done it for me even a tiny bit.  (Actors, in general, just don't do that for me. I guess b/c they are always playing a part. I am more likely to be erotically attracted to writers or to songwriters b/c so often their souls are laid bare and that's when I get completely hooked.) But oddly enough, there was a fleeting moment in Alice where I actually found an erotic spark going off in me. I actually found Johnny Depp erotically appealing. I won't say which scene b/c it's personal (which must seem really weird to you since I've made an entire career our of being erotically forthcoming & personal, but anyway.)

And I thought to myself, "This is just ridiculous. Of all the countless movies this guy has been in where he has looked almost unbearably beautiful, in this movie he looks & acts like a total freak and that's when I find him erotic?" Well, you know, nobody said I ever did or thought or felt anything that was explainable.

What a red letter day overall, though! I got so many cool emails through Facebook today. Almost all from men from my past. Not lovers or anything, but men that I find really, really cool. Including a youtube video from one of my dearest friends from the past -- he is a musician living back in Buenos Aires (how the heck to do spell that?) now and recording most of his records now in Spain. Anyway, we played  a hell of a lot of music together many, many years ago. I loved him then and I love him now. Gosh it was so good to hear from him again. Facebook is so great for that, isn't it, gang??

Okay. Gotta do stuff like eat dinner. Plus, oh yes! A new Michael Hemmingson book arrived in the mail today!! My review copy. It will be available for purchase in May, but as soon as I get a chance to read it, I will regale you with my lofty -- and probably not very impartial -- opinion. Meanwhile, check it out here: This Other Eden. (WARNING: It is not for the tame or easily disturbed.)

All righty. Thanks for visiting gang! Have a wonderful evening, wherever you are (or a great morning, if you're on the other side of the globe.) See ya.

        

Alice in Wonderland, silent version from 1903. It's about 10 minutes long and tried to follow the actual book pretty closely. (My favorite part of the book was the part with the Duchess, the screaming baby that turns into a pig, and the cook that keeps throwing things.) You can watch this little film for free, after signing into the Auteurs site.

        

Yes, the sun is shining. Finally. Even though it's only 25 degrees out there, I couldn't stand it anymore. I can no longer wait for spring to bring itself here, so I went out and brought myself to spring.

When I awoke this morning, I still had the headache -- I really needed some fresh air. And since the doctors have told me repeatedly that when I have the kidney thing I need to "keep moving" and not just lie flat on my back in bed, I got up, put on my little walking shoes, and off I went.

It was fucking freezing out, gang, but so sunny and the birds were singing everywhere. It was so uplifting and it really helped me connect with the power of visualization. Even though there is still plenty of snow blanketing the yards, I could literally see spring coming and replacing all the snow. I could see it, you know? I know that it will be a mere heartbeat and everything will be in bloom again. Yay.That's the power of visualization.

Maybe it seems like a lame example, since we always know that the seasons are going to change, but I mean the mental power of it -- the power that you can actually feel as you're visualizing something, you know? I felt that in spades this morning and it made me feel so hopeful. Because it reminded me of times when I was so sure of other things I was visualizing and they also came to pass.

So, I'm guessing I need to apply that power to this short story and the one after that and the essay I need after that! bing, bang, boom -- right, folks? I don't know about you, but it's funny how I can lose sight of a thing that I can be so sure about. (I do this repeatedly.) A case in point, here's a shot of my bedroom wall:


It is scrolls of reminders of how reality works. (i.e., focus on this, you get this; focus on that, you get that; be sure you know what you're really focusing on, etc.) Could this BE more in my face, gang? I look at it everyday and STILL I'm prone to losing sight of it and getting bogged down in the mire of thoughts in my head that ignore what my brain already knows.

Crap. Well, onward, right?

Okay, here is my latest craziness: Al Capone Sweets, filterless cigarillos, with the tips dipped in cognac


I need this new habit like I need a(nother) hole in the head, but it just struck me as something I wanted to try and then I liked it. (Jay remembers me as a bonnie young teenaged cigar-smoking lass. I said, "No, I didn't smoke cigars, ever; I smoked those cherry-flavored cigarillos with the plastic filter tip." Where do I come up with these ideas?? I don't know, but clearly, I've been coming up with them for decades already. I guess it isn't gonna quit now!)

All righty, then!! I'm gonna get crackin' around here,gang. I'm going to try to start feeling better (84 fluid ounces of cranberry juice and 2 Percosets later...) And bright & early tomorrow morning, I'll be off to Wonderland in 3D IMAX. Can't wait! I hope you have a really productive day wherever you are, gang. Hang in there! I'm on your side! Thanks for visiting! See ya.

        

...plus kidneys kicking back at me again. Can you say: "I feel like crap?"

The good news [she says sarcastically] is that I've actually gone backward on the new short story. Deleted two pages instead of adding new ones. But oh well. Onward. (What is it  with me and editing, anyway?  Am I the only writer who seems to edit herself right out of a career???) (Me to publisher: "Well, I had a nice story all  worked out for you, but as the days went on, the pages disappeared.")

I am sick in bed, even as I type this. Propped up with pillows, trying with all my might not to feel sorry for myself. (I hate when I can't get my work done -- can you say: "workaholic"?) Gosh I can't wait for spring... I am longing to be out among the trees and flowers already!!

But being sick in bed reminded me of Robert Louis Stevenson's The Land of Counterpane. I used to love that poem when I was a little girl. In case you never read it, here you go! (And have a comfy day, wherever you are, okay? Thanks for dropping in.) (sniffle sniffle)

The Land of Counterpane
by Robert Louis Stevenson

When I was sick and lay a-bed,  I had two pillows at my head,  And all my toys beside me lay,  To keep me happy all the day.  And sometimes for an hour or so  I watched my leaden soldiers go,  With different uniforms and drills,  Among the bed-clothes, through the hills;  And sometimes sent my ships in fleets  All up and down among the sheets;  Or brought my trees and houses out,  And planted cities all about.  I was the giant great and still  That sits upon the pillow-hill,  And sees before him, dale and plain,  The pleasant land of counterpane.

        

First off, Claire Thompson's erotic male/male novella, A Princely Gift (which I first published in my non-illustrated yaoi collection, Zowie! It's Yaoi!, back in 2006) is available now as a stand-alone ebook. It's a beautiful story -- if you enjoy intensely romantic male/male erotica with bondage overtones, you will love this. Seriously. You can check it out here. And here's her new cover:


Some other stuff...

Loyal readers of this lofty blog will no doubt recall that my favorite astrologer is, by far, Jonathan Cainer across the pond in the UK. And through Jonathan, I have also become seriously fond of Steve Judd. He is also in the UK, and if you're into astrology, you can check him out here. They have slightly different styles, obviously, but they are both uncannily dead-on. Anyway, that's been my experience with both of them. (The one thing I lament most in life is that my mother doesn't remember exactly when I was born, which means that a personalized astrological chart is pretty near impossible for me to obtain. It also means that I'm forced to wait and let life itself show me what my life is going to be like. Doesn't that just suck, gang???) (PS: my mother doesn't even remember what day I was born on -- if you can believe that. Isn't that funny? The most momentous day in the known history of the world and she remembers, basically, that it was sometime in July...)  (This is my biological mom, btw. The one who actually gave birth to me.) (What a heady experience that must have been -- giving birth to me! "Look! It's her! Finally! The moment we've all been waiting for!" Actually, the reality of my birth is almost ridiculously sad, but we won't go into that here. One thing that I find very interesting, though, is that while she was first pregnant with me (no one knew my mother was pregnant until she was already 5 months along), my mother told me that she used to sit alone in her room and play Elvis records all day -- this was when she was 12-going-on-13. And my most favorite thing to do on the planet has always been to sit in my room alone and play records; old rock 'n' roll and very old country & western. I like to imagine myself as that tiny, beating fetus inside a 12-year-old girl, absorbing all those rock-n-roll Elvis rhythms, you know?)

Okay. Everyone in Paris will be excited to know that I am a third of the way done with my new erotic short story. I need to try to cough up two stories, actually, in the next 15 days, but if I can at least get them this first one, and then 3 more later on in the year, it'll be okay. I also have to cough up a non-erotic essay about what it was like to have my first lesbian love experiences while confined to a mental hospital at 15 (the actual lesbian sex part came very shortly after being released). As you can guess, I'm really looking forward to writing about that since it is going to be part of my upcoming memoir anyway, and I am so indescribably self-involved that nothing makes me happier than dwelling endlessly on moi! Yay!

But where does this leave Freak Parade, you might ask??? And well you should, my friends! It'll get done in March. (How does that sound? Does it sound like I know what I'm talking about?) I guess the Universe is telling me to step back for a moment, work on something else, shake out my head a little and then go back at it with fresh eyes, right? It's taken me this long already, and it's such an important book to me, I might as well make sure I do everything I can to get it right, right?? Right.

All right, then! I am finally making some progress regarding the latest bout of depression. It has to do with a new ten-year plan. It has to do with this person I really, really love, who inspires me so much, but who I only run into about once every ten years. So it dawned on me yesterday that this means I'll run into him again in about another 10 years, so that gives me ten whole years to get to the top of my game (work-wise, I mean. My depressions are always about work -- my craft, etc.). So suddenly I felt the whole Universe expand by ten whole years. It felt really liberating. I'm sure I can get a lot done in another ten years.

So, that's it for the stuff today, gang. Gotta get back to the new short story. Hope this lovely Tuesday morning finds you full of hope & empowerment and loaded with gobs of dreams that are just about coming true! Thanks for visiting, okay? See ya! (First, I'm going to slip into my bright red Wellingtons and then I'm off to feed the birds!) (Which reminds me of that film Withnail & I and how they went out to the country and forgot their Wellingtons and had to wear bags on their feet in the mud... yadda, yadda, yadda. Okay. enough! See ya, gang.)

        

Have plenty of time to waste? God knows I sure do!!

As the editing for Freak Parade unravels before my very eyes like some sweater I'm knitting and the stitches begin to slide off the knitting needle like it's greased lightning... And I walk outside in the dark & snow and look up at a sky that is nothing but clouds these days and I say, "Why God? What is going on here?" I feel this huge disconnect with the novel suddenly but I refuse to stop trying...

[And this just in: the French publisher needs a new story from me in 15 days or they won't have enough time to have it translated before the antho goes to press. Crikey. Okay. Okay.]

In the middle of all that, I have plenty of time to waste so I visited Be Funky.com and came up with this! Yay! Don't I look good in Pop Art? (I think I look better in Pop Art than I do in real life. I'm going to pursue surgery, I think. Make the change permanent.) (Hi Doc, can you make me look like a work of art?) (Isn't that what everybody's after, though, on some level?) (You know, once you get started with these parenthetical phrases, you create a monster... or a work of art, as the case my be.) ha ha ha


On other fronts.

The Lamda Literary Foundation has launched its new web site. You can visit it here & learn about all things literary pertaining to the LGBTQ community! (That's lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and queer. They do not yet include a "w" which would stand for "wacky" and which would be me.) This includes current calls for submissions in the queer publishing community, so get crackin' gang!