Paul McCartney - I've Got a Feeling (feat. John Lennon) (Glastonbury 2022)

George Jones on Pop Goes the Country (1979)

Two years after his divorce from Tammy Wynette:
Still mourning her. A mess. Anorexic, alcoholic, can't sing his high or low notes. At his very lowest point.
But...how great and soulful he still is. He's not sloppy.
His sad eyes are still alive, his shattered voice is still beautiful, his body still moves in time to the music...

He wouldn't get his shit together for another few years. He married his 4th wife Nancy in 1983, who became a stabilizing presence (though he still continued to drink and do drugs for a few more years, albeit not to such psychotic, self-destructive levels).

George Jones: White Lightning (live in Florida, 1987)

"Trying to be...helpful."

George Jones: She's My Rock (Live at Farm Aid, 1985)

I like the way he moves.

George Jones: The Race Is On (Live at Farm Aid 1985)

George Jones: Tennessee Whiskey (Live at Farm Aid, 1985)

What used to be a "strong woman" is now a "Karen"

But I don't CARE-N. 

One thing that stands out in my mind is in the late '90s, when I lived in a dump of a duplex and workers had to come in to fix something or other. When I got home from work, I discovered that one of the workers had taken a huge dump in my toilet---a huge splattering dump, with shit all over not just the bowl but the rim and seat, as well. And I was too fucking wimpy to call the owners and complain. I cleaned up that nasty shit myself. And hated myself for it.

Since then, I've consciously worked to become more assertive. Only to find that I'm now labelled a "Karen" by leftists on the Internet.

Today, I went out to my apartment pool. Shared it for an hour or so with a mom and kid and the mom's dad. (They were only mildly annoying: The fucking interminable out-loud search for "the marble" at the bottom of the pool... And the bursts of singing---dear god, how forced. I grew up in pools as a kid---my neighborhoods usually had them, and I usually went to them either with my dad or, more often, by myself. And there was no weird singing, and no stilted conversations. If I was with my dad: we'd swim and have races, he'd toss me off his shoulders, etc. If I was by myself: I'd splash around and practice swimming underwater and/or pretend I was Agent 99 from "Get Smart.")

After these two left, I had about 10 blissful minutes of the pool to myself.

Then the "dude" who lives behind me showed up. (This guy's front door is a few feet from my backyard. Every time I try to go outside, he's always annoying perched right there on the brick wall smoking and looking into my yard. He can't stand up and walk while smoking, etc. So, I dislike him to begin with.) He's a pool regular---I know this 'cause of his rainbow-bright trunks as they pass by my front window a million times a day. Usually, though, he goes out to the pool around 2pm, then stays 'til about 7pm, with multiple trips back and forth to either pee or eat, who knows. Occasionally, but not usually, he has a girl literally trailing after him.

Today, The Dude came out to the pool around 1pm while I was still out there. He immediately set up speakers from his iPhone that starting blaring out music. I was about to leave anyway, and I could have just left without saying anything, but... Remembering the SHIT situation from years earlier:

Me: Hey, man!
Him: [???]
Me: Your music that loud isn't cool. Other people don't want to listen to your music.
Him: Go in, then.

I did "go in" then. What was I supposed to do: Go and grab his iPhone and toss it in the pool? But at least I said something.

Abortion

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Abortion

Don't trust Wikipedia (ever), but they still provide a general overview.

Aside from all of the current abstract US political considerations: WHY and HOW did ANYONE ever come up with the idea to scrape an unborn baby out of its mother's womb? 

I'm guessing that even centuries ago, married men didn't want babies born from their mistresses, and so they paid doctors to figure out ways to terminate the pregnancies.

(Similarly, in many recent polls, the strongest supporters of abortion are men. Just on a shallow, physical level, they have the most to either lose or gain if women become more hesitant about having random sex because of the actual serious consequences. It's in men's immediate physical best interests to convince women to "just do it" with them.)

In the "olden days," pre-birth control, women were often societally shunned for getting pregnant out of wedlock. Today, though, that's not the case. Unwed mothers are the norm rather than the exception (and they even get cheesy TV shows).

And today there are multitudes of very cheap (or free) birth control options, including the "morning-after pill." Take advantage of these options.

In short: Today, there's no good reason for having an abortion. It's gruesome and utterly unnatural. (What other species murders its own?) If you didn't use birth control and don't want to raise a kid: Then... give it up for adoption after 9 months. Be strong and serious. Don't think about the abstract politics, or about what your cheesy boyfriend or the TV and Internet leftists tell you to do. Think about what you're actually doing to a living being inside you, and to YOU. (I know 3 women who have had abortions, and every one of them regrets it to this day, even 20 or 30 years later.)

George Jones: I'm a People (1966)

 

In praise of the Absurd. AKA "subverting authority."

Subversive acts in public forums (e.g., national TV) by representatives of the poor are centuries (probably millennia) old---not just limited to blacks, as claimed by today's post-1968 purveyors of Critical Race Theory.

NOTE: Said "subverting authority" lingo and praise for the "Absurd," once a joke, is now constantly repeated---sans irony---in government, in media outlets (social/TV/papers/movies), in sports, in business. I first came across this leftist desire for labeling in the mid-1990s while attending a grad-school writing program at San Francisco State University (SFSU)---where my poetry was dismissed UNTIL I (1) came out as gay to my gay professor, and (2) stripped down a poem to the bare minimum for an Asian professor who wrote EXACTLY such minimalist poems. (After my supposed conversion to their beliefs, I was a class favorite.) I was also mocked by my thesis advisor---the department head, Frances Mayes (to publish "Under the Tuscan Sun" 1 year later)---for being half-German ("Are your family Nazis?" Mayes asked me seriously. Mayes was/is from Georgia---imagine if I'd asked her if her family were slave-owners---Who does that? And why?)

I can't stand "received-info" leftists who can't think for themselves or relate to others in a natural, personal way---all they can seemingly do is recite their leftist propaganda when encountering other people, and use said propaganda to dismiss them unless they mirror their own received beliefs.

NOTE: I'd never encountered this psychotic phenomenon among people I grew up with in small-town Texas. I was, though, first aware of the creepiness and falsity when I came to the University of Texas in Austin in 1983. Magnified when I was at SFSU in '94-95. Conversely, when I lived in NYC and New Jersey in 2007-2010, I found the people to be very down-to-earth and straightforward and "regular," just like small-town Texas people.

George Jones: 1959 medley on "Town Hall Party"

From Rolling Stone Online (4/26/16):

For his debut appearance on Town Hall Party, a popular California radio broadcast that made the transition to TV on Los Angeles station KTTV, Jones was offered a 10-minute slot during which he performed six songs: “You Done Me Wrong,” “Life to Go,” “Don’t Do This to Me,” “Seasons of My Heart,” and his then-current single, “Who Shot Sam,” which would reach the Top Ten that year, giving Jones a remarkable 35-week run on the Billboard charts that year. Although “White Lightning” was penned by J.P. Richardson (the “Big Bopper”) and “Sam” was co-written by Jones and two other writers, the songs share a similar style and were both recorded under the direction of Buddy Killen. Both hits for the Mercury label, the songs were cut at a time when Jones was doing some of his heaviest drinking, but his live TV performance was seemingly unaffected.    

In this vintage clip showcasing one of Jones’ earliest TV performances, the singer is introduced by Jay Stewart (whose voice would later be heard announcing several TV game shows). Jones is joined by regular Town Hall Party band members including fiddler Harold Hensley (seen here in the plaid shirt), Gordon Terry on fiddle (and later electric guitar), Jimmy Pruitt on piano and Pee Wee Adams on drums, along with Skeets McDonald on electric bass, Cliff Crofford on acoustic guitar.

Jones’ voice was admittedly a bit worn from constant touring (among other things), but he finished his first Town Hall Party appearance with an encore of another 1956 hit, “You Gotta Be My Baby.” Introducing it as “one we hadn’t did in a long time around this part of the country,” Jones and band kicked into the quick-tempoed tune with gusto, with another rapid-fire piano solo from Pruitt.

Jones would influence nearly every artist that came after him, especially as his legend grew. Listen closely to the way he delivers the last verse and you’ll hear a similar vocal style in another iconic songwriter he no doubt influenced – Bob Dylan.

George Jones: Still Doin' Time (1981)

George Jones: Shine On

One of my recent Redbubble.com T-shirt orders included a shirt with the cover of George Jones's 1983 album "Shine On."

I was wearing the T-shirt today while making a beer run at my corner store. A raggedy homeless guy, under the age of 35, held the door open for me and, as he did, exclaimed, "That's George Jones! Yeah!"

I don't know if it's "Texas" or "the South" or what---but it's really cool that a young, obviously messed-up guy would bother to hold the door open for a lady AND know, and appreciate, who George Jones was.

George Jones: If Drinking Don't Kill Me (1982)

Recorded in 1981, performed here in 1982.
His last line re "Tammy's memory will" is especially sad (though he jokes about it for the vast professional-event crowd)---they had divorced in 1975, and he hung on for a very long time.

He finally married his last wife Nancy in '83 and settled down somewhat (or at least got over his Tammy obsession).

So pleased to discover that the crap company that rejected me back in 2019...

 ... has still not found anyone. (I subscribe to Indeed, so I continue to see the local job listings for my field.)

At the time, in 2019, I was sad and desperate after quitting my cushy state job. Went to 2 interviews at this place. (At the second interview, the husband accused me of being late to the interview---as it turned out, his secretary had gotten the time wrong.)

A small-time husband-and-wife outfit (Indian guy and his American wife). The wife contacted my old state job, and my old boss said she wouldn't hire me again--- After I heard this, I had to threaten to file a case against that boss with the University to shut her up.

The wife at this new place, after talking to my old boss, then condescendingly offered me only a temp position---which I rejected, since I'd (very luckily) been hired by my current company that very day.

Very satisfying to see that this shitty company, in the past 2 years alone, has had to re-list the same position over 4 times.

Me? I'm very happy at the company that hired me back in 2020---where I can now work from home! The location of the crappy company above took an hour to drive to for my job interview way back then (though just 12 or so miles away---Austin traffic); during Covid they went with Covid, but have long since asked their employees to work within their 20 x 20 ft tiny office, with 5-8 people scrunched into one room.

Dear God, I'm so grateful for my current job! THANK YOU, UNIVERSE!

Binging on Scott and Zelda

 

I've read about 8 books re Scott and Zelda in the past week. Some are revisitations from my first reads in the '80s, but others are bios published since then. Bio after bio after bio repeat the same quotes and don't offer any new information (as I was hoping the passing of time would). It's kind of sad: Scott and Zelda don't open up---what we readers got over 50 years ago is what we're still receiving today. They left a very particular imprint that doesn't seem to expand with time.

In 2022: I don't think Zelda should have been given ANY shock treatments or insulin treatments. I think that time has proven that these once-trendy "treatments" don't work.

At the time of Scott's death in Hollywood (in 1940, at age 44), from a heart attack: He had, for the most part, given up drinking, which most at the time agreed had been his nemesis for the past 20 years. Yet, as many of the bios mention only casually, without any discussion: At the time of his death, he was relying on Benzedrine to wake up in the morning and get him through the day, and Nembutal to put him to sleep at night.

Not a single bio has mentioned the effects of prescription drugs on Fitzgerald's system. Perhaps he would have been better off, and would have lived longer, had he continued to drink.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As an example of drugs available to celebrities (though not Scott-related): Here's a list of drugs found in Elvis Presley's system upon his 1977 death:

1. Codeine: Codeine is a prescription pain medication that is used to address moderate pain. Today, it’s often found in prescription cough medication.
2. Morphine: A potent form of opiate, morphine is a highly controlled substance that is both addictive and dangerous when used without supervision.
3. Methaqualone: Methaqualone is a barbiturate-like sedative and hypnotic medication that is more commonly known by its brand name, Quaalude. This central nervous system depressant was popular for recreational use in the 1970s and 1980s.
4. Diazepam: Better known as Valium, diazepam is a benzodiazepine commonly used for conditions like anxiety and insomnia.
5. N-Desmethyldiazepam: More commonly referred to as nordazepam, this benzodiazepine can be used for anxiety, insomnia and seizures. Today, it is a less common choice versus other benzodiazepine forms.
6. Ethinamate: Another hypnotic and sedative medication, ethinamate is a carbamate derivative that can be highly addictive.
7. Ethclorvynol: Sold under the name Placidyl, ethclorvynol was a GABA-ergic sedative and hypnotic medication popular in the mid-1990s for treating insomnia. Today, Placidyl is no longer available in the US due to dwindling demand in favor of safer and more effective alternatives but can still be found in other countries.
8. Pentobarbital: Pentobarbital is a short-acting barbiturate that can cause sedative side effects.
9. Phenobarbital: A barbiturate similar to pentobarbital, phenobarbital is a short-term drug used to treat anxiety, insomnia and seizures.
10. Butabarbital: Butabarbital is a barbiturate used to treat insomnia and anxiety disorders.

Surprise Surprise: John Lennon (1974)

The only fun, sexy song that Lennon ever wrote after meeting Yoko (and it's not even about her).

"Walls and Bridges" was also the first solo Lennon album I ever bought.

(I'd later, as the same 15-year-old, go on to type out and post lyrics for "Imagine" and "Working Class Hero" on my bedroom wall---but that was me trying to be "intellectual.")

Sweet as the smell of success
Her body's warm and wet
She gets me through this godawful loneliness
A natural high butterfly
Oh I, I need, need, need her

Just like a willow tree
A breath of spring you see
And, oh boy, you don't know what she do to me
She makes me sweat and forget who I am
I need, need, need, need, need her

Well, I was wondering how long this could go on, on and on?
Well, I thought, I could never be surprised
But could it be that I bit my own tongue?
Oh yeah, it's so hard to swallow when you're wrong

A bird of paradise
The sunrise in her eyes
God only knows such a sweet surprise
I was blind, she blew my mind
Think that I, I love, love, love, love, love her
I love her, I love her, I love her, I love her, I love her
Sweet, sweet, sweet, sweet love

Where Grass Won't Grow: George Jones (1969)

The dirt was clay and was the color of the blood in me.
A twelve acre farm on a ridge in south Tennessee.
We left our sweat all over that land,
Behind a mule we watched grow old,
Row after row.
Trying to grow corn and cotton on ground so poor that grass won't grow.

There was one old store in the holler we all called town.
It belonged to a gentle old man named Henry Brown.
He gave us credit in the winter time,
So we could live through the cold,
When the winds brought snow.
Trying to grow corn and cotton on ground so poor that grass won't grow.

The one I loved walked through those fields with me.
A hard workin' woman, true as one could be.
But then one year, death was goin' round,
And swiftly took its toll.
Janie had to go.
Now she lies asleep under ground so poor that grass won't grow.

As I stand here looking over this part of Tennessee,
The fields are bare as far as the eye can see.
And over the grave where Janie lies,
There's a beautiful sight to behold,
And no one knows,
Why there's flowers growing on ground so poor that grass won't grow...

Pedi Pain: Like Going to the Dentist

It's something you ought to do, but... it HURTS!

Just got my first pedicure in 2 years since Wuhan. Paid an extra $10 ($38 total) for what I thought would be bonuses: extra foot massage, a heat pack around my calves, etc. 

But... OUCH! These Vietnamese pedicure ladies (and I've never had a pedicure that was not done by Vietnamese ladies---though at one place, it was a Vietnamese man) are NOT gentle or soothing in any way. They fuckin' pound at you and scrape your toenails like a harsh piece of metal. To the point where, yeah, you're glad that you got your nails done and your foot callouses scraped, but... did it have to feel like you were just at the dentist's office?

I, oddly, like the general atmosphere of the cheap Vietnamese nail salons: There's no fake conversation, because the ladies usually don't speak English (so you can just sit there and be quiet). There's almost always a small temple to Buddha, with burning incense, which is interesting to think about. The rest of the salon usually has generic plastic plants and a big-screen TV showing movies from 20 years ago (in my case on Thursday, 1995's "The Net" with Sandra Bullock)---aka nothing pretentious.

Am I supposed to feel "white guilt" about getting my nails done from Vietnamese women? Are they pummeling me because I'm the "oppressor" are is that just how things are done in their world? I think the latter.

Reminds me of when I lived in San Francisco and visited an Asian-owned sea-food place in a working-class neighborhood. In the store window, the fish were stuffed into a tank with barely a couple of inches of water. The fish in the tank were desperate and struggling for both water and air. The store advertised "fresh sea food." But "fresh" meant that the fish were still alive when taken out of that awful tank.

Tammy Wynette: Womanhood (1978)

He said hold on, Patricia
I only tried to kiss ya
She said okay and then said don't you dare
She seems so badly shaken
He thought he was mistaken
But it sure looked like she bowed her head in prayer

I am a Christian, Lord
But I'm a woman too
If you are listening, Lord
Please show me what to do
I've tried hard to be what mama says is good
As I step into my womanhood

Shortly after midnight
She turned off the porch light
Walked into her bedroom all alone
She sat down and said
Well, Lord
Tonight, I've been through hell, Lord
Wondering if I did right or wrong

I am a Christian
Lord, but I'm a woman too
If you are listening, Lord
Please show me what to do
I've tried hard to be what mama says is good
As I step into my womanhood

Vacation days

I have 157 vacation hours built up at my current company. Never took anything off so far because: I have no one to go do anything with, and I have nothing that great to go do.

But I finally decided to give myself a break!

Got off early Thursday: Got a haircut, and a pedi (for the first time in 2 years, since Wuhan struck). The Asian nail place had the usual abrupt Asian ladies----for my $38, my legs and feet and nails were harshly pummeled!

Friday vacation day, then the weekend, then the holiday Monday... Not much will probably happen. I'll probably drink and sleep and try to clean a bit and vacuum (maybe). And hopefully go to the pool on a couple of the days to breathe some fresh air and get a tan and center myself.

F. Scott Fitzgerald on his mother

Early notebooks: "Never noticed mother's eyes after living with her 20 years."

In a letter to his sister after taking his mother to a hospital after her stroke:

It was sad taking Mother from the Hotel, the only home she knew for fifteen years, to die -- and to go thru her things, the slippers and corset she was married in, Louisa's [a sister who died before Scott was born] dolls in tissue paper, old letters and souvenirs, and collected scrap paper, and diaries that began and got nowhere, all her prides and sorrows and disappointments come to nothing and her lugged away like so much useless flesh the world had got thru with.

Mother and I never had anything in common except a relentless stubborn quality, but when I saw all this it turned me inside out realizing how unhappy her temperament made her and how she clung to the end to all things that would remind her of moments of snatched happiness. So I couldn't bear to throw out anything, even that rug, and it all goes to storage.

----------------

My own mother's eyes: I did notice them. Green. They almost always had either blankness or dislike in them, at least when they were looking at me. I didn't know what a "look of love" was until I met Ginny at age 17, and then my friend Kathy in the late '80s, and even my first lover Mollie in '89. (And all of these thus so tragic to me when they went away.)

I Always Get Lucky with You (George Jones: 1983)

I usually don't like graphic versions of real photos, but this is great---and I like the
insinuation that the feral George is about to come to life under the full moon.

It's also interesting to me: Should such a rough, weather-beaten, yet sensitive, man approach you in real life... Would you RUN or somehow embrace him? It's easy for me to embrace him nearly 40 years later from afar.

But...George Jones or Paul McCartney singing "Little Willow"? ... Sometimes you just need a MAN.

Paul McCartney: Little Willow (Flaming Pie, 1997)

Bend, little willow
Wind's going to blow you hard and cold tonight
Life, as it happens
Nobody warns you, willow, hold on tight

Nothing's gonna shake your love
Take your love away
No one's out to break your heart
It only seems that way, hey

 
Sleep little willow, peace going to follow
Time will heal your wounds
Grow to the heavens, now and forever
Always came too soon

Trying to Carry Bags of Groceries Home

A few days ago, I saw an old woman from my apartment complex trying to get her grocery bags home from the bus stop a block away. She had bought too much stuff, and had too many bags to  carry all at once. So she carried 3 or 4 bags at a time across the street, set them down, then went back for the others.

From 2010 to 2016, I didn't have a car in Austin, so I also had to take a bus to the grocery store. And I often inadvertently bought too much stuff and subsequently had to struggle to get everything home. After I got off the bus, I often couldn't carry everything for more than half a block, and had to stop and set every bag down and wait a sec to get a second or third wind before I carried on.

Austin is hot for about 6 months out of the year, so I often arrived at my one-room apartment sopping wet. (Yet filled with a sense of accomplishment.)

Only years later, after I had a car, did I start to curse my mother and brother who had lived within 2 miles of me at the time of the above, and knew of my car-less situation, and yet never once offered to take me grocery shopping. No one was thinking about me.

I don't particularly know or like the old woman from my complex. We've had precisely two interactions: In the first, she saw my "C-SPAN Book TV" bag at the corner beer store and asked when Book TV came on. In the second encounter, she mistakenly thought I was the blonde mother of that obnoxious autistic girl who had been running around on the roof of my apartment and jumping into my backyard and entering my apartment last year---I immediately shut down THAT conversation because I so despised both that kid AND her mother after the mother pounded on my door one eve and shouted at me for daring to tell her creepy kid to stop staring into my window.

So, yeah, I feel for the old woman and her groceries! :)  But not gonna make her a grocery-trip friend o' mine or anything. (But damn---my mom and/or brother really should have helped me out back then...)

Elvis Presley, age 19: Louisiana Hayride (10/16/54)

If You Wanna (Paul McCartney: Flaming Pie, 1997)

The first couple of times I listened to "Flaming Pie" (1997), I didn't pay much attention to this song (or half of the songs on the album). But after about the 5th or 10th listen: This whole album is a classic!

Guitars on this song by Steve Miller and Paul McCartney.

I need to fucking relax.

Even when opportunities are presented to me in which I can RELAX, I find it hard to believe that I can actually relax. (What's the catch?)

At my current job, though: We're all working from home. And people have mentioned in passing that they're going off during the work-day to: swim, or take their kids for their driving test, or take their pets to the vet, etc., etc.

I was initially internally disapproving of all of the inter-day goings-on, but, hey...

What the hell: I went for a swim myself in the middle of work today! My apartment pool is only 50 ft or so from my apartment. I haven't had a tan in 3 years, and I need one. I LOVE being in a pool, splashing around and floating, getting some sun and fresh air. Every time I go swimming, I come back very refreshed and centered and feeling good. I always feel great after any time in the water. (Sidenote: When I have flying dreams, I wake up and realize---being in the air was just like being in the water.)

Today, I was there from about 11am to 12:30---had the whole pool to myself. Came back and showered, and then put in my final 3 hrs at work. This seems like a GREAT plan for the whole summer!

In a similar vein: At the end of next week, I've put in for an extra vacation day just so I can have a 4-day weekend and relax and have a hair/spa day. (Thanks, Biden, for Juneteenth, so this white girl can go get her nails done.)

I haven't taken a vacation day in forever because---to be honest---I haven't had anything particularly fun to do. I'm looking forward to next week, though.

Who first came up with the idea of abortion?

I posted something about this earlier, before the potential Supreme Court decision was leaked to the media.

I used to be a Democrat, and I used to knee-jerkedly be "pro-abortion."

But now that I'm older and thinking about it a little more:
Who first came up with the idea of scraping a baby out of a womb? (Let me guess: Doctors who catered to prostitutes in the olden days.)

If you think about it from a non-political point of view, the very idea of such a thing is absolutely psychotic. How did such a psychotic thought become mainstream?

My apartment now going for $2240.

I moved into my current apartment in 2017:

$1275 for 2-bed, 1225 sq ft. (North Austin, no view at all, nothing special about the place)

My 2018 renewal was the same price.

My 2019 renewal was $1350.

My 2020 and 2021 renewals (during Covid) were both $1377.

My 2022 renewal was all-of-a-sudden jacked up to $1600.

I just checked the current online listing for my exact apartment: The complex is listing it for $2240!!

-----------------------

My current rent of $1600 (plus all of the apartment's add-on costs: sewage, water, trash, etc., which comes out to $1700) is half of my take-home pay after taxes. And I just got a raise! I'll go ahead and say it: I'm making $65K a year (more than I thought I'd ever make in my life), and yet I'm about to be priced out of a generic apartment in a generic part of town. $2240???? I lived in better places in Austin back when I was making $36K a year.

I've seen on business channels recently that the housing market may be about to bottom out... Dear god, I hope so, because what's going on now is insane.

In the meantime: I'm psyching myself up for a move next May, when my lease runs out. Selling off/giving away unread books and CDs and old clothes to lighten the load. Trying to figure out how to move 5 cats who were born outside this apartment and will freak out! :)

And I guess for the next year, I should just lie back and enjoy the fact that I'm allegedly living in a $2240-per-month apartment. Last time such a thing will ever happen! :)  (Famous last words---I also never thought I'd see $4 gallons of gas in my lifetime, or $8 packs of cigarettes.)

Paul McCartney: Hunt You Down / Naked / C-Link (Egypt Station, 2018)

I've been broken in so many places
Put together by a sea of faces
What to make of them I don't hardly know
I've been naked for so long...

Paul McCartney: Nothing For Free (Egypt Station extra, 2018)

George Jones: "Tell Me My Lying Eyes Are Wrong" (1970)

Author: The JT LeRoy Story - Official Trailer

If someone named "Laura" had called into a San Francisco suicide hotline asking for help because she was an unhappy fat female teen who had been sexually abused as a child, no one on the other end of the line would have recommended that she write down and seek to publish her story; nor would they have asked to see her in person.

Laura Albert knew this. And so she invented a persona: JT LeRoy---a teenaged boy with a history of truck-stop tricks who had also been sexually abused and who had a hooker mother, etc. Gay SF hotline doctors loved THIS story, as, ultimately, did New York publishers and gay filmmakers like Gus Van Sant and the sexually aggressive Asia Argento (who, according to this film, made out with who she thought was a teenaged boy).

I haven't read Laura Albert's work as "JT LeRoy"---but I'm disgusted by how quickly both the phone-in doctor and the trendy NY/Hollywood people jumped on (both figuratively and literally) the allegedly teenaged prostitute JT LeRoy as an author. Cool as a truck-stop boy prostitute, but not so cool if "just" a girl who'd been abused as a child.

The film itself isn't great----mainly numerous brief phone audio clips with celebs wanting to be part of the "JT LeRoy" phenomenon, interspersed with interviews with the actual Laura Albert. Overall, I think this doc is a critique of the far-left-wing gay and "gay friendly" lit/film establishment who have a narrative to promote. They don't care about "abuse" as such---they're more turned on if the sexual abuse victim in the story is a young male that they can subsequently make out with and/or publicly exploit.

Elvis Presley "Trying To Get To You" ('68 Comeback Special)

Elvis Presley "Ready Teddy" (Sept 9, 1956, Ed Sullivan Show)

I'm Nietzsche, Bietzsche!

 “When you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back at you.”