I have been writing for years, using it for performance art projects, blogging, wasting it all.
I have an editor friend pushing me to write a 3 section/topic book:
ONE: Acerbic observations on “Growing Up Mental” – the middle child to 1960’s hippie parents; whose favorite record was “Burnt Weeny Sandwich” by The Mothers of Invention and got extra desert for punching the child of a republican family during the 1972 Presidential election. My mother – and she was stunning – would vacuum alllll day. On speed. My Dad would jam with his band all day. High on weed. I think they noticed me and my sister milling around the house once in a while. But I can’t be sure. To be safe, I had imaginary conversations with people from TV like Penelope Pitstop and anyone who performed on my favorite show, “Soul Train”.
TWO: The odyssey of the BDSM fuck site which I can only get into lightly on this site but wow. If you have ever wondered where all those goofy Dungeons and Dragons kids from highschool ended up, a pretty good number are on those sites. The blog scene there is an explosion of double negatives and spelling that makes one suspect they are wearing a helmut as they type their blog. Everyone is pretending to be dark and dangerous and well versed in the “art” of BDSM. But in reality it was just a lot of sexual predators and fat chicks.
THREE: Rants on the Holocaust memoirs (The Springtime Holocaust Jamboree)
The Holocaust thing is tough. S0me of those memoirs are horrible, I mean no one would reach out to these survivors or even let them speak about the atrocity of the camps in the first TEN YEARS after the liberation. People said “It’s in the past! Get over it!” while Auschwitz survivors politely pulled their sleeves down to hide the tattoo. It was years before there was even a name recognizing the plight of the Jews, Gypsies, Jehovas, Homosexuals and mentally handicapped, all of which were to be wiped out as poisonous to the “Master Race”. As the facts started to surface it was like a bank rush at the publishing companies to get memoirs of the Survivors.. And they didn’t fact check one of them. Further, surviving Bergen-Belsen does not make you a writer. Some of these books were horrendous.
I approach the whole thing like a carnival: The Springtime Holocaust Jamboree. Very misleading. Lures skinheads into my trap though that has become like shooting fish in a barrel. That is one watered down movement, thank you Jesus. AND what business does a rip roaring anti-Semite like Walt Disney have, albeit posthumously, producing Holocaust movies ?
Fun Fact! I accuse all Germans in possession of fine art to be Nazis. I actually lost a kraut friend over it. Turned out it was “Dogs Playing Poker” but I took off on a rant without the facts.
Ok, so. Will you publish me then?
This is an actual song title and I know most people don’t listen to songs on blogs but give me 4 minutes. Just 4. Kronos Quartet recorded this not too many years after the composer Alfred Schnittke died. It is truly a piece full of grief and the composition plays scales against each other to create this sense the song is playing backwards. So many brilliant composers have faded away only to be replaced by Kanye West and other asshole. It’s like putting ketchup on a filet.
The piece is from a Kronos CD full of compositions from John Cage to 9th century works marked “unknown. I hear music like this and am overwhelmed at the magnitude of centuries of lost music. Lost to the wind. A few pieces that have been unearthed are on this Kronos CD called EARLY MUSIC.
Please write and let me know if you gave this a few minutes and what you thought of it. -Dana
When I was around 11 my Dad – still not having gotten immersed for a living in jazz – listened to a lot of Zappa. And Stravinsky. Let me pause here and say he never stopped listening to Stravinsky and that was his gift to me. I adore Stravinsky. Ok…
In these days you threw lp’s around all the time and they were scratched to death and the stereos could be called “record lathes” for what they were doing to the already trashed discs. I picked up The Mothers of Invention’s “Burnt Weenie Sandwich” one morning, played it and loved it. Played it all the time. Played it in the half converted basement while bouncing around on my pogo stick. This was before I joined the KISS Army(my glory days). An 11 year old girl spinning records by The Mothers is a little odd but I also thought Barnabas Collins lived in our bulkhead and the singular of “clothes” was “clo”. I was already deeply invested in odd.
There was a night when a girl from school was having a sleep over and at the time we would bring Tiger Beat magazines and our favorite record to these parties – records like The Bay City Rollers or Godspell or Olivia Newton John. Just the worst imaginable crap. I showed up with Burnt Weeny Sandwich. The parents called my mother to tell her I brought an inappropriate record to the party. My father was wondering for 2 hours where he had put that record. That was about the extent of my parents’ the reaction to my having brought a Mothers record to a sleep party.
In 2 years I would bring pot to sleepovers. Eventually I wasn’t invited to them at all. And I wouldn’t dare host my own what with Barnabas Collins living in the bulkhead.
I stumbled in you know.
I was there, I was there too. I said things. I said stupid things that no matter how much I forget them someone doesn’t. Stupid words born of ignorance or fear.
I stumbled into places in my life, ill equipped and I said them like proclamations and someone remembers them and dismisses me as a jerk, an asshole, an attention whore, a vampire.
Its my history.
History is unkind like that. It is unforgiving. My name is to someone or sometwo or 4 or 12, synonymous with rudeness, ego, self-importance, inconsideration, arrogance, instability.
I wanna go back and say “look! I’m different now! See! See how I am deep and have learned and I am considerate of others now! See! I’m really not like that other girl and I learned about myself and about life and Spirituality and its not all about me now. See how its not? Are you looking? ” I wanna go stumbling into their lives unannounced. I wanna inconvenience them so that I can tell them that I am considerate now. I want their attention. I want them to like me. I want them to see that I’m different (not). I don’t even want to talk or catch up with them, its not that.
I just want to tell them I am a better (selfish) person now. And I want them to forget that I said (stupid)things. And then I want to do something that’s fun and interests me, something that makes me look good and shows that I am a really good person. Humble (arrogant).
I want to do things that don’t make me insecure and go to places where I was once to0 shy to go to but now look! I can go now (even if you don’t want to) and don’t feel like I am less than everyone cuz if I stumble into those places now I will…
still say stupid things.
I’m ill equipped.
From a Cabaret show called “Sugarfuhk” written and performed by Colleen Keo and Dana Mugavero (aka Violet da Lilly and Fatova Mingus). I’m the one on the right. Which is refreshing considering I am nearly always in the wrong.
The Ashley Madison site for men who want to cheat on their wives has been hacked in such a sophisticated way that, so far, two men have committed suicide over their exposure. When I saw there were suicides involved I assumed it would be the wives.
Women believe that men are monogamous and faithful and by nature they are not. Likely, the only men who don’t screw around are Hasidic Jews, Episcopalians (I don’t know why I said that) and the rare exception – like UFO probed rare. Also I am certain that mentally deficient men don’t cheat. I would say “retards” but I don’t want to offend anyone. Right.
Women look at their wedding pictures and imagine that their man’s smile and look of joy means “I adore you and will never even look at another woman”. Wrong. Wrong. That expression is happiness in the moment. In my opinion, men don’t think beyond 2 years ahead. Men might be in love at their wedding and probably for 24 months thereafter but during that time they are still banging their wives with closed eyes thinking of someone else. They are jerking off to porn. They eventually join a fuck site – like Ashley Madison.
The problem really isn’t men here. It’s women. Why oh why do we think they will be faithful? They will not. They will cheat. It might be a random blow job by a nameless woman in a car (which I think is no big thing) or it may be an ongoing affair with some kind of attachment (which I think is a very big thing). There is nothing we can do. We can’t try harder. We can’t be like a whore because the whore is separate from the wife and never the twixt shall meet. We can find out and yell and scream for a month and then forgive him because he swears it will never happen again. We can even believe him.. But he does mean it longer than 3 months.
Men do not relate to monogamy. Wives get the partnership which means their problems, their real estate, their children, their vacations and all the outward appearance men need. Wives do not get their full devotion because men can not devote to one woman. Even on a small scale like jerking off to porn, men can not be satisfied with one woman and the relationship with their wives is really more of a drag than it is a blissful union. And women will never believe it. We would rather suffer through affairs and suspicions and an eroding trust and a bad marriage than accept that her husband needs a blow job from a stranger once in a while. .
How do I know this? Use your imagination.
FOOTNOTE: My friend “Reticent Mental Property” reminded me that I am painting with way too broad a brush here and she is on the side of right rather than wrong. I acknowledge I am opinionated here but, um, that’s what the blog is all about.
I was in love with a man some time ago. I wrote poems to communicate with him about it on this fucked up site where I held a “top blogger” status.
I found some of the poems.
I pray your wishes
sing you sweetly
sleep you gently
fight to keep you
from fading memory-
you alone hold close my heart.
I wait on minutes
and battle hours.
Away from you I break to pieces
with graceful smiles
and no one knows
I live in secret
exist in other world,
and love, consumed and perfect.
Yours in flame.
Yours in silent spoken
Turns out he was just using me for kicks.