Archives for posts with tag: Joni Mitchell

I am sitting at home with my foot in the air swaddled in ice, listening to Joni Mitchell.   Well, singing along to her less pessimistic songs.  Relieved of the bondage of self.

The dog had his stitches out yesterday.

Henry has been very kindly driving me around.  We popped into Gjelina for a late lunch with Anna and bumped into Louisa Spring and the fabulous Chrissy Illey.  Chrissy, as you know, is a wonderful writer and journalist from London.

Read her stuff here.

I will see them again this weekend.

I had to buy new towels.  All of mine are old and miserable.  Nothing worse than getting out of the shower and searing your skin with an old towel.

Meant to be having dinner with a friend in H’wood last night but my ankle blew up like a big pink balloon so I hobbled home and lay in bed.  Iced.

I had a Facebook squabble with a well known writer who damned me for appearing on the ‘A’ List.   Why the hell shouldn’t I?  Low and High culture are there to be experienced.  I have certainly had my fill of High Culture.  Performance Art, Art Films…even my book (nearly finished btw) feels like it was written for the exclusive few.

Sorry publishers…I know you don’t want to hear that.

When I got home I tried sleeping but ended up not sleeping.  Instead I sat at the desk tidying my prose.

Perhaps I am perplexed by seeing you know who next week?  Perhaps I am worried by the future.  At around 4am I finally fell asleep.  Exhausted.

Malibu Chile Cookout today.

7am 4th July. Yesterday I must have walked between The Pines and Cherry Grove a dozen times.

I woke up in The Pines and fell asleep exhausted in Cherry Grove.

Benoit and I went to a ‘media’ party in some huge house on the bay. What differentiated it from any other party was not immediately apparent.

The half naked men and boys looked identical to all the other men and boys at similar parties elsewhere.  I was introduced to the new editor of the Advocate. He too was half naked. He looked at me suspiciously and so he should. I have no interest in him.

By 2 in the afternoon everyone was trashed and the toxicity began to get to me. I kept thinking to myself how much fun Jake would have here. How he would fit right in.

Later that day I met Stephen Macias my ex manager. He is a truly vile individual who fully took advantage of my Hollywood initiation. I will write more about that at a later date.

He looked good for someone with ‘issues’. He told me proudly that he attends Barry’s Boot Camp in LA.

I saw Mark Beard the muralist. He paints all of those Homoerotic murals in Abercrombie and Fitch. He looks like a scull on a stick. My ex Joe helped him buy his huge studio in Hells Kitchen.

Mark’s boyfriend Jim still looks great.

I hung out with Zelcho, Caroline and Todd. We ate lunch at Cherry’s. I kissed a beautiful man who I met waiting for the water taxi.

I thought more about Jake every time I felt uncomfortable. I damned myself because I had inadvertently let one of these people into my life. One of these party boys. Even though when I met him he was merely a party boy in waiting.

Later that night Caroline cooked a delicious dinner and then we met Benoit and his friends at The Top of the Bay ostensibly to listen to Neil Sedaka sing but when we got there Neil looked frail and left with his friends.

He was being bullied by an Easter European woman. He asked her, “Do you like me for me or because I’m a famous singer?”

We chatted for a while about his children and grand children and West Hollywood where he still lives with his wife of fifty years.

Benoit’s politician friend told me his coming out story. Outed at 30, left his wife. Lost his important job in politics. I asked why he hadn’t come out sooner (read get honest) and he said that he didn’t want to lose his family.

Earlier in the day I went to the AA meeting at the Fire House (6pm) where I listened to group therapy and not one word of recovery. The good looking men only listened to the other good looking men and chatted amongst themselves if the speaker was fat, old or ugly.

On several occasions I wanted to get back to NYC. Every man on the boardwalk held a cup brimming with a lethal amount of alcohol. By mid afternoon many men were staggering or slumped or glazed.

The little dog chased a young buck with velvet antlers.

As I sit writing this Neil Sedaka sat with me and told his life story. He is such a delightful man.

I applauded him for not performing last night.

He told me how Elton had given him a second chance. He told me how he had filled the Albert Hall two years ago and he asked if I had ever been in love so I told him about Jake.

He said, “It’s rich material.”

We talked about Carol King, Sinatra, Elvis and Joni Mitchell. It was compelling stuff for 9am on a balmy Fire Island morning.


I am not going to write about the other any more but I am going to write about what it feels to not have that delicious daily contact with a man who wants to hear your voice or get your emails.

Even though it just ended I am unusually happy.  It takes a great deal of energy maintaining a long distance relationship.    A great deal of wasted time wondering and planning.   If I asked once I asked a million times when he was going to come visit me.  It was that sort of anxiety I am happy to jettison.

Alone does not mean lonely.  I am not just going to let anyone in simply because I can’t face the idea of being on my own.

I am not lonely, I have so many extraordinary people who catch me as I begin to fall. Everyone at breakfast told me how happy I looked.  I am happy.  I made the right decision.  I did it right.

Look, as time passes the prospect of meeting anyone appropriate diminishes. I knew what I was getting myself into when I met him.  The intrigue was a powerful part of the attraction-until it wasn’t.  The prospect of being a boyfriend was quickly replaced with the role I am often cast in, that of rescuer, therapist and problem solver.

I had a wonderful morning with Jennie and Guinevere who is as funny as all hell.   I can’t possibly tell you what we spent today giggling about. It wasn’t, shall we say, politically correct.  That’s what you get when you drive around LA with a scriptwriter, an ex-porn star and two dogs in a beaten up F150.

Who do I turn to when things get really sad?  Joni Mitchell of course!

But here I am jigglin’ like a cabbage patch doll at my desk-not in my bed desperate for answers.   How did that happen?  Why am I not sad?  Is it because the sun is shining or because I am relived to be away from the emotional catastrophe?

Of course I miss him but when things end they end.  It’s not like we can’t see each other as friends.   In some future place when time has passed.    I wonder if that is possible?  If you compare him to my other friends is he up to par?  I hope so but I don’t know yet.  Love blinds one to the hard facts.    I remember when I used to stay with Celia in Yorkshire with some admirer and she would scowl at me because what I saw in my beau my more critical friends, like Celia, failed to see.

At the end of the day I don’t depend on another to make me happy, clinging to a man for validation.    When I sleep in an empty bed at night I sleep soundly, neither hankering for a man beside me or a warm body simply for the sake of it.

I spent the morning with my friends, firstly at breakfast then driving home.  Now I am sitting on my own, writing this and listening to Joni.  Jennie is coming by later to take me up Runyon. The little dog can’t wait!

What is the cure?  No, not love.  I loved him.  I loved them all.  The death of love has taught me that I am very dangerous.  But that is why I wake up every morning like a boy!  Even now.  Let me tell you once again, let me take to the roof of my apartment building in Hollywood California and shout out loud that I am not afraid.

I am happy today.  You know there are so many good things happening to me and more importantly to those around me.

It’s so easy to write about being miserable.  It’s easy to indulge our fears.  It’s easy to blame the world for all of the bad things but I ALWAYS forget to tell you when I am happy.  Perhaps I am not sitting at my desk when the happiness comes?  I think that may be the truth because I am out in the world experiencing my joy.

I am with friends, climbing the canyon, writing and reading.

My joy is NOT dependant on any one person.  My joy comes from listening to Joni Mitchell, sitting in the sunlight of the spirit and reveling in the triumph of watching my friend Jennie celebrate her one year of continuous sobriety.  Oh, and before you say it, I am sure I am not meant to be discussing her ONE-YEAR publicly but I am.  After all she has worked so hard to get to this place of authenticity.

Most of you witnessed how she changed on TV.  How we all began this remarkable rescue mission-rescuing ourselves from oblivion, self-hatred and isolation.

Change comes in great gobs never in dribs and drabs.    So this change is all about not wanting to be at the mercy of others, understanding that I can never trust my perception.  It is always wrong.   This change comes from giving into not wanting to change the way I feel.   I have put a lifetimes of effort into separating myself from everyone.  Emotional Boom and Bust.

By watching Jennie flourish I can hitch my wagon to her well planned recovery.  I learn from everyone who comes into my life.  Everyone.

If I have to be on my own then so be it.  But I needn’t punish the world by keeping those around me at arms length.  It’s time to let you in.  Let you be my friend, my colleague, my lover, my mother and my brother.

Being happy does not mean that I ignore suffering, ignore inequity, ignore insensitivity but I don’t have to make it mine.  I needn’t own the suffering of the world and use that as a reason to ruin my own chances.

There are hurdles, great ravines and deep chasms that hinder the direct path that any man needs to take in the great journey of life.    But rather than dwell on what may or may not get in my way I can enjoy the wind in my hair and the sun on my face as I get to where I am going.

I would rather wear a compass than a watch-after all it is best to know where I am going than what time I get there.

When I am scary I am most probably scared.

I don’t want to be that scary man I can be.  I want to be free and if I only get a glimpse of freedom today and just for a few hours then as least I have experienced the feeling and have something to work toward, something I am capable of.

Have a great day everyone.  Remember that there is a solution-so start living in it.