SUEDEHEAD (MORRISSEY MADNESS!)

James Dean: 1931 - 1955

MORRISSEY: EVERYDAY IS LIKE SUNDAY

WHAT I AM LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW: EMMANUEL

WHEN TRUTH IS OFTEN A LIE (8 FACTS ABOUT FRANCES FARMER)

Frances Farmer: 1913 -1970

Frances Farmer never received a lobotomy. Also, (despite Hollywood) she was a quite successful stage actress and TV hostess until she lost her battle with cancer at the age of 56. Odd how these "minor" details were not mentioned in Frances (the so-called biopic about her life).

The two most well known books based on her life (WILL THERE REALLY BE A MORNING and SHADOWLAND) are more fiction than fact.

1. Frances was never raped by dozens of soldiers while she was in ANY mental hospital.

2. She was never a Communist.

3. She might have been an atheist during her youth, but eventually found faith in God.

4. Hollywood DID say she was as talented as Garbo, but started singing a different tune once Frances had her quite minor encounter with the police (a petty traffic violation).

5. She was not a "basket case" when she appeared on THIS IS YOUR LIFE in 1958. In fact, she was more than polite given how obnoxious the host of the program was to her (I would have slugged him).

6. Farmer's best movies: COME AND GET IT, RHYTHM ON THE RANGE, TOAST OF NEW YORK, SON OF FURY, and FLOWING GOLD.

7. Farmer's worst enemy was not Hollywood but her deranged mother.

8. Kurt Cobain helped to raise awareness about Frances Farmer's plight with his song: FRANCES FARMER WILL HAVE HER REVENGE ON SEATTLE.

ONLY MUSIC AND POETRY WILL SAVE THE WORLD...

Tom Petty - Rock Poet

WHAT I'M LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW: PINK HOUSES

WHAT I'M LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW: SMALL TOWN

BRYAN ADAMS (BOUGHT THE POSTER, ALBUM, AND DANCED LIKE A FOOL IN PUBLIC)

REMEMBERING TOM PETTY...

October 20, 1950 - October 2, 2017

WHATEVER HAPPENED TO BOY GEORGE?

CHICAGO STORY

I remember loving all the gray snow,
fearing the homeless on Howard
Street, and liking the free hot soup
at Good News soup kitchen.
It was one of the oddest dates
I'd ever been on, and you were
one of the most beautiful men
I'd ever slept with. Was it on a
Wednesday? When you sat down
beside me at the small Art Deco
bar in Rogers Park? Everybody
watching Dynasty, and I pretended
not to notice you as I worked on a
dark poem about lust and suicide.

Then you bought me a beer, and
I soon found out you were a
collector of rare German coins
and broken hearts. Two hours later
I was in your unmade bed, and what
we did to each other was so good
and natural, we became lovers
without ever having to say the word.
And when you showed me all your
gold and silver coins before I went
home, then invited me to have
dinner with you at a soup kitchen
that night, I thought you just might
be the oddest man I'd ever known.

So I had to say yes, and there
would be many more strange and
beautiful nights of poverty and
passion - rare coins and soup
kitchens - until you got sick
and drifted away in a terrible fog.
And all I remember is
loving the gray snow,
fearing the homeless
on Howard Street,
and wanting to lose
myself forever in your
deep dark kiss
like the Baltic sea.

Poem © 2016 by Dylan Mitchell

SONNY AND CHER REUNION (DAVID LETTERMAN)

BRUCE COCKBURN: CALL IT DEMOCRACY

A MOZART SORT OF SUNDAY

SIMPLE MINDS (DON'T YOU FORGET ABOUT ME)

AIR SUPPLY : ALL OUT OF LOVE

SURVIVOR: EYE OF THE TIGER

BILLY JOEL : PIANO MAN

AIDS? WHY SHOULD IT MATTER TO STRAIGHT PEOPLE?

Let us not forget

I remember the 1980s big time. Boy George, The Breakfast Club, big hair, Oprah, Wall Street, then along came AIDS. What was being done? Zero. Ronnie Reagan nodded and smiled in the White House for the cameras, while most of my friends (and eventually my lover) perished from this virus. Let us not forget.

Christian bigots ranted about family values,  yet Ryan White (an innocent youth) still died young (after he literally was forced to flee his hometown). Shame on a nation. I'm lucky to be alive. And I will continue to speak for those that can no longer speak. Again, let us not forget.

P.S. "How wonderful it is that nobody need wait a single moment before starting to improve the world."

— Anne Frank

 
Essay © 2015 by Dylan Mitchell

 

TRUE STORY: THE UGLY REPUBLICAN

In late 1985, I was invited to the worst party of my life. I was invited because I was a poverty stricken poet, and the wealthy host thought it would be amusing if someone like me mingled with people that were filthy rich (and Republican).

His house was grand (14 rooms, not counting the 3 bathrooms). There was an abundance of food and alcohol, and I was the only conspicuously gay person there. After I heard a group of people laughing and joking about Rock Hudson and AIDS, I grabbed a Heineken, and decided to hide out for awhile in the first bathroom I could find. This was a mistake.

After I closed the door, I took a big gulp of the expensive beer, and began to take in my surroundings. The bathroom was huge. Double sink vanity, a jacuzzi, walk-in shower, and a little couch one could sit on. Hanging above the couch was an impressive oil painting. All this space and splendor certainly put my bare studio apartment to shame.

I actually had to search for the toilet (it was not in plain sight), and once I found it I could not believe my eyes: An entire wall was covered with purple, brown, and green food stamps. At first, I thought it was just some kind of very weird wallpaper. But I leaned closer, and was sickened to discover that the wall was indeed completely covered with real food stamps. What sort of fuckery is this? I had to get out of there.

I dropped the empty beer bottle in a waste basket, put on my hat and gloves (I was still wearing my coat), and left the godawful party in a hurry. As I was closing the back door, I could hear much laughter and classical music. I was chilled to the bone, but it had absolutely nothing to do with the wicked wind and falling snow outside.

Essay © 2015 by Dylan Mitchell