Friday, October 30, 2015



This post depicts a late-night Halloween "party" (and orgy) that I attended at the Hollywood home of a notorious  movie director who made gay porn films. He was a self-proclaimed warlock and devotee of  paganism.

In order not to shock my innocent blog readers, I've scoured the x-rated parts and rendered it Disneyesque.

The night before Halloween. It's late, unnervingly dark. I'm driving along Mulholland in the Hollywood Hills, which - at this ungodly hour - seems more remote and isolated than the far side of the River Styx. I'm searching for a house, which is actually more than a house. It's an over-sized, ancient, dilapidated estate. A convincing version of a haunted house with a direct link to Hollywood's forgotten past. I've been here before. But things look a heckuva lot different at midnight than they do in benign daylight. It's difficult to find.

There's nothing unusual about this clandestine nocturnal adventure. It's simply another chapter in an endless series of Hollywood nights. I'm twenty-two years old and always eager for intriguing experiences. I've been nursing a bottle of Bacardi Rum all night with occasional swigs of Coke for a chaser. I'm delightfully mellow and open to all realms of the Halloween season - - warlocks and black magic included.

When I was a Hollywood spirit
and haunter of the night

I was invited by the owner of the ancient Spanish-style estate - - a movie director thirty years my senior, who dabbles in the Dark Side and is known to be extremely eccentric. He fancies himself to be a warlock with mystic powers.

A butler answers the door. Technically he's not a butler, but rather an aging "houseboy" and long-time "employee" of the warlock movie director. He eyes me with evil intentions, then leads me up the massive staircase to the secret room on the third floor where the midnight ceremony is to take place. The room is large, darkly draped in ancient velvet, and dimly lighted with sporadic candles and  jack-o-lanterns. In the center is a makeshift altar, arrayed with mysterious magical paraphernalia and black candles.

The room isn't empty. It's inhabited by a delectable assortment of Hollywood pretty boys - some young, and some who are feigning youth and have seen better days. All are waiting with restless impatience for the master of ceremonies to arrive.

He appears suddenly and not too soon, making a theatrical entrance worthy of Norma Desmond. He's attired in a hooded, long black robe. Only his pale face is exposed, dark penetrating eyes, black mustache and goatee. Looks like a facsimile of Mephistopheles. Everything about him reeks of phony Hollywoodism - but there's something intriguing about the entire production nevertheless. Perhaps the intrigue is inspired by too much Bacardi Rum.

The midnight warlock, in fact, is a producer/director of gay porno films. I've seen his work. I've met his actors. I've rejected his offers to appear in his films. The entire inside mechanism of the porn industry intrigues me but not to the point of participation.

Our black-clad host embarks on a rambling, less than persuasive, drug-induced speech concerning mysticism and sensuality. He goes through the motions of a black magic mass - - chanting, reciting, invoking, suggesting......

Incense is lighted and joints and coke are passed around to enhance the mood. Not the kind of Coke I had with my rum. I pass on the coke, but take a few token puffs on a joint. It's potent stuff. Soon the room is reeling amicably and the entire situation is assuming surrealistic but very appealing aspects.

In order to inspire an aura of eroticism and induce a sense of unity and brotherhood, we - the collection of chosen sinners - are encouraged to shed our clothes and inhibitions. Mephistopheles has abandoned his black robe and is displaying his pale and proud nakedness.

The debauchery has begun, an orgy has ensued, the assemblage of unclothed manhood is mingling, bonding, exploring, uniting. Most of the participants are indifferent to the fact that two cameramen have entered the room and are filming. In time, everyone is too busy to be concerned.

And me? I'm merely shirtless, so far. Drunk. Stoned. Inspired. Yielding to exploring hands, hungry mouths, and ample suggestions. Yet, I'm somewhat annoyed at the unexpected cameras and documentation. I will be giving a Los Angeles piano recital in a week. I'm not about to submit to the filming and probable distribution of my private sexual antics. Somewhere beneath my unholy decadence is a smidgen of pride. 

I slip into an adjoining room with a willing participant where we embark on private journey of sexual exploration - without the rude company of cameras.

When I finally emerge from the private room - - the Babylonian feast of uninhibited sexuality and raw naked flesh is still in progress and cameras are still rolling. I feel like I'm walking through the imitation of a dream, on clouds that are far removed from heaven. I maneuver towards the outside hallway. Naked Mephistopheles notices my attempted exit and follows me, temporarily blocking my way. He's standing so close that I can feel his heat and smell the booze and weed.

"You're not leaving so soon," he says. "My beautiful angel of the dark."

It's a moment of superb theatrical tackiness. Before I can answer, he kisses my lips gently but seductively. I can taste the poison and its potency.

"Dawn awaits," I tell him. "And sunlight can purify even the darkest of angels."

He smiles grimly, almost sadly.

I never return.

Tuesday, October 27, 2015


This morning, near my bedroom window

It seems incredible that I would use gloomy and October together, since October is my favorite month and I savor this time of year. I'm in one of my notorious deep depressions, the tainted root of which is so firmly ensconced in the darkest depths of my enigmatic psyche that neither the wisdom of Freud nor the power of a steamroller could extract it or straighten it out.

Jon, you have a frighteningly unique way with words. Too bad it doesn't attract readers.

Kemo Sabe, my uniqueness is reserved for only a discriminating few who have incredibly good taste. If I appealed to the mundane masses I'd be worried.

Why bother with doom and gloom - when you're enjoying your favorite season and finally living in a peaceful place, surrounded by the beauty of nature?

If only it were that simple. There are no entirely happy endings. Life - no matter where we are - is an endless series of complications, unexpected unpleasantness, detours, insurmountable problems, and agonizing tribulations.

Care to expound?

Naw, it would take too long. Besides, I'm still missing the "i" key cap on my laptop keyboard (or "I" key, for you purists) and it's annoyingly difficult to type anything of great length.
I've completely forgiven Bosco, but I still see "i" keys every time I look at him.

If you didn't read my previous blog post you won't have any idea of what I'm talking about......
.....but that's okay. I'm always an enjoyable read, even if I'm incomprehensible.

This final week of October has been rainy, chilly, and dreary. Perfect Halloween weather. There is always a deep sadness in my soul (or what's left of it) when October dwindles to a few precious days. I'm especially disheartened this year, because I've been too busy and distracted to enjoy the month. It literally flew by almost unnoticed.

The foliage was reluctant to change into beautiful autumn colors until late in the month, and now - suddenly - the peak of the splendor is gone. Trees are shedding the last of their leaves very quickly and I'm certain that by Halloween autumn will only be a naked echo.

I'm glad that I walked on my property last Friday and took photos - on a warm, sunny day. I went again on Monday, but it was rainy and dank. And I walked today, in a chilly drizzle - trudging through piles of wet leaves and soggy earth. I made a walking stick out of a sturdy branch, which saved me from falling on my ass again.

I took more photos today, only because it will probably be my last chance to enjoy and document the foliage. Every day the trees are more bare and prospect of winter is unnervingly evident.

Some of today's photos:

My cat Scratch demands to go outdoors every day, despite the weather. She got soaked today from the rain.



All photos copyrighted by Jon 

Use and distribution is prohibited, by pain of death (I don't know exactly what that means, but it sounds official).

Violators will be stripped, publicly humiliated (use your imagination), tarred, feathered, ridiculed, forced to watch a speech by Hillary Clinton (which should kill you) and afterwards your quivering carcass will be hung in the public square, to be devoured by hungry pigeons.

......come to think of it, pigeons don't eat meat, do they??

Monday, October 26, 2015


I'm glad I took photos on Friday (previous post) when the weather was clear and beautiful. It's raining this weekend and considerably cooler.

I can thank my cat Bosco for ruining my computer and making it EXTREMELY difficult for me to type.

Let's preface this by saying that Bosco is usually a very good cat - gentle and timid. He used to lay near my laptop and watch me type for hours.

Then - suddenly - for no apparent reason, he got the idea that it's great fun to sit ON the keyboard. Any time he's near the laptop he immediately goes for the keyboard. I've already written about the time his ample ass turned on the Airplane Mode. His ass has done other strange things to my computer, too, but I won't bother to astonish you with details.

Yesterday, while I was typing, Bosco  made a lightning-quick Nijinsky leap onto the keyboard. A struggle ensued (between he and I) during which his paw got caught on the "i" key and ripped it off.

Despite all the key reattachment articles I've read on the Internet - - it is IMPOSSIBLE to reattach a computer key, especially if the internal mechanism is broken. It was suggested to detach another key (preferably one you don't use) and use that mechanism to repair the broken one. I tried that last night. I got the "i" key to work, but I spent several AGONIZING hours with a tweezer and a safely pin trying to fix the frickin' inner pop-up mechanism. It would have been simpler trying to reattach a severed carotid artery.

The parts are microscopically small, incredibly fragile, and don't fit properly. I know exactly how it's supposed to go, but it doesn't stay secure. The key cap keeps falling off. Eventually I lost my patience and went completely berserk. And I mean COMPLETELY. Don't try to visualize this - - it's too ugly.

The result is that I've lost my enthusiasm for typing. With no key cap it now takes me ten times as long to type anything and I constantly make mistakes. I'm not in the mood to spend the rest of my life trying to repair the damn thing.
Thanks, Bosco.

Change of subject


Since I seldom pay attention to the news, I hadn't heard that actress Maureen O'Hara died until I read it on John's blog Going Gently. 
She was 95 and lived a heckuva good life.

The news has special meaning to me because I met her long ago - - in fact, I saw her on two different occasions (I wrote about it on my old blog Lone Star Concerto). 

The first time I saw Maureen O'Hara was when I was nineteen. I'm not in the mood to rehash the details here, but she, John Wayne, and his family were attending a late-night event in the private banquet room at Knott's Berry Farm. That's when John Wayne's daughter Aissa flirted with me (I'm not kidding - but, heck, she was only a young teen then).

The second time I encountered Maureen O'Hara was a few years later at a cocktail party in Newport Beach (That's where John Wayne lived). O'Hara was there with Wayne and his wife Pilar Pallete.

Maureen O'Hara was as beautiful in person as she was in her films. I remember that she was wearing a green silk dress. She was a feisty, energetic person, but was also kind and gracious - with a lot of class.

John Wayne, as usual, was soused and gruff. He and Maureen O'Hara made five films together and were very close friends. I honestly never understood what she saw in him, but their mutual attraction was intense and they had great chemistry on-screen and off.

I've heard potent rumors that Wayne and O'Hara had an affair before he married Pilar, and I believe that it's true.The main thing that kept them from having a serious long-term relationship is that Wayne was dominant and liked to control his women - and O'Hara was fiercely independent.

At the time that I met Maureen O'Hara I was only familiar with a few of her films, such as Jamaica Inn, Miracle on 34th Street, and The Parent Trap. I didn't see her films with John Wayne until later.  

O'Hara was a fascinating woman and a Hollywood icon and I'm glad I had the opportunity of meeting her. 

Saturday, October 24, 2015


 My back yard yesterday afternoon

Most of the photos that I've taken here have been from the safety of my back porch - so the scenery always looks the same. Once in awhile I go to the nearby meadow where the cows reside.

Yesterday was such a beautiful day that I felt uncharacteristically adventurous. On a whim, I grabbed my El Cheapo camera and ventured out to the woods on my property. It was a wonderful walk and I felt rejuvenated being in touch with nature.

I got scratched with thorns, bitten by bugs, and - yes - I slipped on damp leaves and fell down a slope......... but when I landed on my ass I looked around and said "Damn, it's beautiful here!"

I'm on my ass, in a pile of autumn leaves, in the peaceful, wooded wilderness of Tennessee. What could be better?

I took at least 60 photos and it's nearly impossible to choose favorites. Here are a random few.

Pine cones near the house. Strangely enough, I hadn't noticed them until I was outside walking yesterday.

My cat Scratch, who has been housebound for ten years, suddenly loves being outside. She goes out every day- - but I keep a close eye on her (after the coyote incident the other night)
If you look closely at the photo on the right, you can see my house peeking through the trees.

After living on the barren plains of West Texas for so long, it's difficult to believe that these beautiful woods are on my property!

Sunday, October 18, 2015


A bone-chilling night with heavy frost and Gothic mists. On moonless nights like this, the mountain shadows are darker than the Devil's soul and just as intimidating. Only fools would venture outside - where the vast emptiness is alive with the possibility of wandering ghosts.

Everything is unnervingly silent until just after midnight, when an unknown restlessness seems to stalk the forest. The neighboring cows and horses start to bellow and whinny. Faraway dogs bark incessantly. And then I hear the familiar distant, unearthly howls of coyotes. 

Eerie sounds in the mountains at night seem to come from everywhere, echoing and bouncing around tauntingly, as if being deliberately evasive.

As usual, I ignore the sounds and concentrate on my laptop computer. I'm at the kitchen table, with one small lamp, in the company of a midnight snack: hot tea and sandwiches.

Nothing much is happening - only the distant cacophony of inhuman sounds and the increasing chill, which is a rude reminder of approaching winter.

Sometime around 4:00 AM I step out on the back porch - just to stretch my legs, survey the blackness, and watch my breath come out in white puffs. As I'm going back in, the inevitable happens: my cat Scratch pushes past me and disappears into the night. 

She's done this numerous times in the past, and usually returns in a few minutes. I'm certain that tonight she'll return even faster, due to the intense cold.

I nervously work at the computer - jumping up every few minutes to check the back porch for the return of Scratch.

No cat in sight. I call for her repeatedly. No answer. By 5:30 AM I'm frantic. It's still pitch black and dawn doesn't come until way after 6:30.

I go outside again on the back porch. The porch light has been on, in anticipation of Scratch's return. No cat. No nothing.

I start calling loudly. I'm startled when my calls are immediately answered with inhuman yelps, hoots, and howls. They are very close and seem like taunts and jeers.

I squint against the impossible darkness and suddenly see at least six sets of glowing eyes in a semi-circle - only a few yards from the back porch.

It's a pack of coyotes, all looking at me
and making menacing, hooting sounds. I've never heard anything like it.

  My concern for my cat's safety is stronger than any fear of coyotes. I step forward, stamping my feet, and yelling threateningly at them. I keep yelling and they keep hooting, but the hoots are moving in the darkness. 

Eventually the intimidating pack moves farther away and their wolf-like howls and jeers lessen. As if on cue, Scratch quickly emerges from under the porch and darts inside. She must have been under there for way over an hour.

Scratch is cold and miserably damp, but at least she escaped with her hide intact - this time. She's presently asleep in a chair near me.

I plan to make sure she never gets out at night again. Next time she might not be so lucky. Half a dozen coyotes could extinguish a cat's nine lives in a few seconds. 

Visit my latest Halloween post at this link:

Walking Through Graveyards 

Friday, October 16, 2015


 Back yard in the morning fog

Just as I had initially anticipated, my post entitled Elizabeth Taylor's Pussy and Other Delights rattled a few people.

Let's all step back a moment and consider this rationally. My blog readers (all three of them) consist mostly of my relatives and virtuous Midwest Baptist ladies......(and a few perceptive gay guys who can read between the lines).....

Do you really think I would insult my fans (all four of them) by posting smut? I admittedly have a dirty mind - - and I've done things in the past that would made the Marquis de Sade revolve in his grave - - but I like my blog to remain untarnished. 
Or reasonably untarnished. 
Trust me - if I ever wrote what I really think, my six readers would abandon me. Or is it five?

Are we seeing any humor here?

No, Jon, but keep trying.

I try to select post titles that will generate interest. Boring titles such as Regrets (one of my recent posts) generate no interest whatsoever.  

I would love to have 650,000 followers (like some fortunate bloggers), but it was never meant to be. My only consolation is that the few people who faithfully read my blog have incredibly good taste.

So, what about Harpo?
Well, my face is red - and I don't blush easily. I want to thank Ron (a link to Ron) for pointing out the blunder in my Taylor's Pussy post. 

I had said that Barbara Marx left her husband Harpo to marry Frank Sinatra. 
Barbara Marx was in fact married to Zeppo - not Harpo. I had completely forgotten that it was Zeppo.
Harpo Marx was never divorced.

I love alert readers. It means they're paying attention.

......but if ALL of you start pointing out my errors, I'll consider putting a Hungarian curse on you......

Don't get me started. When it comes to ANYTHING concerning Kindle, I am completely clueless. Completely.
I have been trying for days to transform my published poetry book into a Kindle edition (yes, I corrected all three typos) with absolutely no luck.

And yes, I've read all of the tutorials and other helpful articles - - and they aren't helpful. And I'm starting to get mean and seriously irritated. You can take your PDF, Docx, and HTML files and shove them.

To be perfectly blunt, I know a few blooming idiots who have published Kindle books (I'm serious), so there should be hope for me. 

I know the entire libretti of Wagner's Gotterdammerung in German....... and I've overhauled the engine on a pickup truck. You'd think I could conquer a frickin' Kindle conversion.

Enough said.

Any more complaints, Jon?

Yes. I'm really pissed off at Blogspot Comment Moderation. I enabled it solely to get rid of spammers (they are attracted to me like magnets).
Instead, it has been blocking some of my faithful readers (all three of them).
Sorry about that.
And a Hungarian Pox on spammers. 

I drove into town yesterday and saw the damage to City Hall. The driver (who was being chased by police) crashed directly through the front door. Bullseye! I congratulate him for having perfect aim during a harrowing situation.

It's a chilly October night. Perfect for snuggling up with a hot cup of tea and a book of ghost stories. Supposed to get down to freezing on Saturday night. I'll soon be getting into my Halloween mode, posting scary stuff. if this wasn't scary enough.....

 Thursday Afternoon

 Despite being a housebound cat for ten years, my eldest feline Scratch now insists on going outdoors.

 Shadow People on the premises.
It's a shadow selfie, me in a cowboy hat. (my ass isn't really that big, the shadow is distorted). 

Some of the trees have already shed all their leaves.

Tuesday, October 13, 2015


The meadow adjacent to my property is only visible in the winter when the trees are bare. Today I was able to get a glimpse of it. The trees are shedding their leaves quickly. There's very little autumnal color this year. Leaves are simply dying and dropping, eager to let go. Strangely, I know the feeling.

It was windy today, which is a rarity here. A fresh, clean, intoxicating wind that rippled through the treetops and encouraged the moribund leaves to sing.

So different in contrast to the savage, dusty, eternal winds of West Texas. I loved the wild unpredictability of them, but hated the havoc that they wrought. 

Yesterday, October 12th, marked a year since I've been here. My first year in Tennessee. It doesn't seem that long. The time literally flew. It took me over three days to drive here from Texas (after I bragged that it would take only one day). I took my time. After all the hell I had been through in Texas I savored finally being alone and free on the open road with no ties and no worries.

Just me. And the three cats. Yes, I had my three cats - in two large cages. Scratch in one, Scruffy & Bosco in the other.

It was a perfect journey. Well, all except for that rainy night in Arkansas when I went over the cliff........If you don't remember that fiasco, you can read my blog post about it. Here's the link:
 Over the Edge in Arkansas

Speaking of rainy nights, there was one helluva storm here last night. Torrential rain, plenty of donner und blitzen. The lights kept blinking on and off and the power went out a few times.

Speaking of going out (don't you love how I manage to tie all of these things together?), I happened to open the back door and my cat Scratch ran out into the storm. She loves escaping from the house but didn't realize how hostile the weather was. 
As I finally dragged her back in, sopping wet, my other cat Scruffy ran out.

There are exasperating occasions when I'd like to let all three cats out and never invite them back in again......

Today was gorgeous. The warm, golden sunshine and sweet whispering wind resurrected a wealth of October memories.

 View from the back porch this afternoon

I was supposed to go into town today. I had numerous things to do - including an important visit to City Hall. 

Just before I was going to leave, I heard the local news. City Hall was closed because of a freak accident. The police were on a wild chase with a car. The driver of the car made a quick wrong turn and crashed into City Hall. Went straight through the front door! Damage wasn't extensive but it was bad enough to close the building.

Lots of excitement in a sleepy little hillbilly town.

 Back yard this afternoon


Saturday, October 10, 2015


I initially planned to post these photos on my other blog Cabinet of Curious Treasures.
In a madcap gesture of absolute abandon, I've decided to post them here instead.

These are rare photos of famous people which you probably haven't seen before.

Even if you have seen them, you can pretend you didn't. It will make me feel better.

 Just as promised, here is Liz Taylor with her pussy. Warm, furry, and .......probably purring.

 As if one Taylor pussy wasn't enough, here's another. Since Liz was seldom a blonde, I'm guessing that this photo was taken on the set of the 1949 movie Little Women (her dark locks had been bleached for that film).

 While on the subject of pussies, here's a shot of Audrey Hepburn with hers. It's one of my favorite photos of Hepburn.
(This one is especially for Anne Marie, and she'll know why).

Who's this Babe from the 60's?

It's Martha Stewart during her modeling career.

An unflattering shot of Elvis with what appears to be the ugliest woman I've ever seen. Oh, well, we all wake up drunk next to dogs every now and then.......

Speak for yourself, Jon

Here's Elvis using a kid's head to sign an autograph. I think it's kinda cute.

 Andy Warhol and John Lennon feeling each other up in front of Yoko.

John Lennon when he was a kid.

Paul McCartney and Michael Jackson washing dishes.

Paul McCartney taking a selfie in 1959

Jackie Kennedy taking a selfie in 1953, along with John and Ethel.
Actually, she took this photo in a mirror.

John Kennedy in red shoes, feeding a deer.
What? You're not impressed??
Okay, tell me - - how many times have you ever seen JFK in red shoes with a deer?

Steve McQueen getting a little too familiar with John Wayne.
I've met John Wayne on two occasions and he never let me get that close 
(not that I'd ever want to......)

Groucho Marx with Alice Cooper.
Just to brag, I met Groucho when I was nineteen. He looked very similar to how he looks in this photo. He was in his 80's and quite feeble.

Harpo Marx with his monkey.

Note: Thanks to Ron for the correction. Barbara Marx was married to Zeppo, not Harpo. Harpo was never divorced.

A 1938 New Jersey mug shot of Frank Sinatra. He was charged with "Seduction and Adultery".
Some trivia: In 1976 Harpo Marx's wife Barbara left him to marry Frank Sinatra.

Isn't it amazing how I manage to tie all of these photos together?

 Hitler on a sled.
Hey, I heard those groans of disappointment.
Gimme a break! How many times have you ever seen Hitler on a sled?

Princess Diana with her pet guinea pig, named Peanuts.
Ya gotta admit - it's much cuter than Hitler on a sled.

I'll bet you've never seen  Bette Davis as a nun. All that's missing is the cigarette.

Pope John Paul II in 1981, meeting with Mehmet Ali Agca, the Turkish man who shot (and almost killed) him.

This photo is truly remarkable - - an incredible act of forgiveness.

I have many more interesting photos in my  vaults, but I'll save them for another time. I wouldn't want to overwhelm you with too much of a good thing.