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letter for peret
When I go to Mass three times on Sunday, shall I pray for our souls? HA HA – Me go to Mass? I’d rather eat gravel, which would be more productive.

Saw a show last night on Damien Hirst. Yuck. He does know how to push buttons, but so did Dali and it doesn’t make it great art! I prefer shocking things
that resonate and have substance.

Madonna – she’s way too self-conscious. Takes herself WAY too seriously. Saw her on TV recently and she was affecting this AWFUL English matron type
voice. Everything is way too deliberate. I saw bits of Evita on TV and it was totally wooden.

I’m a diehard ‘Harold and Maude’ fan. Bud Cort’s a really bad drunk and pill popper. He lives in the Venice area of LA – a lot of people, including me, have
seen him staggering around in a stupor.

Sean Lennon was in Akbar, the gay bar. Apparently he’s there whenever he’s in LA. He talks like a queen but supposedly is marrying this Japanese woman.
Yoko should forbid it damnit! She’s had enough gay friends in her life that she should forbid it. I dunno. I’m turning it into an Ibsen play.

Chris Stein is one f***ed up guy! When she first met Chris, Debbie [Harry] had no idea, but over a short period of time, it became very apparent that Chris
was completely fixated on his mother. Before they moved in together, if Chris was at Debbie’s apartment, she started getting these phone calls from Chris’
mother. At first it was nothing much – they’d talk for a few minutes, and that was it, but slowly, she’d begin to call CONSTANTLY!!! And Chris would spend
way more time on the phone with her.
Debbie and Chris move in together. Debbie gets very pissed off cos if Chris isn’t talking to his mother for hours every day, she’d show up unannounced and
often wind up staying for days at a time. The mother became verbally abusive towards Chris as well as Debbie. Constantly calling Debbie a whore etc. She’d
call at 3am, scream at Debbie and Chris, hang up, and call back later. Debbie finally got so mad that even though they were in a band together and she loved
him, there was no way she could handle living with him and having his mother make their lives a living hell. So Chris would move back with his mother. And
this starts a pattern that lasted YEARS.
Chris finally told Debbie that he’d had a sexual relationship with his mother for years! And that even when they were together, he sometimes still did it [with
his mother]. Debbie totally lost it. Threw him out. She wouldn’t talk to him for ages. She went into immediate therapy. And for talking about band biz, Clem
Burke was the go-between. Gradually they got to the point where they could work together for short periods of time. But even in the studio or even on
tour, Chris’ mother would call or show up to travel with them!    
Tina Weymouth and Chris Frantz started telling me these Chris Stein stories years ago. Both are fantastic people. Very funny, Debbie and Tina have been
close friends for over – I think they met in 1975- so 24 years.

I don’t know if Stevie Nicks lives in Phoenix – but it wouldn’t surprise me. It’s terrible there.

Going to a band and an opening tonight. Hopefully it’ll be good. Free booze always cushions the blow regardless.

My life story I thought should be called ‘Nobody From Nowhere’. ‘200 Bottles’ might work also – if it covers years up through to 1997.

Bob Stanley once had a crush on me and at a different time, I had one on him. Now he’s basically lost his looks, but he’s a sweet and funny guy.

David Geffen and Keanu Reeves were seen all over LA going into stores and spending thousands together. Geffen gave Keanu a Twombly, which he sold
about a year ago. I think Keanu could turn in a good [acting] performance, but he has one fatal flaw in my opinion – himself.

Used to think Keanu Reeves was kinda cute, but from the way he talks…stupidity that excessive is a turn-off for me.

I love English papers – The Times is a must read. One of the few papers Murdoch hasn’t managed to spoil.

I’ve always believed in making a big entrance! And it’s weird enough that I hope the other few people get freaked out.

Russ Meyer was lecturing at an art school in Pasadena. I’d been into his stuff for a while, so decided to go. First bought a pic of Russ so I could have it
signed. It was a pic with Russ directing a nude woman in bed.
I went to the school, parked my car and got out. Such a cliché, but as I was walking to find where Russ was gonna be, I saw him walking out of a car park, so
I went up, introduced my self, said I was big fan and asked if he would sign my photo.
‘Jesus – haven’t seen this in f***ing years’, Russ said. ‘It’s from ‘The Ten Minutes’.’
He signed it for me, I thanked him and went and put the pic back in my car. I walked back to where he was and Russ was wandering around with a reel of
16mm film. ‘Hey – uh, Chad, right? Do you know where the auditorium is? Can you show me?’ ‘No, Mr Meyer. I’m not a student here, I just came to hear you
talk.’ ‘Well, let’s go find it together then.’ So, here I am, a young fag, walking around this campus with Russ Meyer!
We found the auditorium and were really early. We walked around and ended up in the school cafeteria, so we sat down and talked some more. After a few
minutes he pulled a large silver flask from his jacket pocket. He unscrewed the top, took a big gulp or two and finished with an ‘AHHH!’ noise, wiping his
right hand on his sweater. Handed the flask across the table and said, ‘Here – you want some, son?’ My first thought was – god knows where this man’s
mouth has been! Then thought – am I really going to pass up a chance to drink with Russ Meyer? F*** no!
So I drank some, and it was the cheapest bourbon I’ve ever tasted. He was fun to talk to in the 30-40 minutes we spent together. He talked about how he
got into movies and pornography after the war, doing girlie shit and lots of photos in the early days. A lot of his war buddies ended up working for him –
publicity, accountant, cinematographer, etc. He told stories in such a way that the mundane seemed fantastic.
His talk was great, closing with arguably his finest post- ‘Faster Pussycat! Kill!! Kill!!’ work, ‘Up!’, which culminates with this woman sticking dynamite up this
guy’s arsehole and blowing him up.
When it ended and everyone left, I asked him the two things I’d forgotten to ask earlier: how his meeting with Fellini went. He said he loved Fellini, and all
they talked about was big tits. Then I asked him if he’d ever heard of the Russian director, Andrei Tarkovsky. He replied, ‘No, but I love to pay tribute to
Sergei Eisenstein!’
A few months later I phoned him at home, because I’d heard he was hiring people to work and maintain his archives. He remembered me but said, ‘Oh no!
Only hirin’ the biggest titted women I can find!’ We said goodbye and that was it. Nice guy. Hetero in a completely surreal way.

I thought of a great tag line for a silent musical: ALL SINGING! ALL DANCING! NO TALKING!

I’ve been watching a lot of the Lumiere brothers early films, from 1875-1897. Incredibly beautiful stuff – and very sophisticated. Shame Thomas Edison got
credit for inventing motion pics, he ripped off the Lumieres, but he ripped off everyone and got the credit.

Greenaway is fun to watch.

Kids and old people! I HATE THEM! As long as they stay outta my way. They annoy me – I have a knack for being on long airline flights with babies who cry
all the way.

Isn’t it weird how most old people seem to stop buying new clothes after a certain date? Looking at them I start to feel like David Attenborough!

I resent all of the English royal family. Diana was the only one to have successfully made them at least a little more human and compassionate, but they’re all
idiots. And it all comes down to the Sex Pistol’s tune where Lydon sings, ‘God save the Queen/ Tourists mean money’. It’s so true. F***ing wankers.

When I hear the word ‘sexpot’ – of course my first thought is of our old biblical lesbian murderer of yore, Myra Hindley.

Cliff Richard! Is he still a born-again christian? Yuck!

Nothing says Sunday morning quite like prune juice, a walk past the blue gorilla and fondling one’s slots!

_____ says that with the [Barry Lowe] Joey Stefano play he was amazed, and said something to the effect that it was one of the greatest theatrical
experiences of his life. My Italian psyche translator renders that statement as: It had a cute boy in it and it was about f***ing.

Who the f*** likes clowns?!?!? Far and away people seem to hate and fear them like we do.

Let’s make a post-modern remake of ‘The Sound of Music’, called ‘Sound/Music’!

In London in 1993 I heard this old lady talking to another old lady about how disgraceful pop music was, and she kept saying Mod Anna. Two words! ‘Mod
Anna’ could be a movie starring Twiggy or Jean Shrimpton.

Getting thrown out of the Telly Savalas Sports Bar by Telly Savalas was a magical experience! Couldn’ta axed for more!

Awful films stoned become a religious experience.

I should changed my name to Geert, and just leave it at that, like Cher – but then I’d probably feel compelled to start having Bob Mackie stuff made for me.

Protestors during the Seattle WTO riots were ripping down Santa Claus stuff and setting it on fire – brilliant and truly inspired. My big wish was that a
church would get torched, but alas, nope, didn’t happen.

Going skiing on xmas day. Let’s hope I don’t do a Sonny Bono. Would that count as a Shinto ritual?

One of the biggest compliments I can give Rufus Wainright and his music  - it (thankfully) never veers into the precious. Never once am I reminded of
Morrissey.

Which transsexual was the tennis player? A good weepy biopic of that person would be ‘For Love’. Very Hollywood.

YUCK!!! Which rhymes with F***!!!

I dig the way he writes. Well, what I mean is it just sounds like a laundry list.

Burt Bacharach was here recently – I worship the man.

She had such a bad lisp anytime she comes to an ‘s’ that it sounds like a f***ing wind tunnel.

I think Ed Wood and other bad movie people are as valid and equal – in their own way – to highbrow stuff. Most of the time I’d opt for Ed, Herschell and
Mamie over the highbrow.

Peret – there’s been no one like him since. He astonishes me and is one of the few people I’d call a visionary.

Friends were concerned but as I was saying such funny stuff, ignored it until I hit the Liza Minelli booze level.

My grandmother told me that my great uncle, her brother, said that he had an affair with Cole Porter. Odd.

Vidal was fine when he was talking to the gathering, but one on one he seemed doped up on meds of some kind – like he wasn’t all there, feelin’ no pain
etc. So, with Quentin’s death, is Vidal now the world’s reigning bitchy queen?