Love the Trolls, Hate the Trolling


The blog I can write at night. Scripts, not so much. And even with the blogs, I know y’all suffer some when I’ve waited too late to start it. Sometimes I know what you get is a healthy dose of Dadaism (or surrealist something) and I reckon that’s okay too. Phillip Swafford says those are his favorites– “the edgy ones.” The blog is nothing if it’s not honest. Which reminds me–

Okay, so I, for a little while, posted the really poisonous and hateful comments that some sickos would leave on my blog, “trolls” I think the kids call them. I did this in the interest of free speech and the 1st Amendment and all– but then I thought, hell, let them get their own damn blog if they need a platform for their insanity. The blog is for my insanity. So I took down the hateful and insulting comments and said, “no more.” There’s enough toxicity out there (and sometimes in my blog) without giving some ass-clown a free venue. One of them (who comments more than any of the others) was claiming to be one of my ex’s new husbands [they’re very modern and have one of those three-way things. to each his own (+1)]. There was a lot of “he’s mine now.” So I ended up texting the ex and saying “Look if this is one of them, it stops now, understand?” This lead to a nasty exchange where I said some things I regret. I then sent him a text saying, “I’m sorry for the mean things I said. I won’t bother you any more.” It wasn’t till another one of my friends sent me a text saying that, after six years, he got a text from Adam saying, “Jeff just can’t except that it’s over” that I realized how misdirected my poor broken blackbird is. That’s so sad (not to mention delusional). I’m delighted it’s over. I just want my frickin’ money. But the Klan will erect a statue to Malcolm X before that happens. As my friend Mary Stancavage says: “Oh well.”

Lord, how did I get off on all that? Oh yeah! Because of the poison comments on the blog that I spare y’all of. You see, I get an email when someone posts a comment for the first time asking me to approve it. Once I get sick of someone’s shit and deny them, they’ll often set up a new email address just to come in from a different route. My God! All that trouble just to sling hate at me. I must be very important in their eyes. Anyway, one of the latest (I think it’s from this guy who had a lover to commit suicide) sent his comment from “” “Jeff lies?!” I mean I don’t know how I could be more truthful. I don’t know anyone who’s more truthful than me. Most people wish I wouldn’t be as truthful as I am– especially the people who’ve shat on me in the past. Anne Lamott said it best, “You own everything that happened to you. Tell your stories. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should have behaved better.”

Okay, now on to more important things. The blog I can write at night but I just can’t start working on the scripts after running around and doing all the other things that need to (and some that don’t need to) get done in the day. The gym and the errands are going to have to get pushed behind script work. There’s also the “business” side of show business that involves reaching out and networking and finding out who’s doing what and who’s looking for what and, of course, where the money is. My new vision for the foundation (Mehadi Foundation) is that in addition to teaching pure peer support techniques, we also provide internships (with stipend) for veterans who’ve served since September 11, 2001, inside the production process so that a couple of years down the road, I’ll have a huge pool of post-911 vets from which to hire for each new production. The entertainment industry can provide veterans with a lot that other types of work lack. And the vets have a skill set that is tailor-made for the “make it happen no matter what” world of theatre, concerts, film, and TV. But first I have to write. So tomorrow morning, after a period of prayer and meditation (a must), I’ll start back to work on the revisions for Lilac and Liquor. Yes, I did work on it today but only after I had given a lot of my physical and emotional energy away. That’s no bueno. Plus, the idea I had for the revision– the one major change– doesn’t seem to work after all now that I’ve tried it. Ernest Hemingway said, “The only kind of writing is rewriting.” I’d like to shoot him for saying it but he beat me to it (too soon?) — and he’s right. Sometimes the rewriting just comes a lot easier than it does at other times.

Okay, just when I typed that last sentence I realized what I did wrong today. I’ve often said this phrase: “My Spiritual Practice is inextricably connected to my Art.” If that is true, the one thing I forgot to do when I launched into the rewrite today is ask for help– from the Creator, from Mom, Dad, my ancestors, my Ascended Masters, Jesus. I didn’t ask for help from anybody. That’s especially ironic given the nature of this particular play.

Lilac and Liquor is the story of the writing of itself.  And I actually believe Tennessee Williams helped me write it. (I know you’re dialing up the men in the white coats now, aren’t you?) I  wrote most of it four years ago and then, as I am wont to do, let is sit unloved and unnoticed in my computer for a long time. How shitty to give birth to something and then just leave it to die under a rock. Anyway, yeah, the story of the writing of itself. It’s a meditation on PTSD and the creative process. I think it’s very good. Although it was my intention to write a play– well, wait a minute, I have long maintained that I “channeled” this play and that it didn’t originate in my ego so I probably should say that while I was typing what I was hearing, I realized that the play might also be a work that was good to read as well. (Some plays really are only good when they’re performed.) But now I’m thinking that this might be a play that has to be seen. I can imagine that it might get kind of confusing to someone who was reading it for the first time.

I care deeply about this work and about the veterans and non-veterans who are affected by Post Traumatic Stress. I think this play can help people so I really do have to keep pushing through this rough patch. Thanks to those of you who messaged me today and asked if I was working on it. It really did help! Keep it coming. There’s one thing I know about myself (and I told the Kind Fisherman this on our first date)– I’m the sort of guy who thrives under praise. If you are spotting me at the gym and you say, “Come on, I don’t believe you can do it, prove me wrong,” my body will agree with you– even if it’s a weight that’s under my max a little bit. But if my heart thinks you’re on my side and you say, “I know you can do this, come on I believe in you,” I will lift a dump-truck to prove that your love and support wasn’t unfounded. Judge me if you like, I’m just being honest.

Thanks for hanging in their with me through not only the struggles with the work, but also through my grieving process around Mom. This, the most horrible thing that has ever happened to me, has helped me realized how many incredible, loving people are out there pulling for me. As for the ones who just see fit to kick a man while he’s down by hurling cruelty from the dark anonymity of the Internet, well, for them I pray that they can get what they need to be truly happy in life. As Mamma always said to me, “You never really build yourself up by tearing other people down.” I forget her wise words sometimes. I need to better on that account.

See y’all tomorrow.

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