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Posted: October 28, 2015 in Writing Books


More later. First, nice music, beautiful picture.Image



Posted: October 13, 2012 in Writing Books

Posted: October 13, 2012 in Writing Books

I adore futurists. They have the finest minds. Then again, I was so sure in 1969, and it all turned out, to my utter regret, so different. It neither pays to be an optimist nor a cynic. Just5 be here now.

Just brings back the unexpected city in my soul..

Longunderwearman's Blog


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Protected: Too great these losses

Posted: October 12, 2012 in familyfamily and friendsWriting Books
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English: A living statue in Miami Beach, Flori...English: A living statue in Miami Beach, Florida. Français : Une femme statue à Miami Beach, en Floride. Español: Una mujer estatua en Miami Beach, Florida. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)


It just seems to be that kind of year. Great turnarounds, large losses. Great pains of the deep flesh of the heart. Ernie’s death showed me I could form that kind of maternal love I thought forget it, that’s ugh not evere me but with him and his souls through his eyes…..

Then the DUI and all that loss of self respect as if having a nervous breakdown in perfecto LA isn’t bad enough unless you’re someone trending. I got THEM in the end, whomever the f they be. I wrote all about it blogged
about it facebooked about it,even spent days and nights not eating jeez turning 60 next year nonono I’ve got to prove something to someone so I learned social media marketing an author who can write an APP now so driven as depressed as I was now off the drugs…the loss

Yesterday we boarded the plane, Brian and I, me in a royal piss of a mood I mean, after all, 12 years without a vacation and now to the north poor section of Miami beach to see her. And it would be like all the other trips. She would be all over me and I would be nice, she’s so old but did I tell you that she was a sadist and he opted out of the fight so I was the only little pawn in an insane game of twist the gifted child?

I stayed up all night on my new I pad a gem. Brian had to feed me breakfast like a child or a drunk because they were really good waffles with sausages and I kept falling asleep on the plate. ( I mean, so what she’s 98?) We didn’t get there until seven. Max, my normally slow and soft stepfather seemed more at the plate ready to bat and not that sniffly and she was Distant. Said strange things, blamed it on her hearing, and when I went in for the kill as my therapist and editor has bullied me into for the honor of the memoir writer, ah, god, I was too late.

She brought out photos of my youth and I told her to put them away. She asked where had her smiling girl gone and I said that girl was a drug addict on Xanax and joints. I started to cry, everyone else got silent and she went to get me some DOLLS.

Nonono,,, all I wanted was my mommy back not really but to see one more glimpse of her mind.
Yes, it has been a year of loss. At my age, I suppose it will get worse and this dull ache will in my stomach walls will sign a lease soon, Still, the IPad is lovely.


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Coming soon. His poem, on another

Computer or in my heart a better one


(Excerpt from: LIVING UNDER THE INFLUENCE by Roberta Morgan)


It is very hard for me to write this now.

He became my son, and I always told him he was my real little boy, that I had given birth to him, that I always dreamed of having a little boy with red hair named Justin, but it turned out to be Ernest Scott, named after Hemingway and Fitzgerald.  I figured it couldn’t hurt my own skills to have such a handsome prince with those names at my feet.

I was at The Key West Theatre Festival.  Without going into too much tour guide shit, Key West is a totally different place than Miami; you get to it via one straight road which at one point is only road over water.  Takes about four hours.  Key West boasted several thousand people before Miami was even settled and stood with the North during the Civil War. A hang-out for artists in general, both Ernest Hemingway and Tennessee Williams owned houses there.

Most people drink way too much, but it would be a blast to be alive and kickin’ in Key West.

The Key West Theater Fest is ten days long and features plays from groups all up and down the other Keys, like Islamorada, Key Largo, etc.   That year they were almost all, down to the last act of the last play, bad.

But some local society had decided to give me an award for critical writing in poor Mr. Hemingway’s name and some other mixed-up person believed a polydactyl came with it, though that was in debate.

Hemingway had 68 or so polydactyls there, but in reality they were not kept in Key West; I believe he kept them in Cuba, and they only changed the myth to spark Key West tourism and of course, any mention of Castro’s Kingdom was forbidden.

Polydactyls are cats with more than the usual number of toes on each paw.  Some can actually hold pens and scribble.  I was in a room with a bunch of them, but had no intention of bringing a pet (which Brian would never like) four hours home in the pouring rain.

I’ve told this story a million times and now my eyes tear up.

Just as I was about to offer my apologies and I think they were about to withdraw the offer, from behind the couch comes an orange tabby, highly alert, a bit bigger than the other kittens.

He looks right at me and with that telepathy we had for 20 years, says, “Mom! I thought you’d never come.”

Oh, he’s from the street, one of the women says.  He doesn’t have extra toes.  A stray that climbed the wall.  Going to the pound tomorrow.

And I thought.  Where he’ll be put to death.

The cat, who I’ve already named Ernie, grabs my ankle, looks up at me and mind melds: “Did you hear that shit?”

He never complained.  For the whole drive.  I didn’t know to give him water.  I got litter and box, food dish, water bowl, Iams. Guy at the Pet Shop told me. Basic kitty kit. When we got home, he drank and drank and peed, then took a shit.  He clawed the wall to cover it, as if somehow the litter was in the sky.  What did he know? He had been raised an outdoor cat.  And he never learned.  We never cared.

He walked around our fantastic apartment, with a view over the Intercoastal spotted with small Islands all the way to Miami. He covered every room, every corner.  When he was done, he came up to me and rubbed against my legs.  He approved.  That night, he slept under my armpit, and my insomnia went away.

The next day Brian called and I told him the news.  He said we didn’t need a cat.  After all he’d put me through, I had enough.  Besides, I’d found a new love.

“It’s you or the cat for me,” I said.  “So don’t come home if you won’t love him.”

“Well, I won’t love him, certainly.”

The irony of the things we say in life.  Although when they first met, it wasn’t love at first sight.  Ernie and I had been living as husband and wife for ten days.  Then this lunk appears and ignores him with a bad attitude to boot.  Ernie scratched his suitcase.  Brian yelled at him two days later for bending one of his precious medical textbooks.

I don’t know when the change occurred.  But felines rule in a subtle way, and eventually they steal your heart.

Ernie held the page open for my mother’s prayers when my father died.  Ernie needed a pride to rule so we ended up with six cats.  Ernie had a book written about him, and several portraits done of him.  He was smart and feisty, and no cat challenged him.  He cleared the walkway of our complex in California when we took him out.  Ernie ruled by virtue of his confidence and intellect.  He never lost either; well, maybe the former, when he was trying any kind of food to stay with us just one more day.

His only problem was that he was an outdoor cat, and that was not convenient or safe, so in Miami he was confined indoors and made himself quite vocal about it.  In Los Angeles, we had a little garden, so we could take some of them out and watch they didn’t climb the wall.  He did escape one or two times, but we always managed to find him, hearts pounding with true fear.

In this house where I write, Horror House I call it, he finally had his own garden with a pool and he loved it.  He wasn’t allowed out on his own, because it was coyote country, but he got a good hour or two playing, exercising, taking toys out and having fun until he chose to go inside and nap.

He became so affectionate in his older age, and strangely enough, adoring of Brian.  The feeling was mutual.  They’d cuddle up and nudge each other.  He would sleep next to Brian, with his head on the same pillow.

That last week, when Ernie weighed nothing and it hurt to look at him, Brian said to me: “I don’t want to leave for work, because I’m afraid I’ll never see my dear little chap again.”

Well, he didn’t, but I know one thing.  Whenever I regret leaving New York, I realize that if we hadn’t gone to Miami, I would never have had a son named Ernest Scott Morgan.

Are you out there?

Can you hear me?

Can you see me in the dark?

Had the strangest conversation this conversation this morning. Now, first of all, everywhere I talk about my book, I refer to metaphysics but I guess some people have no clue that such studies in general look for clues and metaphors, even practices like meditation and visualizaton, in the world’s religions.  Where these religions have common ground often sprouts a guide to sparking the Higher Self—or if you must–the God in yourself.  As my teacher David once said, “Man made God in his own image.”

As for the King James Jesus, he would have had severe skin cancer wandering around that desert with blonde hair and blue eyes!

So to this morning. I cannot possibly do justice to my book LIVING UNDER THE INFLUENCE, and at the same time build a strong social media platform so that you guys, you friends, whom I started as a child writing for anyway can hear about it and know where to get it.  Finally, I think I’ve found this person, and I won’t mention her name because psych’s may come and get her.

It’s so oxymoronic, with an accent on the moronic.  This woman know social media marketing and technology so thoroughly, I am mesmerized.  I know just enough to adore her wisdom. Ready to hire her at a reasonable but handsome cost. After all, I didn’t get a wink all weekend.

Then she stops. “Did you say you believed Jesus was a symbol?”

Don’t remember, but…. “I meant, a metaphor, what he said.”

Her tone is harsh now, like all extremists.  “Because He is my Lord and Saviour, because we are all born with original sin and he lifts us up and cleanses up….haven’t you accepted Jesus?”

“Uh, yeah,” I say. He’s around inside here somewhere, getting nauseous about you/

Guess I didn’t find her after all.  Again I wonder, as with doctors. How can one be so evolved on one end, and so encased with fear on the other they won’t let an active spiritual behavior tae the place of rituals ad fairy tales? Why can’t they move God a few inches, from outside the epidermis to inside the derms?

In that spirit, and for my heritage in the coming High Holy Days, brought back to me by my very spiritual but not so religious Israeli friends

A TIME FOR REFLECTIONSeptember 9th – September 15th, 2012

72 Name of the Week
Vav Chet Yud


I concentrate on these letters and ask the Light to show me where I can make improvements on myself.

Reactive behavior, my ego, all negativity—I want it out.

I will push it away and pay attention to the circumstances around me.

I’ll spend each day spreading Light and joy in the world, sharing with those around me.

The most powerful time of the year to reflect upon our spiritual work is in these days leading up to the connection of Rosh Hashanah.Rosh Hashanah is the metaphysical seed of the year; not just a High Holiday but more importantly a window where we can go to the essence of it all, before the Creation of this world, of our souls; before time, space and karma. It’s a 48 hour period where the consciousness we have will determine our reality for the next year to come… individually and collectively.

To prepare for this great injection of Light that is on its way to each of us, we need to use the coming days to look back on our year and take serious inventory.

To ask questions like: What did I say I was going to do this year but I didn’t? What was I reactive about? Where could I have pushed myself to do more, to be more, to share more? How could I have been a better friend, spouse, parent, teacher, student?

I find it helps to make a list. Then, I picture how much more awesome my year would have been if I had done things differently—and finally, I make a vow to change.

This concept of spiritual repentance is called teshuvah. It’s probably something each of us should be doing at least once a week, but it’s particularly powerful in these days before Rosh Hashanah. The inventory we take of our negativity now and our commitment to change it, can determine the new person we will become in the next year.

It’s important to see what we’ve lost because of our own fears, limitations and selfishness—not so we beat ourselves up or feel bad but so that we can be inspired to change! In order to transform our negativity, we first have to really see it for all that it is and all it has cost us.

The wars in our life are always against internal enemies, never external people. Repentance assists us in finding the real enemy so we can battle it head on.

Let’s find some time to reflect this week and decide what changes we’re committed to making in the coming year.

“Rosh Hashanah can indeed act as a spiritual insurance policy for the entire year. We wish each other Happy New Year but will succeed in this effort only if we mean it and make it happen. Our lives depend on these two days of Rosh Hashanah.” – Rav Berg

All the best,


P.S. I think they charge too much to teach, but they are good, and after all, Madonna went there. LOL.

* For further preparation of Rosh Hashanah, watch Yehuda’s new class on Forgiveness now available on

Plus, get a deeper Kabbalistic understanding of Rosh Hashanah at