I wasn’t connecting with the women I was meeting in Los Angeles and “Devil’s Eggs” seemed like the most hilarious thing I could do to amuse myself, short of starting my own band.
Quite simply, it’s the book I began to write about women who perform live, dressed as birds. And that’s all I’m going to reveal until I’ve gotten my poor man’s copyright back in the post.
I had been looking for women in literature who could satisfy my need to learn from the kind of women who would want to perform live, dressed as gorgeous birds and singing about revolution. It seemed such a primitive concept, easy to identify with and obviously poetic. I needed the women to be completely, erotically female, frighteningly alive yet “patriarchally” devoted to changing the world. They had to be fun too. And hyper-mischievous. The kind of women you could never, ever expect anything from. They had to love men too. Absolutely worship men (yes, as much as they worshipped themselves). Their actions always needed to come from a desire to reinvent feminism, to treat all forms of life as sacred and to live progressively in the “now” (“now” being defined as the greatest information age – because isn’t the “now” always the greatest information age ever? Unless, of course, the world goes backwards?).
In an almost idiotic, pop-culture way, I needed some “around the way” girls (albeit “witchier” than LL Cool J’s) who could do the kinds of things only men or cartoon characters seem to do. Like noodling on par with Jimmy Page, Steve Vai or Joe Satriani. Like Harold Lloyd in those silent films where he’s REALLY hanging off the clock a million miles above the sidewalk (never seen a woman yet who could nonchalantly do those things). Or astral projecting herself into past, present and future as the need arose. Or being able to either stop the aging process or to grow more fecund and sexual the older she got. My women had to be able to do these things because they felt like it. And have it be no big deal.
So I invented them. The thing that I loved about these women is that they kidded the Devil. He was their guy. Their muse. He could be their patriarch because they didn’t believe in the Devil the way that Western religions believe in the Devil. In the most drunkenly joyful way they expressed themselves best when putting all their musical and intellectual “eggs” in the Devil’s basket.
My “around the way girls” weren’t Satanists. They didn’t believe in the guy. But they loved the Devil nonetheless. They had the best time ever worshipping “sin”.
More on that later…
