Kevin Spacey assassinates the memory of Gore Vidal

The assholes who castigated Madame back in 2006-08 for daring to suggest that Sir Kevin Spacey might be not quite the unblemished cultural icon of cine-lore - well, where are they now? In a post-blogging world, the word-skimmers have moved on, probably to Anita Brookner's novels. Boo hoo!

But it is Gore Vidal we should think of today - even in his long-gone mode, cinema continues to blight him as it did in life. He wrote much of Ben Hur yet somehow didn't make the credits. Myra Breckinridge - oh dear, Raquel Welch was never going to make the crossovers from biological female to literary trans-female to movie faux male with dildo unleashed: a turkey. And who can forget Gore Vidal's Caligula which became just Caligula after a porno director was hauled aboard by Bob Guccione, and suddenly the likes of Helen Mirren and Peter O'Toole were wet-lip pouting for the toga'd money shots. Gore left in a huff.

And now again! Sir Kevin was due to play Gore in biopic movie Gore. Netflix has canned it because of all the Spacey cock-cocking stuff. I hadn't realised that the movie was in post-production: in other words, it's actually made. This is most tantalising. And very Vidalian. There Gore is, in sight of cinematic glory, and then ... well, what happened?

For the memory of Gore Vidal this is a disaster. Sadly his books alone will be insufficient to propel him for eternity. Myra reads like a period novel these days, the US history novels are too commercial, Creation is, well, forget it; and the essays, though gorgeous, are no more than intellectual disco. The Spacey movie, however, held much promise: because Spacey was a two Oscar-winning god, assured posthumous celebration while movies still matter, his legend would scoop up so-so Vidal into a timeless oeuvre, fascinating whole new publics who'd scarcely read a word of his. Vidal was far too clever to be truly popular and not quite gifted enough to find a foothold on our souls.The quotable quote anthologies will do their best to keep him among our footnotes. Spacey was the essential preservative, now spoilt.

Even in his addled state Truman Capote could make the killer point about his enemies, as he did on Vidal: "See, Gore has literally never written a masterpiece. Now, even J.D. Salinger has written a masterpiece of a kind. Flannery O'Connor wrote a masterpiece or two. Hemingway did. Faulkner did. Scott Fitzgerald did. Norman [Mailer] never has. We could go on and on, but he has not done the one essential thing: he has not written an un-forgettable book or a book that was the turning point in either his or anybody else's life."

A Kevin Spacey ex-sister-in-law writes ....

Stephanie, a former sister-in-law of actor Kevin Spacey (the last ex-wife of Randy Fowler), has written to Arcati, I think in response to some reader comments on my interview with Randy. I am putting up her letter unedited:

First, Randy is a loving, giving man. His eccentricities are his emblem..he isn't perfect but he has come a long way in his painstaking journey..there is an omnificent, yet humble glow that surrounds him...That is who Randy is. Randy gives his all to anyone that he feels can benefit from his past ghosts..

Having met Kevin, I can affirm that he feels superior in many ways to his sister and brother and he shields himself so well as a character actor.. I am an artist and I too can express myself in my paintings..This is what Kevin does...Randy was my muse when we were married. He is creative, patient and kind and yes, flamboyant.that is what I love about him..now if his brother can't express any feelings towards his blood brother than I believe it is because he immerses himself in his roles, so to avoid the truth..

We all have skeletons..It is where we take them, that defines who we are..I think it was brave of Randy to reveal what I myself was privy to for many years..I feel sad that Kevin is so cold ...

I believe that Randy is equally if more talented than his brother...he is reaching out by writing this book to "victims" and hopefully preventing the unspeakable acts that were perpetuated on him..that is Randy's true purpose. I am sure of this as sure as the veracity of Randy's painstaking chronicle...walk in someone else's shoes before judging them...I have...some first hand insight from his(last)ex-wife...

Stephanie

See below for my interview with Randy Fowler and a link to his website.

Spiritualism today: 'I was mugged by a medium'

You don't expect to be mugged in a place of religious practice or contemplation. Especially not at the top-end premises of the Spiritualist Association of Great Britain, set amid the standard piste-white of London Belgravia's many CCTV-protected embassies [it has since moved to the Victoria area]. No one karate-chopped me and made off with my wallet. And the SAGB itself wasn't to blame.

But I was taken for a mug, by a fraudulent medium and her 3,000-year-old "spirit guide", and left £45 the poorer.

So this is what happened. On a whim I'd decided to attend one of the SAGB's weekday afternoon demonstrations of clairvoyance. I can't remember the name of the guest medium but the chairperson sticks in my mind, a theatrical man draped in long silky robes, his head crowned with a fez. Sort of Lawrence of Arabia meets Tommy Cooper meets ... Madame Arcati.

A small congregation had assembled in the pretty ground floor chapel: tourists, mother-daughter couples, lone males at the sides and back, a lone American woman (who'd laden the two chairs flanking her with bags and books), other single females dotted here and there, and two extremely old, chicly dressed Arab women at the front in their silky Hermes scarves (perhaps slumming it after cappuccinos at Harrods, just round the corner).

In fairness, the guest medium's messages were "evidential" - that is to say, she received positive responses from the individuals she came to with memories from the other side. This is not always the case. Today, the medium was on a roll. She was a feisty one, brisk and light-hearted, not shy to pass on some sharp criticism from astral loved-ones. Such mediums give Spiritualism a good name in that it is not easy to dismiss what they say as cold or body reading.

Then she came to me. She said a lot, some of it evidential, but in essence her message was "pull your socks up". I could live with that. It was fair given the personal detail she came up with. But once the demonstration was over a woman in the congregation approached me with a distressed look on her face. "Oh you poor thing," she said, gently gripping my arm and establishing instant eye contact. "I thought she [the guest medium] was a bit harsh on you. There's much more I could tell you that's positive. I can see, you see. I'm a medium, too."

Perhaps I was feeling vulnerable but her psychic pity found its audience. I instantly felt that here was a person who might dish up some reassurance - from an authentic source of course. She gave me her name, Liz Leake [actual name], she described herself as a trance medium and she had things to tell me that I would find constructive. Not like that nasty harridan on the stage. Would I like a "consultation"? Yes, of course. We exchanged telephone numbers. And a few days later I made an appointment to see this woman at her home.

About a fortnight later I rang the door to a house in north London. Liz led me through a dingy corridor up to her studio flat. My instincts were on alert the moment she locked the door behind me and hid away the key on her person. My instant thought was: what if I wanted to leave now, would she let me?

Liz sat me down in an armchair in front of her queen-sized double bed and she took a standing position by the fireplace. She began by telling me how the spirit world had first come knocking in her life years back. One night she'd awoken in her sheets to find her bed on fire. She did not say what caused the fire; nor did I ask. Once she'd doused the flames (presumably with water) she formed the idea that the spirit world had rescued her from an untimely roasting by waking her up.

That was the sign; she had been "called". Since then she'd practised - or at least, advertised herself - as a medium.

Now Liz explained how she worked. Shortly, she said, she would pass into a state of trance and her "3,000-year-old" male Chinese spirit guide (I can't recall his name so let's call him Mr Yao) would take her over. I was to remain calm and simply respond to any questions he might ask. Then Liz closed her eyes and began to breathe deeply and rhythmically - after a minute or so she emitted a curious sound: "Ahhhhhhhhhhh."

"Ahhhhhhhhh, I am Mr Yao, please to stay calm…" These were the first words spoken by the Oriental spirit guide via Liz. Her voice had dropped an octave or two. "You old soul yourself," he continued, sounding not unlike Christopher Lee's fiendish Dr Fu Manchu. "Instrument (he meant Liz) cannot know what I will tell you ... "

In fact he was to tell me nothing I couldn't have read in any number of self-help books. He launched into a long lecture on reincarnation and the laws of cause and effect. All the while Liz's eyes remained shut. After about 20 minutes of this, Mr Yao's monologue was interrupted - by the telephone ringing on an adjacent side table.

"Should I answer it?" I asked. Liz looked a little perplexed. Eyes stayed shut. "It will stop ringing," replied Mr Yao prophetically, betraying a surprising familiarity with modern communication devices for a 3,000-year-old soul. But it did not stop ringing so I picked it up. "Hello," I began.

"Who is this?" barked the caller, a man.

"Um, er, I am having a sitting with Liz."

"A what?"

"A sitting. Er, may I ask who is calling?"

"What? Is she there? A sitting?"

"She is in a trance ... "

"Oh my God! Not that nonsense again. Put her on the phone now - this is her father!"

I placed a hand over the mouthpiece and whispered to Liz/Mr Yao: "It's your father - he sounds rather cross."

"Oh, uh, er …" For a moment Liz/Mr Yao didn't seem to know what to do. "Ahhhhhhhh," began Mr Yao, "please to tell caller that instrument is in trance."

I replied: "I have told Liz's father she's in a trance - I think you should talk to him."

At this Liz's eyes shot open and she silently took the phone from my hand. "Ahhhhh, this is Mr Yao," she said still in Oriental character, "instrument is in trance but she will call you back moment she returns." And then Mr Yao replaced the receiver. I'd heard garbled angry noises at the other end of the line.

Liz shut her eyes again and Mr Yao gave me a faint smile before continuing for another 10 minutes on the theme of reincarnation. "You have questions?" he asked me at the end. "No, no," I said, "I have to go, it's all been very interesting." Mr Yao offered to give a "health analysis" (declined), wished me a happy life and on that cue Liz regained control of her vocal cords and her modulated London accent.

Indeed, Liz's eyes may well have opened to the sight of my fishing out cash from my wallet. She did not appear embarrassed or in anyway offended by my obvious rush to get away - I did however mention en passant that her father had called. "Oh really," she said distractedly.

Now, you may wonder why I paid the £45 to such an obvious fraud. Am I a man or a mouse? Surely I could have simply insisted she unlock the door and let me out. Or even called the police. But it did occur to me, as she babbled on as Mr Yao, that she might accuse me of all sorts of things if the cops were called - such a delusional and dishonest person might be capable of any concoction. It felt safer just to cough up - and swallow my medicine, as it were.

Because in the end it was my fault that had I found myself in that low-rent bed-sit. I'd allowed myself to be hoodwinked for "reassurance" and "comfort". I didn't ask myself why a person would solicit my custom in a place of worship for personal gain, playing all the while on some perceived vulnerability in me.

So I decided I would "fine" myself £45. That sum was self-punishment for being such a desperate clot.

Randy Fowler and Stephanie Mastini write in

Randy Fowler has written to Madame Arcati wondering why the world's best blogger wishes to punish him ...

Dear Madame Arcati,

You really think I’m under the influence of something intoxicating and trying to curry favour with my brother on having different opinions on totally unrelated topics. The real world is not so black and white as you make it out to be.

I went back and reread the interview I did earlier this year. My answers were truthful and forthright. However some of the questions proposed to me were very condescending in their nature. For example: Question 12- Tell us something about Kevin the world doesn’t know. The question itself implies the answer wants some form of dirty gossip on him. Why?

Now, even though it pains you, ya, that’s believable !! You’re going to "severely punish me for my inconstancy and insincerity on my dramatic change of tune and generously regarding my brother". Once again my attempt to bring a little light to some silly poll on Kevin’s sexuality has failed.

Do you honestly think you can hurt me after the life I’ve lived dealing with my own child abuse, Oh my, I’m shaking in my snake skin boots. What puzzles me the most is why Madame Arcati is now lashing out at me for my own opinions. Does she do this to everyone who submits articles and comments to her web site that she doesn’t agree with?

I have noticed that many of Madame Arcati’s articles don’t receive the number of posted comments as when the articles she posts have the names of Randy Fowler, Stephanie Mastini and Kevin Spacey in them are USED. Sounds like "Sauce For The Goose" to me. I never realized how famous we all are in your tiny little world of blogs. Or maybe she just can’t stand Kevin Spacey, for what ever reasons she might have, and will say anything to fuel the fires of discontent and controversy.

Should I be flattered or surprised that Madame Arcati has now decided to spend so much time, energy and effort in her campaign to destroy me? She’s going to "unleash a fury he has only heard about hitherto in Greek tragedy". Tell me what I’m suppose to apologize for? A]-Telling the truth about my relationship with my brother as it stands today? B]-Bringing to light some of my brothers less than truthful answers to his past and his claiming of events from my life for his own? Those events and memories shaped the character I have become today. They belong to me, Don’t I have the right to defend my past?

What changed my life was to face who I am and where they came from. I have to live and deal with the scars of my own child abuse everyday. Unless you’ve lived it, how can talk about it?

C]- I wonder why the world is so fixated on Kevin’s sexuality? I know that this is not the apology Madame Arcati was hoping to receive from me. I’m still trying to figure The WHY part? This quote from one of your readers says it all. "Never apologize, it's a sign of weakness. "Buddy Ackerman" (played by Kevin Spacey) in "Swimming with sharks".

"Well, there it is"

Sincerely with love

Randy Fowler

Dear Randy,

Thank you Randy. Your fate rests with my global audience (though most of them don't know how to vote, sadly - thick bitches). MA x PS Oh, and Stephanie has written to Madame Arcati's and her addicted fans, too ...

Dear Dear, Claire, JP, Non,mastini, anonymist,anons, etc., etc.

Your ignonominousness comments have hit a brick wall...we are tired of the insidious, cut and paste, mental masturbation antics...Appropriately, Madame Defarge's "off with your head" cries apply here...your blogs emulate true abuse and typical behavior of jealous, psychologically fucked human beings...I am disgusted with all of your contemptuous non-mastini's)WE ARE TIRED OF YOUR SATIRICAL MASQUERADING..take off your masks!

..your personas are burnt out..This isn't about Kevin, it's about humanity and respect for the endurance of abusive from family (ironically fathers' abuse) Shakespeare sums up the worth of your statements (devoid of emotion..)

Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow; a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
--From Macbeth (V, v, 19)

Follow the yellow brick road and meet your maker..hopefully he will grant you the gift of a heart, but I sincerely doubt it.

Stephanie Mastini

Dear Stephanie,

Thank you darling. Do write more. I love it!

MA x

Kevin Spacey: innocent invitations

Published in 2006: nothing illegal claimed here; just an insight....


On November 20 2001 Kevin Spacey and Jude Law topped the bill along with Dame Judi Dench and Art Garfunkel at the Unite for the Future gala concert at London's Old Vic. Tickets, priced as much as £525, were sold out.

The event had been arranged at short notice by Sarah Farish, the wife of the US Ambassador William Farish, which went onto raise £400,000 for three causes united by the events of September 11th.

Guests included Chelsea Clinton, Bianca Jagger and Vanessa Redgrave.

On the morning of the concert Art Garfunkel arrived at around seven with his "people" and among them was a young, good-looking American man who worked for the singer whom we'll call X.

Kevin took an instant interest in X: his body language changed. After Garfunkel's entourage had unpacked, Spacey asked to be introduced to X. The actor focused on the young man as he does with others: it's a very powerful effect. Later that afternoon Spacey asked to be introduced to two male Eritrean jugglers. He didn't want to go up to them and say "Hi, I'm Kevin". He wanted to be introduced.

That evening the concert ended about 10.30 and the traditional high-spirited after-show party ensued.
Andrew Lloyd-Webber got pretty well pissed and at some point he sat at the piano and sang his old songs - it was all very jolly.

At the end of the evening Spacey joined Garfunkel and a few others and invited X to return with him to the Atheneaum - where they were all staying - for a drink and X readily agreed. In the early hours, as the small crowd milled about at the bar, Spacey said to X: "Do you want to have a nightcap?" He indicated he meant in his (Spacey's) room. X declined.

Towards morning after everyone had retired, Spacey found out X's room number and phoned him asking: "Are you sure you don't want a drink?"

X replied: "Quite sure, thank you".
c by Madame Arcati 2006

Kevin Spacey: 'His Mom said he was gay, sort of'

Kevin Spacey's former sister-in-law Stephanie Mastini has wriiten to Arcati with something more to say about her former brother-in-law ...

Mastini Art Sale

Happy belated birthday Madame, my computer is back but still not right.

I would like to comment on Kevin's statement regarding his pen-to-paper responses to ALL his mail ... that is a load of shit. He has not only not had the courtesy to reply to his brother's phone calls in the past, but he sends back every card Randy sends him. He has been doing this for years, even before Randy's literary retrospect of his life. He sends his mail back unopened ... CARDS wishing him well ... so, you may want to start bashing me but it is the truth.

As far as his sexuality: he is talented enough to have been able to create a character even in his real life. Randy and I knew he was gay over 17 years ago; his Mom is the one that told us at dinner in her round about way; we caught it. Believe me, I have nothing personal against the man. But I can't tolerate his coarse and aloof attitude to his family: I have been privy to many a phone call that Randy attempted to make to communicate with Kevin and he has never returned one, NEVER.

He may answer his fan mail but ... he prefers weiners ... you get the picture (not a homophobic remark, just facts) and put it to rest. You all read the news about his "attack" in a gay park at night ... enough said ... Kevin, I hope you didn't send Randy's creative and heartfelt card back this year ... he had it hand delivered to him Christmas time and it was "sent back" again unopened ... there is no excuse for that behavior.

Get off the stage Kevin, for a brief moment to acknowledge you are hurting your brother ... but I guess you don't care ... you are too busy answering your "fans".

Is this an example of a "weiner" as kindly demonstrated by footballer Cristiano Ronaldo? Arcati is soooo innocent. My thanks to Lemon Jizz whereat other images will be found.

Kevin Spacey inspires gay novel

I am intrigued to learn that writer Robin Tamblyn is helping to fund the Kevin Spacey lifestyle - or you might think so if you didn't know all the facts.

A little while ago Mr Tamblyn (who has a pet Venus Fly Trap called Kevin) wrote a very fine novel titled King of Hollywood that features a closeted Hollywood movie idol (btw, see Spencer Tracy below) - "He ruthlessly pursued success and soon captured an Academy Award, but could never win that most elusive of trophies - love," it says in the blurb.

In some, but not all respects, this hero's life appears to resemble certain characteristics of Spacey's - to such an extent that Tamblyn has felt it incumbent on himself to share in the proceeds from sales and send Spacey occasional cheques at the Old Vic.

Says Tamblyn, who says he's descended from Elizabethan spymaster Sir Francis Walsingham: "I send him half of the royalties I get for King of Hollywood (and one sixth of the royalties I get for Medium Everything: Collected Writings) in the form of a cheque made payable to the Old Vic Theatre Trust. The first one was for about £20 and I got a nice letter back from the development department saying: 'Thank you for your generous donation,' but since then they haven't been cashed. He doesn't send them back though, so I don't know what happens to 'em..."

Spacey should be proud to be the part-inspiration for Hollywood - a witty, fast-paced gay thriller that ends ... well, not as Spacey would wish for himself. If you want to buy a copy go to http://www.robintamblyn.com/ to start with.

What Elton said to Spacey

Due to a tech glitch this old post got lost so I am reposting ... so continue to send abusive comments, or otherwise ...

With Kevin Spacey in mind, my mind turns to a long conversation I had with a close associate of the actor (this is not a gay outing site, incidentally - it's just the new beige right now in Arcati-land).

Anyway, his associate - let's call him Quentin. I asked Quentin a simple question: Why is Spacey so bothered about being viewed as gay? This was the reply:

"I don't know. According to David Furnish, Elton John asked Kevin to a lunch or dinner party in the South of France. And Elton asked him direct about his sexuality and apparently Kevin got quite pretty cross and wouldn't answer the question.

"Elton said: 'Everyone knows you're a screaming queen, why don't you come clean?' and Kevin got very cross. It's partly to do with the way Hollywood works but it's also part of the matinee idol thing where he wants to be the leading man, and he's not. He would really have to be Johnny Depp .... "

Some point soon I will publish the entire conversation with Quentin on Spacey.

Randy Fowler: I don't exist to my bro Kevin Spacey

Randall (“Randy”) Fowler is the older brother of Hollywood star Kevin Spacey. Back in 2004, Randy told a British newspaper that as a child he was regularly raped by their father, Thomas, but that Spacey was spared. He also revealed that their father was obsessed with pornography, was anti-Semitic and a member of the American Nazi Party: no wonder Spacey took his mother’s maiden name in adulthood.

Asked about Spacey’s sexuality, Randy repeated his brother’s words to him: "I don't consider myself heterosexual, homosexual, or bisexual - just sexual."

Randy lives in Boise, Idaho, with his wife Trish. He agreed to do an email interview with me. I was interested to know where he was with his memoirs, about his life and thoughts today and about his relationship with Spacey – who still refuses to talk to him.

How are you today (please include any health ailments, emotional condition) as you write?

I have no health ailments and my emotional condition is very different from when I was growing up and most of my adult life, until I finally had the courage to have my biography written. Then everything changed in me and in my thought process - when I commissioned Jack Ewing to write my life story. I was not interested in painting myself out to be some prince charming. I wanted to tell the awful and painful truth about child abuse and how it spun my life on a path of complete emotional chaos and a life filled mostly with regrets about the choices I had made.

However, something miraculous happened to me while I was constructing the digital picture timeline of the book, which contained over 25,000 photos, documents and memorabilia. The patterns of my life started to emerge before my eyes. It was very painful to see all the bad decisions I made during my life. While narrating the contents of the story to tape for the writer, it was the hardest thing I ever did. Articulating my thoughts and truth was like regurgitating a poison from my mind and soul, which completely changed me.

I don’t recommend this form of therapy to victims of child abuse. It takes too many years to sort out. I recommend telling someone you can trust, immediately. Don’t let these “creatures” continue their sick lifestyle, [preying] on innocent children, who want nothing but to be loved.

Describe Boise briefly – would you want to live elsewhere? Does it have scenery? - what can you see from your windows?

Boise is known as “the city of trees”. It’s very beautiful, and we are surrounded by mountains, and the climate is quite mild compared to other places I’ve lived.

I haven’t considered living anywhere else. Boise is my home and I love the people here. We live in a condominium near the Boise River, with access to the Boise Green Belt walking path.

The world knows you as Kevin Spacey’s brother. Do you realize you’re famous – do you get fan mail?

Famous is a not a word I’d use. I have no ego attached to who I am or what I may represent to other people. When I wake up each morning and look in the mirror, I always laugh at myself. The people in Idaho treat me like a movie star, but I don’t treat them as if I’m a movie star. I always give everyone I meet the time and love I would want when I meet someone for the first time. I’m just a regular guy, I work, pay my bills, just like everybody else.

As far as everyone knowing me as Kevin Spacey’s brother, I never really tell people that. They hear it or already know it. I’ve never tried to ride on my brother’s coat-tails. I’m my own person. Now you ask, if that’s true: "Why is your brother’s photo on [the cover of] your book, and you have a website called www.spaceysbrother.com?" Good question, here’s my answer.

I had this book written for my own healing purposes and as a help book for other sexually abused people. There is healing, hope, redemption and resolution to this terrible crime perpetrated [on] our kids.

In this media crazy world, who’s going to read a book about child abuse without a “hook”? I can’t help who my brother is. He’s very fortunate that he didn’t have to go through what I did as a child growing up. If he had, he may not have turned out to be the great actor and movie star he is today.

You can’t run from the past and where you came from forever. In the end it will literally eat you up from the inside out, and leave you completely empty inside with no feelings toward the people that should matter: family, friends and relationships.

As far as “fan mail”, I do receive a number of e-mails each day from visitors to the website, and I answer each and every one. I am a very accessible person.

You’ve written a book (Spacey’s Brother: Out of the Closet) about your life and Kevin? Will it be published or self-published?

This book is not about Kevin. He’s a very minor character in the book, just like in my real life. There are around a thousand personal and family photos throughout the book to support the narrative. This book deals with the after-effects of child abuse and the dangers of living in silence. We are currently shopping for a publisher. I would love to have a publisher from the United Kingdom.

You told the Mail on Sunday quite a lot about your father who sexually abused you. Does this still haunt you or has the memory receded?

What I told the Mail on Sunday was just the tip of the iceberg of my painful childhood. Only those who have been sexually abused can truly know the full impact of this crime. How can someone who supposedly loves you do this to a young child? These child molesters live in their own little world with no regard [to] or regret about what they do to children. They are incurable and need to be locked up and tagged like an animal. Children that are abused are scared on many levels. They make decisions based on feelings not facts, which will inevitably get them into trouble with the choices they make.

Many abused people deal with it by not dealing with it at all. They bury their feelings deep within their subconscious mind and hope they will just forget about it. This is a very dangerous path to take and it will come back to haunt them eventually.

I was one of the lucky ones, because I embraced what happened to me and spent the greater part of my life searching for the answers to this horrible puzzle that haunted my emotional state of mind. I could have ended up a criminal, alcoholic, or even worse, dead.

After thirty-five years of searching for the truth, I am finally at peace with myself and who I have become today. The Randy of my youth doesn’t even exist anymore. It’s just a distant memory of someone else dead and gone. I have no regrets or bitterness toward my parents or family.

What disappoints me the most is not having a relationship with my brother and sister, no matter how hard I’ve tried to reach out to them throughout the years. They want nothing to do with me. In their solar system I don’t even exist!

Some media have been rude about you ... what's your response to this?

I knew from the beginning, having this book written, the media was going to manipulate the truth, print partial quotes and outright lies about me. The media’s only concern is to sell tabloids. I guess they feel printing the truth isn’t what’s important. Don’t they realize that the truth is far more interesting than fiction?

For example, I had the news media hiding out in the bushes where I live, taking photos of me. A week later they would show up in tabloids with a full-page article. They made it appear that I invited them into my home for an interview. I’ve had to grow a tough layer of skin when it comes to dealing with the media. In the end the whole truth will come out about this book.

Has Kevin ever got in touch with you about the book?

No, the only time he has called me in the last twenty-six years is if someone dies in our family. He never calls just to say hi to his brother.

Did you receive a Christmas card this year from him? Did you send him
one?

I’ve sent him a Christmas card and birthday card every year for the last twenty-seven years. I’ve never got a card in return from him ever. The Christmas card I sent to him this year was returned to me. On the envelope was written: “Return to sender, person not known at this address” and was handwritten. There was also a white label pasted over his name. This is something I’ve never seen a post office do. Maybe things are done differently in the UK.

What’s your principal job? In pictures you look like you’d make a great entertainer.

I was a professional drummer for over thirty years and played in forty-one states and two countries. I retired when I decided to have my biography written. I’m now a full-time limousine chauffeur in Boise Idaho. I work for “Boise Limousine Service”. I’m the most flamboyant chauffeur in town. With my Rod Stewart looks and flashy clothes I get many clients who request me to drive them for their special occasion. I’m very fortunate to be so popular in town. I love my job even more than drumming. I always get to meet new and interesting people.

Do you believe in God, intelligent design, nothing? Creationism is making a comeback in the States ….

Oh no, the “God” Question! No matter how I answer it, either half the people will agree or disagree with me, and the other half will be offended. I guess all I can say is I’m currently not playing church. it seems to be a place where people come to compare wardrobes in multi-million dollar buildings. I think if Christ came back today he would be very disappointed with his flock. We have forgotten the essence of what he was trying to say. Love and take care of each other.

Have you ever visited London?

Yes, our family visited London once in December of 1973 for two weeks, regardless of what you’ve read in the media. I would love to visit London again. I have a very good friend who lives in Exeter, Devon.

Tell us something about Kevin the world doesn’t know.

I know plenty of things about Kevin Spacey the world doesn’t know. I didn’t do this interview to upset him in anyway, or have him never want to contact me! My only hope is that a London publisher will find me to be just as interesting as my brother and a bit more revealing about my personal life and my past.

I will continue to reach out to him as long as I live. It doesn’t really matter what we do during the day, what’s important at the end of the day is our relationship with family.

What’s your view of him as an actor? Do you see his movies?

He’s one of our generation's most accomplished actors. Kevin received two Academy Awards at such a young age. Only one word comes to mind to describe his acting ability, “brilliant”.

I’m so very proud of him and what he has done as an actor. I’ve seen everything he has ever done at least once out of respect to him. I also have his complete TV and movie collection on tape, plus thousands of photos and memorabilia of him over the last twenty-seven years.

Have you ever thought to act?

Yes I have. Do you know anybody that would hire me? Call me, we’ll do lunch. I’m always up for new challenges in my life. I’ve always been a risk-taker.

One of my friends once told me, “The best actor in your family is still
up for grabs”.

Whom do love most in the world?

That’s easy, “Trish my Dish“, my wife of thirteen years. I’m just as much in love with her as the day we met. She’s helped save me from a life of repeating the same mistakes I made with my first three wives. Yes, three wives in ten years while I was pursuing my obsession with drumming.

There once was a time when things were so very hard for us, especially watching my brother’s rise to fame. We struggled just to eat. But I’ve looked at myself and my brother in a whole new perspective since my biography was finished. Doing this book was a cleansing process for my soul.

Have you ever had your future foretold?

No I haven’t, what would be the point? To have someone else dictate my future seems like a cowardly thing to do. I’ll make my own future with good decisions based on facts.

Do you have a recurring image of your childhood?

Of course I do, I haven’t had a lobotomy! My recurring image is not of me, but of all the other children that are being sexual abused in the world. This is why I had this book written. When it finally gets published I plan to travel around the country and speak to middle school kids about child abuse. Kids like me and seem to listen to me, because I don’t look or act like their parents.

Abused children hide their pain and feelings quite well, and are not easily
persuaded to trust someone with their terrible secret. They are frightened of what might happen to them if someone finds out what’s going on in their lives. They live with their “secret pain” as it begins to destroy their very soul. Their lives begin to take a path of dangerous consequences.

My advice to an [abused] child is to tell someone. Fink, tattle, rat, scream and
shout at the top of your voice until someone notices you. The consequences of doing nothing allows the perpetrator to continue his abuse, and go unpunished.

I wish I had done this thirty-six years ago. My life could have turned out differently. I was scared and didn’t know I had any options. There was no one to talk to or trust.

What did you have for breakfast this morning?

I had my usually breakfast, a cup of coffee with a Baily’s back. ..“Well, there it is“...

Visit Randy's site via this LINK - it features a sample chapter from his memoirs.

The BBC's Simon McCoy: what to do with this scamp!

I see that at long last the increasingly sclerotic Daily Mail has awoken to the BBC peril called Simon McCoy. Ninety-nine percent of you reading this will be thinking 'Simon who?' but never mind about that. He's a presenter on BBC News (Channel 231 on Freeview - I do cheap dearies). Simon presents a credibly serious face for deaths, economic stats and terrorism. Then, suddenly (following news of an assassination or a beached whale) the eyebrows quiver and lift as he giggle-pauses his way through a non-serious item, such as an arts or doggy story or anything starring Boris Johnson or the Windsors. He does snigger a lot in the old Dennis The Menace comic way, joshes the artist-cum-Atlantic-depression-correspondent Tomasz Schafernake (btw, a brilliant photographic portraitist - cute little bastard) and toys naughtily with sports hacks who just want to tell us about Leyton Orient. If Simon wishes to sue over the use of "toys naughtily", I'll see you in court.

Fellow presenter Jane Hill (who fancies herself as a film and fashion critic) always pulls pained expressions if they're on together. The things she cannot say to preserve the illusion of worldly tolerance!

Simon needs to lose about three stone and even more of ego: but let's not body-shame the poppet. School boy smirking is a hallmark as is peering down at his desk prior to another irony. At least one misery-guts weatherman appears to be irritated by the handover banter. Simon needs modern hair restyling. The suit - it must be better tailored. Let's deal with the 'peril'.

The Mail today reported his sarcasm about the latest royal unborn sprog in Kate's womb. Fancy picking on a lickle foetus. Appalling. He doesn't think news of a royal birth time is news - and actually he's quite right.

But is he briefed to allow his personal tastes to colour the news tone?

Lately, he's started calling his segment 'Afternoon Live' (AL), which perhaps is his answer to Saturday Night Live. We are now witness to an attempted Caesarian of a news 'personality' in the Reginald Bosanquet tradition. So, once upon a time, earnest people in business suits stood in front of graphs and told us that the FTSE ("footsie") was down a point or two. Now they sit at a desk a la Kenneth Williams to Simon's Joan Rivers and relate the stocks and shares theatrics in a chuckly chat show format. Instead of facts-delivery we have news fishing where the viewer is expected to land the odd nugget from the torrents of Simon's quips and interruptions. Everything ends up drowned.

This has to stop. News must be lucidly dull. It is incumbent on news deliverers to sit there without a personality and just tell us what happened today. Allow the terrorists/politicians/film director-wankers/others to entertain us. Think Moira Stuart. Think Gordon Honeycombover. Even Selina Scott caused widespread narcolepsy with her unceasing froideur. I do not want to know about Simon McCoy's sense of humour or of his bromance with Tomasz Schafernake (he's mine, bitch). The stand-up must stand down.

Just get back to being a suit facing the camera. At 56 consider yourself lucky still to be employed, dearie - possession of a cock probably helps in that respect. Ooh - a quip!

Kate Moss does George Michael with her barnacle lips

I loved the George Michael film Freedom. Such a surprise too last night. The TV listings mags, printed these days on Andrex rolls, had not made much of it; so I felt like I had been mugged by a very lovely Santa when he just popped up unheralded on TV - George! Oh but I'm not going to review it. I leave that sort of thing to the indentured slaves on rags, poor poppets. What will they do with themselves when they are retired at 41? Drink themselves to death? Find a deity? Edit an inflight magazine?

No, it's Kate Moss I come to praise, or evaluate, or at least notice. She kicked off the docu-film - and at first, one had to absorb the shock of her actually talking to camera. Pure Estuary, darling; a great career preservative these days. But it's her lips that fascinate me and what she does with them. Some time back, in the British Vogue fly-on-the-wall doc Absolutely Fashion, I saw for the first time this trick: that when the camera is on her, she moves her lips about as if inviting the lens to enter her mouth: semi-pouting, closing, parting, rippling, closing: it's a gentle pulsation, a slow-mo twitching or part-gurning that only involves her bouche. All done silently, on automatic. In the street this behaviour might invite alarmed comment. She was doing this again last night in Freedom. Before she said her little piece about George, she weirdly lipped us. Why? This wasn't a fashion shoot. The barnacle performs a similar motion with its mouth before feathery cirri emerge to grab plankton. Kate is absent of cirri which is just as well. I can't imagine the London Look would last long if she had cirri lunging out of her gob for a Pret a-Manger sarnie.

After Kate had said what she said, the lips started motioning salaciously again. Decades in fashion have left her with this curious habit. She learned a long time ago that gently moving the lips about increases the likelihood of an interesting shot being caught for the magazines. But on TV, outside the photographers' studios, she just looks very odd, as if in the midst of a sultry stroke she has decided on a last bout of self-pleasuring. But she does it well. Better than those bimbos on Babestation.

Si Newhouse never looked at data? Oh Anna Wintour!

I was sorry that Si Newhouse - who built Condé Nast's glossy mags division into an empire of highly lucrative scented-page snobbery (Vogue, Vanity Fair, Details, GQ and so on) - passed away before he met moi. How distressing! Actually, I missed the news of his death at age 89 altogether and only learned of it from Alexandra Shulman's new, most entertaining column on the Business of Fashion website. He was sucked up the astral tunnel on October 1 or thereabouts. I wonder who greeted the poppet in the afterlife. We shall never know.

Naturally, I googled the obits - and was most fascinated to see what Anna Wintour had to say about him. After all, he raised her to the heights of the American Vogue editorship (and beyond) and was immeasurably delighted by her editorial genius and celebrity glamour. Both Scorpio, they would have appreciated in each other the fervent desire to keep so much under wraps while the next chapter was plotted if not connived.

But, oh dear! Did Anna know Si at all? I have just been reading her Newhouse statement on Vogue.com. One line stands out: “Si never looked at data or statistics, but went with his instincts and expected his editors to do the same. He urged us to take risks and was effusive in his praise when they paid off."

He never looked at data or stats? Can this be true? I don't think so. We have to go to Thomas Maier's book Newhouse to get some hard facts as opposed to Anna's entrancing tosh. On page 63, for example, there's this: "Ascending to the role of chairman of Condé Nast Publications in 1975, Si became a devotee of market surveys and scrutinised the circulation reports to see how readers reacted to each magazine cover...and how they liked each feature inside." In another passage: "Armed with this information [the market research data], the editors working for Si Newhouse were expected to adhere to the computer results in making their decisions."

We learn that "Diana Vreeland [Vogue siren of Sixties' indulgences] particularly objected to the Newhouse concept and its reliance on marketing rather than artistic considerations or editorial judgement."

Perhaps Si changed as he got older but I have yet to meet anyone who very much alters over the decades, except to get droopier and more irritable before the dementia plateau. I suppose maintenance of the sepia tint on memory requires bullshit to be spouted.

All this does remind me of one thing, though: I really must find myself an Anna Wintour for my post-death eulogy. Her (or his?) words, "Madame Arcati never said a bad word against anyone", will resonate through media jails and trigger much in the way of chortling.

Graydon Carter: It was "not my wish" to meet Donald Trump

The latest issue of Vanity Fair arrives in the post (I'm on one of those six-month subs that cost me about £12 - cheap, that's moi) and I turn excitedly to editor Graydon Carter's letter. The poppet is such a good writer, and just about hates everyone I hate, so his remote company is just like sharing a soul steam room. I want to know how it went, y'know, when Donald Trump visited the Conde Nast offices in NY. Did they end up wrestling on the polypropylene fire-resistant rug?

See, Anna Wintour (who is now my ultimate hero after years of satire and abuse at my hands) invited Trump to come say hello to the glossies in early January. I don't know why. She supported Hillary. But in the high-end world, hypocrisy is the coin. Must keep up those appearances. Democracy is the grand excuse. Carter did offer to boycott (perhaps for decency's sake, given his relentless hostility to the new President) but somehow was persuaded to attend and share the oxygen of the Commander-in-Chief he calls "short-fingered".

It is in Carter's editor's letter, though, that we find a little pearl. He confirms that he and his peers met Mr President and writes: "The get-together was off the record. (Not my wish. Nor was the meeting itself.)..." Ooh poppet! There's definitely a whiff of "Get my meaning?" about this bracketed aside, as if he did not think it a good idea. Whether it was Anna's idea or someone else's on the board, no one has said; but it was Anna who paid Trump a visit at his NY obelisk suite and lured him over (as Trump reported on Twitter).

It is distressing to think that Conde Nast editors do not think as one, and do not care if the world knows. I mean, only the other week or two, darling Anna was seen in a TV reality documentary about British Vogue. While she loyally rhapsodised about editor Alexandra Shulman (with eyes shaded), viewers had already witnessed Alex secretly shafting Anna over the Rihanna cover. How we pulled faces of gleeful horror! Goodness knows what Anna had to say when she saw the show.

So, now Alex has announced her exit plan.

Michael Gove on £150k pa with The Times

No comment.

Donald Trump: Meryl Streep and the accidental existentialist

Darling Meryl Streep needs no support from Madame as Donald Trump brands her "over-rated" for calling him a bullying cunt (in effect). How can a mere clairvoyante medium top all those articulate movie, TV and theatre awards that she's truffled away over the decades? - there are so many that Wikipedia has a separate entry on them. I'd be jealous except I can't act jealous. You just can't be jealous of genius. You tend only to envy the first-raters; the merely very, very good. Genius is beyond our grasp so we tend to be big about being small.

Trump is so grotesque, such a liar, deceiver and fool, that it is beyond my modest gifts to send him up or even mock and revile him in any effective way. Alec Baldwin gave it his best try - but his target out-did the send-up all the way. Trump is his own circular, self-creating satire, a fake whose absurdities depend on the paradox of his authenticity of self-manufacturing: he truly believes every word that passes his mauve lips as each day he resets his man-cave coordinates, for the best back alley ahead. He is utterly committed to the moment and the fact of his being beyond role, status or anything extraneous to the self-Trump. This is why he pays no account to his word, to what he said the minute before, to reality - except functionally to navigate from A to B - or even to his new role fast approaching, that of US President. He is an accidental existentialist. In his world there is no good and bad; both are relative terms that are moulded into matters of pleasure and pain by other people's flattery or insult (of the Trump-self). And good or bad things are just as likely to happen now as never or tomorrow, and with no consequence that cannot be seen off with a resetting of the Trump man-cave coordinates - and/or with an expensive lawyer.

This by far makes Trump the most fascinating US commander-in-chief ever. A philosopher-president with no philosophy at all. Before you stands 6ft 2ins of opportunist impulse arising from the selfish sentience that once dreamt of playing US President. There's no God or Devil to defer to, not even a non-God/Lucifer: he may be atheist or he may be a cod evangelical - which interest must be served in this moment for 'belief'? What anchors him in this or that moment of reality is not conscience or even any concept of good or bad but the visceral, sensation-hungry ballast dangling between his legs. These bestow a sense of power, entitlement; of timelessness (for they enable procreation of the self, among other things) as well as giving him something to think about when the mind wanders from business, politics or pussy. Bollocks, c'est moi. He talks bollocks, thinks bollocks, acts bollocks. So full of bollocks is he that we already start to forget what he said yesterday or this morning or ten years ago. In a few moments, the Streep tantrum will be forgotten by just about all. For that too was bollocks.
 
I suspect I shall have much more to say about Trump.It is of course an irony that this accidental, amoral existentialist most probably has opened the White House door to the pious Christer-evangelical by his side. Such an outcome would be in keeping with the low comedy to which we are witness Stateside. I'd laugh but I've just been diagnosed a hernia. 

The Queen and the new Holocaust book

Much excitement today. The Queen has emerged from her Kleenex snot-igloo to attend church at Sandringham. The poor poppet. I don't catch colds any more by the simple policy of declining parties, especially around Yuletide and New Year. People only invite you to parties to give you their colds. They disguise the symptoms with Sudafed (other brands available). I know these things.

My point of course is that HM has demonstrated that she is still alive. A rumour was put out recently that she had passed away on account of her sneezing. Twitter got all excited while the rest of us slept. Suddenly a conspiracy was afoot. You can see how Holocaust deniers gain traction with their absurd claims and questions. Just say something and before long a moron will believe you as a symptom of her/his/its self-diagnosed illness-career.

Thinking of the Holocaust, may I draw your attention to a new book out next week. It's called Final Solution: The Fate of the Jews 1939-1949 by David Cesarani. It makes "extensive use of previously untapped resources such as diaries and letters from within the ghettos and camps (many of them in Polish or Yiddish and therefore previously largely inaccessible to Anglo-American scholars) and by adopting a rigorously Judeocentric approach the whole narrative of the march to genocide."

It appals me that Google has only lately started to act against anti-Semitic sites that peddle Holocaust denial, amending its algorithms so that neo-Nazi trash do not top the search. What's wrong with these bedroom-bound beards that run Google? Do they have some self-diagnosed illness-career we should know about?

Esther Rantzen and anonymous internet swine

Madame was most distressed to learn that Dame Esther Rantzen is the victim of false, disgraceful allegations. From memory I can't quite recall what these may be but the eating of raw rhubarb was not among them. Something to do with turning children into fine dining recipes courtesy of Masterchef. This is the problem with sharing expertise with the sofa-bound sedated - a little knowledge in the wrong brains too easily leads many astray. Just ask Dr Google!

But let not my forgetfulness, doubtless brought on by living too close to a main road, distract us from the fact that Dame Esther has suffered grievously.

Her abuser, it emerges, is an anonymous website poster, unwittingly aided by the monstrous Google and its scheming algorithms. It has long been my view that people who veil their identity to launch malicious cyber attacks are plainly not entirely to be trusted with a sharp axe - a point the Dame herself makes, kind of. You can just imagine some lonely, pathetic male person posing as someone else (a notable woman, say) in order to vent his spleen or advertise his psychopathy. Dignitas would be too gentle a fate for such a person.

Nonetheless I was fascinated to learn that though Google unforgivably declined to remove the offending website or the grossly offensive items on Dame E - which might lead a post-That's Life millennial to think that Dame Esther was up there with the late Myra - it did delete a copycat entry on a Blogger site. This does not surprise me. Google has long treated Blogger as the equivalent of a holiday camp where everyone must smile and stroke their pussies and post tiresome items about their boring day. Nice cosy crap from cradle to grave. All in the name of responsible blogging.

Btw, Dame Esther had no idea what Blogger was, writing of it as if an obscure Inuit cultural artefact. What world does this woman live in I wonder. Easy access to the Mail editor has made her soft. But I wish her well in naming and shaming the filthy swine who uses a cyber mask so horribly. Exposure! 

Trump to meet Graydon Carter? Oh my....

The US President-Elect tells his growing Twitter mob that American Vogue editor-in-chief Anna Wintour paid him a visit at his indebted Trump Tower suite in the last few hours, inviting him to meet fellow Conde Nast editors. He said he would graciously do so "this AM". This is a canny move on the part of CN's artistic director who really should now be called Dame Anna. Dame Anna (to repeat myself - do please keep up, Donald) herself backed Hillary and Obama before her - and then there's the problem of Graydon Carter, the Vanity Fair editor. His dislike of "short-fingered" Trump is one of the wonders of journalism in its mainstream, imperilled current form. Why, only this morning, my new copy of Vanity Fair arrived in the post, and scarcely a good word may be found in its silky pages on the topic of Trump and his clan. Oh my! Just read Graydon's very rude editor's letter. But perhaps he's being post-ironic, confecting a rage that disguises a love of celebrity and success. And when Trump turns up, Graydon will throw out a welcoming hand in an attempt to latch onto those elusive short fingers, hoping not to crush the titchy digital petals in his mighty manly paw, assuming he doesn't miss them altogether.

Graydon's campaign against Trump did smack of playground big cockism, in its focus on size. In photos, Trump's hands look 'normal' to me and not appreciably smaller in scale to the rest of his over-sized, big-burgery booming self. My suspicion is that Graydon may take the day off when Trump pops in - I mean it would look most odd if the two men were photographed all bromantic after the anti-Trump propaganda unleashed by Carter's pen and commissioning. One has to think about credibility even in these times of post-truth and post-irony and hacked email posts.

I do hope that Graydon is not about to disappoint Madame.