Dear Diary,
Last night I had the most horrible dream. It was a nightmare, really. Could it have been the pickles and ice cream I had just before I went to bed? Or was it the absinthe? The LSD? Whatever was the catalyst, it created a monstrous sleepy-time, for in every moment of my visit with the sandman, I felt Flotilla DeBarge was following me!
First I felt that she was stalking me backstage at Carnegie Hall in Lana Cantrell's dressing room.
Then, while visiting with hair stylist Stephen Knoll and a va-va-voom friend of his, I felt Flotilla lurking near my side.
In an especially spooky sequence, Flotilla loomed over Bob Mackie, Liza Minnelli and me like an enormous grinning mannequin.
Something strange happened in the middle of the dream: I suddenly sprouted a black Afro on my head and Flotilla aged about 50 years. Still, there remained a enormous gap between us, filled easily by -- who else? -- Blaine Trump.
As if by magic, Blaine morphed into Belgian bombshell and moon maiden Monique Van Vooren who pushed Flotilla out of my dream.
Perhaps because she starred in his film "Andy Warhol's Frankenstein," Monique transmuted into Paul Morrissey...
...and finally Tom Beller...
...who has a great website (www.mrbellersneighborhood.com) where he wrote an essay (http://mrbellersneighborhood.com/beller.cgi/sec7/realimitation.html) about a play that Flotilla and I did together called "Imitation of Imitation of Life."
At last I woke up, and I was no longer myself, but had turned into Joan Crawford and I was hanging out with Christina and Rex Reed!
HEEEEEELP!!!!