Tucson Christmas

Christmas was marvelous, all three of my brothers at home, folks doing well, reunited with the dog and the cat...thought I'd just give the highlights though, it was eventful:

Friday went to Berky's Bar with Mike and T, only 5 blocks from my house and full of crazy bikers in black leather, where you can hear all of your favourite classic rock tunes played live...an eventful evening but I am writing a story about that so I shan't share here. I did rediscover my love of classic rock and motorcycles however, especially given the Bush bashing from the lead singer between songs which restored a little of my faith in america.
Christmas eve spent making cookies, wrapping presents - I love to wrap presents, apparently that's strange but so it is. Played hearts with the family and I WON! It was unprecedented, and I now have the confidence to take on the whole world. Also played Oh Hell, and I came in second and that's a bit unprecedented as well.
Christmas was lovely, opening presents is always lovely, I love opening presents as much as I love wrapping them. Some of my tags included:

To: Everything sucks, give me a beer (somehow they all knew that was me)
From: Dan

To: The revolutionary
From: George W. Bush's Biggest Fan (that's a joke btw)

To: The Beast's Id
From: T's Ego

To: Andrea
From: Santa

It's nice to know Santa is still around. We played boggle before dinner and I WON! Again, unprecedented. Not that we're a competative family or anything. I drank steadily after the small family spat at the beginning of dinner, tension was high...the boggle rematch after helped to calm things down, and i discovered I play dismally while drinking. Luckily while drinking I don't care. Went out on the town after, to Ray's houseparty first, huge bonfire in the backyard, a keg of Killians, and his band filling up the whole front room of the house so that everyone had to kick it in the kitchen to listen. This particular configuration has only been together a couple of months but sounded really good. After Ray's we headed over to the Buffet...another dive bar, absolutely packed full and everything on tap was sold out, suppose Christmas is a popular day for drinking. They are called the buffet, but the only food they sell are hotdogs cooked in Coors, luckily I wasn't quite drunk enough to try one of those...and on the way out some guy grabbed my hand and actually asked me, "Hey beautiful, where have you been all my life?" I smiled, patted his shoulder and thanked him for a marvelous line never yet directed at me, and continued out the door. T was behind me and he said, "hey man, that's my sister," upon which I cursed under my breath and turned around, but luckily all went well, the guy responded, "then you can be my brother-in-law," everyone laughed, shook hands, and we were off.
Boxing day...fucking huge ass hangover. We watched the dvd's we'd gotten for Christmas, the daily show, boondocks, father ted...we weren't good for much else I must say.
More dvd's the next day, went down to Hotel Congress to see another band, they were accoustic and cheesy. The first is alright, but the second really unforgivable when the singers are actually taking themselves seriously. We contemplated follwing up with more beer at the Hut, but T was off at 4:30am the next morning so we called it a night.
T left the next day with only one emergency and one tantrum, to Scotland the bastard which is where I should be, and I was sad, but we had an amazing thunderstorm...I sat outside in the porch and wrote and the lightening cracked impossibly across the sky and the thunder rumbled deep and the mountains were cloaked in black and grey and then it began hailing. It smelled of life itself, nothing smells as good as the desert in the rain, and I do believe I achieved enlightenment...well, at least I realized that in the midst of a thunderstorm I am entirely happy and alive and...can't describe it, but the cold whips through you until you are entirely tingly and awake and nothing exists outside of the moment and the flashes of light and the wind and thunder's sounding and you desire absolutely nothing more but to be there, to be...

vacation settled down after that high point, a little shopping, lots of eating, more games none of which I won. Final Thursday night at Berky's, grateful dead night with Ray and his dad's band...it was rocking, they play in front of these huge tie dyed banners and have their die hard fans who dance their pot smoker dance to every song. We were there talking and watching the 50 most ridiculous moments in sport (muted which made it even better) it was incredible, needless to say, and we drank 'til the bartender kicked us out. Today was again a bit painful, low key...and here i am home again. I'm off once more tomorrow on grand adventures and the new year festivities appears to hold tents, a bonfire, music, and a beach in Mexico so life will be good until Tuesday morning.

1st downtown beer and bike crawl

It all started at Theosophy Hall, but if you want to hear about that you'll have to ask me, I was planning a hilarious expose but though I shan't convert I did like the folks there too much to mock...or maybe I'm just too hungover to remember much...or maybe it will end up in my great novel for the ages...can't tell.

So, we started it all at the infamous Golden Gopher. I remember in my baby days in LA accidentally walking down 8th street between Olive and Broadway in the early evening, a never repeated error as it consisted of the sketchiest bars imaginable complete with hostess dancing and hotels above renting rooms by the hour...I was propositioned twice in the space of one block and found the experience a bit traumatic. However it has changed a bit, the Bristol Hotel was actually a residential hotel and the current asshole owner when he bought it emptied it of all 120 tenants within 24 hours, some at gunpoint. I'm not saying all of the tenants were lovely, but they did deserve to have their rights respected and some time to remove their belongings and themselves to somewhere other than the streets of skid row. The owner has since mostly paid for his criminal activity, though certainly not enough, and his bar the Golden Gopher is open for business, and amazingly full of slightly obnoxious hipsters. Happily Club El Gaucho complete with hostess dancing is still open next door...funnily enough we didn't consider going in, though the steps down into it were lit up purple and inviting...



It's not too bad, the coolest thing about it is the exterior, though if you get there early enough you can actually drink your beer while listening to Johnny Cash and Patsy Cline, though that sadly transitioned into some techno pop as we finished our beer and ran out the door.

Next stop the Broadway Bar, very cool interior and almost empty...



they had the most entertaining bartenders, we ended up drinking two beers there instead of the one as planned, as we were bribed to stay with happy hour prices long after happy hour was done and three dollars for the jukebox. The only bar with a jukebox btw, and it was indie-rific, they actually had the Kaiser Chiefs and the White Stripes and the Smiths and a bunch of other good stuff. So two quick stories, one of the bartenders was an aspiring actor (surprised us, that did), and had gone to an audition for an infomercial with the scientologists...they weren't give any of the lines before they showed up, and when they did arrive were given pamphlets that looked remarkably like propaganda for the scientologist cause, when our friend (drunkeness has erased his name, everyone's name in fact, I apologize) went into the room he began reading, and the woman stopped him and asked him if he understood what he was reading. He was surprised, but actually there were a lot of words that he knew but were used in a completely different context than he was used to, so she began explaining things to him in a preachy sort of way...starting with the idea of becoming clean...she stopped after a short while and asked him to come with her into an adjoining room where she showed him these two metal rods hooked up to a machine that you were supposed to take into each hand, and they ran an electric current and you sat there while you were asked very emotional questions about abuse and such, supposed to measure the amount of emotion you registered upon hearing each question, the more emotion you felt the less "clean" you were. She suggested he should join up and then he could really do justice to the part...he said he'd think about it and then ran. Scientology really is the most ridiculous thing, much worse than theosophy I must say. Second story is much shorter...the other bartender used to work for R.J. Reynolds, the big tobacco company as a rep selling cigarrettes to bars, and he said that for a while he had to try and push these "smokeless" cigarrettes, which essentially were designed to smoke inside without bothering those around you. Needless to say they were total crap and never made the big time, though I should have dearly liked to try one.

So, now 3 beers later we got back on our bikes and headed to the Redwood recommended by our new friends, but on the way we passed La Cita and made the split second decision to stop...and damn, I am so glad we did! Undoubtedly the best in terms of ambience and general coolness, here it is from the outside:



Not much to look at, a bit divey in fact though I'd never hold that against a place, but inside...



It was fantastic, it's been there for decades, it had red velvet, all the lights were red, the pillars holding up the ceiling were covered with small mirror tiles, you know I'm going to go back on the weekend for some serious ranchera action...on this wednesday evening however, it was all but empty, one or two hipster folks, Hendrix and Black Sabbath playing. Some pasty faced guy wandered in wearing a suit and told the bartenders that his uncle was the owner and then he wandered out again...ridiculous git. Anyways, me and Jose downed another beer, a smooth Bohemia for me this time, I was pretty happy by then, probably because I'd gotten to play with a tequila bottle shaped like a gun though mercifully I was sober enough not to sample its contents...



He was playing it cool as befitted his surroundings of course...and we were off.

The Redwood...we had high hopes, had heard good things...



Sadly, we walked in, and first thing that strikes you is the ridiculous fake pirate decor...and it was ridiculous. A big plastic skull and crossbones over the bar, fake ropes everywhere, a non-functioning canon...second strike was that Jaws 3 was playing on the flat screens...i personally do not care to watch people getting chomped by sharks while drinking my beer. third strike was that the place didn't even smell like a bar. And fourth strike was the clientele, the two guys sitting near us atthe bar were rating the women in the movie on a numerical scale - "now she's a hot seven, what do you think?" "Oh, she's a four, definitely a four." And then one of them told a story about how he was in a bar and some girl slapped him in the face, fucking idiot, i felt like slapping him in the face myself, I would of done it too if it wouldn't have revealed my horrible habit of evesdropping in public places...so we downed our beers and took off.

We had been planning to end up at the Gold Room, Echo Park's safer kind of dive bar, we had talked about El Chubasco, but weren't drunk enough to dare given the quantity of blood and teeth mopped up outside every morning. But no dinner and five beers and 1 am and work in the morning and the bike...I had to call it a night because I'm a bit of a lightweight and five beers is a lot, even when stretched out over a period of happy hours and vigorous excercise. We went in search of the taco truck at the end of my street and the bastard wasn't there...the only disappointment of the evening. A fantastic night all around, and the echo park bike and beer crawl will be scheduled for January...or finishing up the bars downtown, but all that are left are the really super shi shi ones, so perhaps we'll give it a miss.

The Great Adventure at Theosophy Hall

There is a peculiar beautiful old building in the neighborhood of the office, the Hall of Theosophy, it is entirely unexpected where it is on Grand and Jefferson and surrounded by factories. I also read W.B. Yeats' biography a while ago and some fragments of what theosophy was stuck with me...Madame Blavatsky and her familiars, bizarre is what I remember mostly, very bizarre.

So tonight, with the support of Jose J. Zamarripa and the knowledge that I will soon be leaving this place forever, we are going to investigate by attending the weekly wednesday introductory talk on Theosophy. All have warned us against it, all have declared us fools, none have dared to join us...we have left the address with five different friends, together with detailed instructions on how to extricate us if we do not return home within three days...

If all goes well, however, we will listen for a while, sneak out the back door early and without having given up our identities, and go to the few remaining bars downtown that we have not been too...since this list is different for both of us, it should be quite a few. So, to increase your anticipation for the exciting finale to this adventure I leave you with a short description of theosophy which sounds happily and utterly ridiculous...but first, my favourite part of their declaration..." The work it has on hand and the end it keeps in view are too absorbing and too lofty to leave it the time or inclination to take part in side issues." I'm going to start using that myself...

from Blavatsky net

"Theosophy is a fragment of the ancient, once universal, wisdom teaching.
The masters of Theosophy, located in Tibet and around the world, preserve and extend this ancient wisdom. Periodically they send forth one of their own - or a messenger - to help spread this teaching to all of humanity.

In the 1800's they had been searching for a century for the next messenger and finally settled upon Helena Blavatsky, born to a noble Russian family. She saw the master who would be her teacher in her dreams as a child. She met him in Hyde Park in London when she was 20. She managed to enter Tibet and was trained by those masters in Tibet from 1868 to 1870. From 1875 through her death in 1891 she spread that message around the world.

Theosophy is the name Blavatsky gave to that portion of knowledge that she brought from the masters to the world. It comes from the term "Theosophia" used by the Neoplatonists to mean literally "knowledge of the divine"."

kosher yemeni food

It's so yum! I delight in food, the love is heart felt and deep rooted though it does not include the shishi or the overpriced. The Magic Carpet (close your eyes girl, look inside girl, let the sun take you away...I've been singing that all damn afternoon) on Pico and La Cienaga - highly recommended, had our staff party there this afternoon...I mean, look at this spread:



Even Amaya liked it though you can't really tell



She's finally getting to the interesting age where she can actually talk, I must confess I don't quite know what to do with children before they hit that milestone...and the worst is that every day is a new day with babies, they're your best friend and then tomorrow comes and they don't have any clue who you are and you have to start all over again, fickle little buggers I must say. But I like them once you can talk and play more than peek-a-boo, me and Amaya have nice long conversations now where we both get to make up all of the words. Anyways, food is delicious, for the vegetarians the eggplant moussaka is the best I've had ever, eggplant seems to be one of the few things I just can't seem to cook. The bread is of the best as well.



This is my plate, showing two of my greatest weaknesses - my dislike of cooked carrots and my unfortunate tendency to amass cutlery. It does feel good to get this off my chest...

The ambience is unbeaten as well, here's an action shot of the indomitable Beverly, lately my practical partner in crime



And a mannekin...a first for me as far as restaurant decoration goes. This gentleman was a first as well



I don't know what he's selling but I bought some...

ahhhhhhh sunday

I love sundays, long and mellow and full of rest. Those are the good ones, and by that standard I have had a superlative one, highly unexciting however, this is a good blog to read right before bed. I woke up late, got up, had a cup of coffee and some homemade biscotti, opened up the times crossword (it didn't go well at all sadly), fell back asleep on the couch, woke up, had some more coffee, got some quality email done, took a shower about 3...that was a bit of an awakening, turns out my feet were frozen almost solid and it took a few painful minutes as they wakened back into life, can't believe LA is this fucking cold. Wandered down to the drugstore and bought some wine and some packing tape...i was going to make mulled wine, I'm feeling rather medieval today and it felt like just the thing for a little holiday pick-me-up, sadly, I did not realize orange juice was necessary and am not fancying another little walk to the drugstore. I might go pull some kumquats off of my tree, but they are very small and did I say I was feeling lazy? I am, very. Even so, I am going to clean the kitchen in a moment and cook to the cheerful tunes of chichi peralta, more dancing than cooking actually...once i finish off my tea.

Had to work yesterday, thanks all of you that came! Luckily we know a bit about making work fun, here's our little holiday event, Son del centro and eastside cafe and friends to make the day go faster...



It rained yesterday which means we didn't get much turn out which was sad, it is highly amusing how LA shuts down and retreats into itself in the face of some showers! Still, the music was great, and folks missed seeing someone play the jawbone of a very large cow! That alone was worth a trip in the rain I think, and my photographs were another, I actually decided to sell some which was nerve wracking because what if no one liked them? Luckily people did and I sold almost enough to pay for the new printer I bought to print them out on...made almost seventy dollars in fact in spite of low turnout, how exciting is that? Only one woman sniffed and told me I should have made them bigger and wandered away without buying one...I was able to laugh that comment off with Davin's help, though I'm a bit sensitive about my photos and my writing I must admit. I'm working on thick skin but it hasn't quite grown in yet!

Anyways, tea almost done...second band dhum machale and they were great though not quite my taste, a bit too R&B really, but perhaps it's just that as they were setting up I was convinced they would be playing some nice cuban son...I mean check out the guitar players outfit! I also loved the guy on the keyboards...




The best part was that they had one groupie...one middle aged white lady complete in belly dancing costume AND belly dancing moves, where do these people come from?? She was awesome, and convinced they will be the next big thing and we'll all be talking about the day we saw them playing at SAJE...well, I charitably hope she is right of course. I still wish some really good indie or punk bands were knocking down our door to play in our space, but such is life.

Right, finished my tea, I wonder what I shall cook? Think I'm going to go pick some kumquats after all before it gets dark.

Andrei Rublev

Just saw this movie and have no idea what to think of it so I am writing about it in hopes that some insight will strike, and so I won't lie in bed thining about it instead of going to sleep...it is my tried and true method that works about 50% of the time. And I will write like the wind because work rises menacingly in the morning. So, Andrei Rublev..."a cinematic masterpiece," that bit sounds alright, "a mesmerizing account of 15th century Russian monk AR follows the painter as he faces violence, political persecution..." so far so good, "the soviets suppressed this sweeping epic," now you can see why I requested it...still, I think it should be subtitled 50 reasons why you should be glad you are not Russian. I might be joking, I suppose almost everyone in the fifteenth century wandered about in mud and pouring rain with rags wrapped round their feet and holes in all of their clothes. Though there was a subtle emphasis on the noble brutish peasant and the all-powerful god like high prince that I felt was a bit unique and certainly not for me.

So, I should have realized earlier that epic meant really really fucking long movie...and this is the culture that spawned tolstoy and pushkin after all. The cinematography was indeed masterful, nice sweeping scenes, nice camera work around trees, some lovely shots of blood and paint swirling in water and snow...a great deal of symbolism of which I probably did not understand a quarter, it takes about an hour to really get into it...it started to get good at the orgy scene connected with witchcraft, and mass skinny dipping on a scale never before seen by the likes of me, who knew the 15th century was also fun? And how brave was the director for trying to show that in 1966 Russia? That's where Andrei's crisis of faith first sets in, and about time too, I was hoping for the next 2 and a half hours (as I said, the first hour you really have very little idea as to what is going on) he'd strip off the black hood, and settle down with marya the tempting heathen seductress for a long overdue roll in the haybarn and a jolly nice life, but that would have made it less of a masterpiece I suppose. The tatars were good, I had forgotten all about them, there were definitely a number of shots of evil orientals spearing women, setting things on fire, and laughing a great deal while doing so. And so I felt a little battered after getting beaten around the head with the message "brother Russians unite against the evil outsiders," and "the great Russian motherland will suffer, but she will always endure." I suppose that was the gist of things, a good bit about the evils of envy that doesn't come together for the perceptive viewer until the very end, and finally that it is a sin not to do what you were born to do if you have a great talent, I might possibly agree with that, except for the sin bit because I don't believe in sin particularly. There were more subtle messages and it was quite layered, i'm probably being flippant so I don't have to admit I didn't catch everything, I might read about it tomorrow because I'm curious and then watch it again ten years from now. So Andrei paints icon's again and Boriska - symbol of a new succesful Russia reborn from war and plague and famine perhaps? - continues making bells and all is well. Except for the 4 or 5 horses that I am quite sure had their legs broken and were put out of their misery on film especially for this movie, and the cow that got set on fire. I don't imagine that back in 1966 they had the special effects to produce what I saw without harming any animals...

It had an impact, I'll not deny it, and set my mind working, definitely worth watching on a nice leisurely Sunday evening, especially if you're drinking wine. The mulling was unsuccesful so I cracked open the other bottle (I might be convinced it's a sin to waste a good bottle of wine, i do feel terribly guilty), I think I was thinking of mead anyways, though I don't know what mead is, it does sound nice. So, just one last thought on icons to finish up, or perhaps religious decoration in general. Because icons puzzle me a great deal... I was in Greece and it was extraordinarily beautiful: deep azure sea, rich brown earth, and these incredible dazzling white churches in the hot sunlight that looked as if they had risen up from the ground itself, round and oddly shaped and lovely. And I kept wanting to go inside and see a clean empty space, round and oddly shaped and lovely, with walls of dazzling white because i rather believe that if god exists god would prefer such a space. And instead what strikes you is the darkness, and the overpowering scent of incense and these pale oval faces staring down at you with huge cold eyes and tiny pursed lips that I find singularly unpleasant, and scenes of the last judgement and fire and pain...there was a line in the movie something like "God will forgive you, but you should not forgive yourself. You will forever walk between god's forgiveness and divine torment." That's from Theophanes the Greek who rose from the grave to speak these lines amidst a smoking mass of dead bodies (damn tatars) so I hope I got it mostly right, but still, it captures what orthodox churches are like, but without the forgiveness part, honestly, it possibly solves the great question of the Russian temprement, but which came first? Spanish churches are as bad, I stopped going into them because everything is gilded and flashy, and all the saints are gloomy and accusing, and jesus is here there and everywhere spouting blood. Makes me glad to be English, where you have the great cathedrals soaring up into the sky, of pure unpainted stone and wood and stained glass, and they are vast and echoing and focus your mind on anything but guilt and darkness and blood. Though I daresay were I not speaking of them in comparison to what is far worse I should be able to be a bit more critical.

Anyways, bed for me, i shall stop being terribly un-pc now as I have probably mortally offended anyone who is russian and/or greek orthodox or a spanish catholic, or a new world catholic for that matter because Mexico and Brazil at the least are just as bad. Worse, in Brazil I went into a room that was full of ancient mummified dignitaries still dressed in full canonicals and a full size statue of Christ with red velvet ropes coming out of his side, his hands, and his feet, and connected to another life size statue of a monk kneeling before him. Couldn't sleep for a week after that horrifying experience, still, they can blame their colonizers for such a monstrosity. Right, can't believe I reminded myself of that right before bed, this is not one of my prouder moments...

moving desks

Today was my last day up at the front of SAJE, because Gerry's back tomorrow! He's the office manager and gets his seat back after more than a month away and I get mine, and I'm happy. Happy to see him, and happy to return to him his view and one or two of his responsabilities. I was staring out our front door, been doing that a lot lately, and thought perhaps I'd let you all know what can be seen from Gerry's desk, a slice of south central life as it were. We do work in a fucked up place, however, so a note of caution, most of South C is very nice contrary to popular opinion and I don't want to perpetuate stereotypes. So here we go, grab hold of your seats and feel free to avert your eyes if it gets too scary...

1. Methadone addicts, very thin black folks with canes or in wheelchairs, one scrawny white guy who looked like he was in a metal band in the 80's, a couple of old veteranos who drove up in montecarlos and cadillacs...we have a lovely for-profit methadone clinic across 32nd st and on the corner, it is the legal drug dealer of the neighborhood and since methadone is really only good when taken with other things, it attracts the other kind. One business concern is run by rich white men from San Diego who are respected and looked up to, and the other by poor folks of colour who are thrown into prison. I hate all of them, but the difference in treatment hardly seems fair.

2. So number two is drug dealers, since we moved in and started complaining they started operating much earlier so as to be gone before we opened, but lately have started becoming bolder and hanging around til after ten. I try not to stare out the door in the mornings, as i earnestly believe in the healthiness of witnessing as few drug deals as possible in life. That goes for people shooting up as well, that makes me sick to my stomach and my soul hurt.

3. Uncool turf related graffitti that hasn't been painted over by the sweatshop opposite...a big MS for Mara Salvatrucha went up over a week ago, they're the big Salvadoran gang. Two nights ago their tag got lined out, can't tell by who. There has been mad tagging lately up and down the streets, tagged and crossed out and tagged again which means turf war heating up. I don't like to think about that, and feel a bit unprotected on my bike...

4. Nice families with small children who live in the apartments next door to us.

5. The owner of the sweatshop opposite, Mr. Slut Magnet...that's the name of his clothing line I think and he drives a big black hummer with magnets of naked lady sillhouettes that actually say slut magnet - I could almost give him a thumbs up for pure fucking cheek. I wonder if they work? Or if the hummer works? Makes me personally want to grab my baseball bat and do some damage, but then I'm not the type of girl he's bent on attracting. He wears all black, grabs his crotch a lot, I think perhaps he's Armenian? East European? He hangs out in front and directs the people actually doing work. I rather fancy driving one of his forklifts, though, those look like fun.

6. That hummer.

7. Large trucks and semis, lots of them, heavily rumbling back and forth all day long delivering things, taking things away...the steady beep beep beep of their warning bells as they back up is the constant backdrop to my day.

I think that's about it, except for the cool folks coming to visit us of course, always a pleasure to see them. When I was little watching the sun set behind the desert mountains and one with the world I decided I would live life as deeply as possible and that somehow required facing all that was evil and taking it on...i don't suppose in my innocence I quite realized what that meant and how hard it would be to keep my sense of balance and what is right and beautiful. So for balance here is the list of some things I would rather see...off the top of my head mind you, i should maybe work on a better list.

1. green things like trees and grass and maybe even flowers
2. penguins
3. A nice comfy bar where everyone knows my name, and they're always glad I came, and they're all a bit revolutionary
4. a mountain made for climbing
5. The Acropolis
6. Mariachis
7. Something mythical and extraordinary, like a dragon
8. Chanoch's glacier. Chanoch is a large jewish mystic who keeps our books and refuses a fan on the hottest summer days because of the glacier he says he knows is right outside the door...
9. Fireflies.
10. a busy city street with a wide range of people wandering by in droves, of all races religions and individual styles, and not a damn one of them hungry, homeless, drunk, high, armed, or hurrying back to their 12 hour a day, 12 cents a sleeve sweatshop job.

confundida, sola, y media triste

Quiero cantar, bailar, llorar, escribir, contar chistes riendo y correr muy lejos todo a la vez...y besar a alguien, pero quien? Estoy desolada que no tengo nadie ni nada menos mi propio deseo. Quisiera ser una estrella tan alta, tan fria que este fuego no me pudiera consumir dejando en mi estomago cenizas y nada mas. No me gustan su sabor. Si me voy quisiera irme ya sin mirar atras, y sin tener que preocuparme de toda la mierda que requiere mi salida. Quiero abrazar a la vida, vivir y amar con alegria roja y caliente, y sueno con escocia, dejando la carcel de este tristeza y amor perdido y soledad forzada y dano que yo he causado atras.

a quick break and correction to last blog

Between work on the house and work for work, such a busy bee...I'm exhausted though, about ready to say fuck it sell the house as it is! I like painting and fixing things, but only for myself not for other people, I've discovered I'm a bit selfish that way. The house is a tip too...only the hall got primed and some holes in the wall patched after taking the shelves I built down...Lots of holes, one or two of them were in fact oops holes that did not end up supporting shelves of any kind, here they are with their proud creator...

Wasn't keen on getting my photo taken cause I was already feeling a bit in need of a shower, still, got my painting paints on, though I'd memorialize them since they're not crossing the big ocean with me and will probably end up in a landfill in China. Everything I've painted for the past five years is represented on these pants! But the photo...all that's missing is my tool belt and the bom chicawomwom music...oh, and a push up bra perhaps.

So last night went out to see Rafa play, haven't seen him for ages before this weekend, met him through Manny and was a bit afraid we wouldn't be friends anymore, but all is well...and I discovered that not all music cures all ills...Rafa's band, well one of them, is Puttanesca ( http://www.myspace.com/puttanescatheband - check out shiny red box, it's my fav of the one they've posted) and they of course were brilliant. Incredible musicians all of them and seeing them live is a pleasure like few others - weba singing, and she's mesmerizing. "I'm looking for someone to blow the world up for" is one line I've remembered, wouldn't mind one of those. She put on 3 Penny Opera by Brecht a couple of years ago in the Museum of Modern Art and that was one of the best evenings I've had, politics and multimedia and Rafa was playing then too, and the audience had to pick up their chairs and move with the play. Anyways, there was this guy there, kinda cute and good eye contact, though of course I've sworn off men entirely until February 7th when my foot touches the plane, but possibility noted...and then he got up on stage with his guitar and some blond lady and her synthesizer and momentarily I regretted my resolution until the blighter got this soulful look on his face and started to croon in harmony to a song that reminded me of peanuts...he almost redeemed himself when he put down his guitar and picked up a trumpet but the song was still slick and sappy, I think I might have heard it playing last time I went shopping for shoes...and so I downed my beer and fled the scene, the only thing to do...imagine dating someone who played music like that? Would be an ill in itself...

secret of life .2

Music is the curer of all evils, saw the best damn jazz band I've seen in years at Taix tonight, after some amazing Indian food and a rest stop at Rafa's to hear some of his new songs and they were incredible...his place smelled a bit but what real musician's doesn't? Music carries all the pain and joy in the world, what is beautiful and what is horrible...and transcends it.

bearing up

There are so many things in the world beyond bearing...rape and torture and war and hatred and racism but this has set me over the edge tonight

Two year olds who can't stop scratching the open sores on their legs caused by the fucking owner of the apartment they live in who wants to squeeze the last penny out of his investment and refuses to fix it so it is decent and safe. It is unconsionable, and given that the owner is a good Catholic, I earnestly hope he may rot in hell without hope of purgatory. His name is Frank McHugh so remember him in your prayers. I can't figure out how on earth you can care deeply about the world and get out of bed in the morning, I am fueled by fury pure and simple but it's not enough since I have been doing this shit for too long to have much hope - this isn't the only child in LA with open sores on his legs, not even one of a hundred or a thousand. It makes your heart want to shrivel up and hide away behind walls high and strong and sometimes I wonder if I'm strong enough to keep my eyes open and my heart open and my mind always questioning. How can I bear it? And who would I be if I did not? Not myself...suppose that's the answer to my own question. I stick all of the pain and anger in a small box back close to my spine, so it won't interfere with Friday night dinner plans and everything that's still good in life. Because life is still good, and if you lose your balance I have this fear that it will all be over...and I wonder if there is a bottom?

Thursdays

Yes, it is thursday, a sunny yet chilly day here in LA, but perfect bike weather! I got to bike far and wide to all of my meetings without breaking a sweat, and I'm happily tired, and just back home from a great meal with friends and a couple of beers...who could ask for more from life? Well, I suppose I could ask for one or two more things, but I'm trying to be more or less content with my lot in life at the moment because everything will soon be better! I'm moving to Britain...and I'm not Russian so I will hopefully not be poisoned by some character with a pronounced accent and a limp...at least, I can hope! I haven't personally angered Putin in any way (that he could actually find out about) so I should be alright.

Wanted to share a bit more LA scenery with the world...this is one of the best things I've seen in a long time, hope it's as good for all of you as it was for me!

Out of service? What? And what's it doing parked on Venice Blvd anyways? I will never know...I also passed this outstanding spray-can work this afternoon noonish, also on Venice

Very cool, Pico Union is like some kind of great outdoor art gallery, full of botanicas and graffiti and crazy mercados with pictures of the Virgin Mary and cattle...I didn't stop for that last one, sorry! When you've built up momentum on the bike and are cruising past traffic it's a bit hard to stop for even the best photographic opportunities. Though this evening on the way home? Yikes, fucking cold, I was half singing and half graphically cursing under my breath the whole way home...I am going to buy some hot pants, gloves, a beanie and a cool aerodynamic sweatshirt that zips up this weekend, because my naked right calf with the pant leg rolled up? Freakin cold, and my hands were cold and my ears and my nose and my arms and my tummy, I was just entirely cold, and the crisp night wind blowing direct into my face awoke real tears. Still, I think I looked pretty good because I received my third "Hey, white chocolate, mm" from a passing car, I doubt anyone in Scotland will think to call me white chocolate, and that just might make me sad. Separation from my bike might also cause severe anxiety because the best cure for misery I've found to date is a hard bike ride through LA streets...and beer. Or both. Though not at the same time. I've tried that and it's not especially fun, especially when you're going uphill.

Right, I am off in one minute to either read a novel, or the scholarly articles on the etiology of slum related diseases that I brought home from work and which must be read as sooon as possible...all bets are on as to which I shall choose, even I don't know yet! Just wanted to present the one brilliant picture from my thanksgiving trip to Tucson

Ahh...the drive-through liquor store, why don't they have more of these? I mean drinking and driving! Good times, nothing but good times! Speaking of good times, I made the mistake of turning on the news this morning, and there was Pat Buchanan as a commentator on which Democrats would be putting in their bids for the presidency... was I in my oh-shit-I'm-out-of-coffee sleepiness acidentally watching Fox? I rubbed my eyes and no, oh no, Pat Buchanan was commentating for NBC. He was followed by America's drug czar discussing how illegal immigrants were trafficking meth across the border...Meth? Chrystal meth? That stuff made far and wide across the heartland in shacks and middleclass bathrooms everywhere? They're actually trying to blame our very own homegrown chrystal meth problem on immigrants? Who in their right mind would bother to risk bringing that across the border when it's being made in every highschool chem lab sink? No one, it was a clear cry for a slapping or a cold sustained splash of water and I hope they received it from someone, i was a bit too far away but it almost inspired a letter. Damn, I'm still angry just recalling it, may the american media catch the chicken pox AND the measles, and maybe even receive a dose of that Polonium isotope...

Townes and me

I'm sitting here listening to Townes Van Zandt...drinking...wondering what it means to be a genius. However megalomaniacal it may sound I always rather hoped it was within me, and it is egotistical of me, I admit it freely. I want to be a writer, and my heroes are JD Salinger and Joyce and Toni Morrison and Shakespeare and Toole and so what less can I expect of myself? I know I don't have the great novel inside of me yet, but I always hoped it would come...but is it something that just comes along? And it is worth it to me if it does just waltz on up and say hello? Townes Van Zandt once glued all of his teeth together sniffing three tubes of airplane glue, he once fell out of a fourth floor balcony just to see what the moment between stability and falling felt like, he gave up everything to write songs and lived drunk in a trailer even after fame arrived...was he a genius because of these things or in spite of them? All I know is that I want to write words like his, that can reach through skin and flesh and eat into the cords of the heart's own heart. Like this.

My days they are the highway kind
They only come to leave
But the leaving I don't mind, it's the coming that I crave
for the sun upon the ground
stand to throw a shadow, and watch it grow into a night
and fill a spinning sky

Well I don't know too much for truth
but my heart knows how to pound
my legs know how to love someone
my voice knows how to sound
shame that's it not enough, shame that it is a shame
follow the circle down, where would you be?

Well you're the only one I want, and I've never heard your name
let's hope we meet someday, if we don't it's all the same
and i'll meet the ones between us, and be thinking 'bout you
and all the places I have seen
and why you were not there

That my sadness should be his sadness should be the sadness of so many others, who lives such sadness more fully? Words of raw power and strength and beauty seem to grace the burned out frames of addicts like cherry blossoms.

Fuck it, I'm just going to give up on what I was trying to say, it's resisting my feeble efforts. The inspiration for all of this is the rejection of my novel by the agents who asked for exclusive reading rights, though I started thinking about it last night with no inspiration whatsoever...almost good enough but not quite and I know I should take it in stride and believe me I will tomorrow but not tonight, it's a crap novel anyways, but I was quite hoping it could be considered a decent sort of crap. Even if all I'm good for at the moment is crap, it shall be the very best crap it can be, so I shall work on the fucking pacing and resubmit. But tonight? Tonight, I'm all for drunkeness and Mr. Van Zandt, I'm halfway to drunkeness already, I started early. If I'm still depressed tomorrow I might move on to my other favourite addict self-destructive singer songwriters...I shan't start sniffing airplane glue however, no fears.

Things that make you say hmmmm

I'm desperately seeking distraction from a rather grim reality, and today was agood day for distractions...first I was horrifically busy, had a big tenant meeting this evening, a nice 12 hour day will always take your mind off of things. But look what Bev brought in:

Pickle Puss...dill pickle flavoured bubble gum in a container strangely reminescent of...of...well, you know. It is astonishing what some people consider a good idea! I'm glad someone out there created such a thing however, it really made my day.

I also had a good metaphysical conversation with Chanoch, our bookeeper. he's an orthodox jew, though he wears the most astonishing patterned shirts and sandals. He spends his time studying the Torah and that's all...works as little as possible to study the Torah as much as possible, and I really love such people. Just trying to schedule a meeting is an adventure, he told me today that all time is illusion, and didn't I agree? I said dear me no, time in fact was ticking away and work piling, steadily piling up. What did he mean? Well, in reality, in real time, actions and consequences are not separated because you will always suffer these consequences. And therefore all these slumlords we are fighting against are living as though there are no consequences but in reality their punishment is as real as anything else, and this reality makes time and the separation between act and punishment an illusion...I think that's the gist of it, it requires more thought, and I should have taken notes! He teaches Kabbalah classes which I am strongly tempted to attend, but sadly they're in the valley or West LA, might as well be in Arizona I'm afraid, the physical impossibility fo reaching such places during rush hour boggles the mind.

Tomorrow I'm off to Arizona for a little turkey with my parents, my ex (long story that) and my uncle chuckles and family...don't let the misnomer chuckles disarm you, I dubbed him uncle chuckles in face of his decidedly unchucklish qualities. He is in fact a strongly conservative religious sort of man who works for the Army Corps of Engineers in Dallas...we fight, a lot. He makes simple discussion rather impossible. As impossible as an enjoyable holiday. I've packed up all my stuff that I want to keep and won't be taking with me...only four boxes, I am doing well on getting rid of everything, I shall be as the lillies of the field I believe...maybe rather better dressed. A tear or two was shed, a very lowering sense of desolation competes with the contentment of a job well done and one more thing checked off of my list...I am drinking rather heavily and that's helping take the edge off.

surfing!

It's a hot day, beautiful, the sky is cobalt blue, the air is actually clear and you can see the mountains...it's glorious in fact, and I spent the morning down on Venice beach surfing for the first time ever. Shan't be the last, it was fantastic! I have mastered getting in and out of a wetsuit (even that was hard), lying on the board and drifting, and sitting on the board and drifting, and hanging onto the board while mostly in the water and bringing my feet up on the other side of the board...a good days work I think! I still got pounded a bit by the waves, and inhaled a bit too much water...cause all kidding aside, surfing is damned hard work and I came nowhere near anything close...you have to wait on the right wave, when it's coming up behind you paddle like hell lying straight out on the board, then at the right moment lift yourself up by your arms and bring your feet up under you in one quick fluid movement...ha! Damn difficult, and requiring more upper body strength than I currently possess I believe, I did make it to my knees once or twice at the exact right moment and without tipping over, and rode the wave all the way in to the beach and that was marvelous, like flying on top of the water, and I understand the zen rush it must be to be standing...hope to go at least once more before I leave, so perhaps I'll make it to my feet!

So now I'm happily lazily exhausted, my shoulders sore, arms tired, and it's off to work on the house...imagine I shall be unhappily exhausted by the end of the day, so i wanted to capture some of the exhiliration and happy contentment i'm feeling right now, life is so fucking good in spite of everything, I'm so glad to be intensely alive.

street art graffitti art and art etc.

I've gotten over myself finally and am almost back to sunniness...and I'm sitting here pleasantly tired, think I biked over 10 miles today, almost bit it too, made me happy about the small things in life like a face, and no broken bones of course. Some stupid city official felt it necessary to cut a square out of the road about 1X3 feet and I'd say a good 6 inches deep...hitting that at high speed on a road bike almost brought on a strong attack of religion. As I flew I swear I prayed, but I hit the ground safely though my front wheel isn't so happy...That was in South Central off course.

Anyways, I'm back to things I love about LA because I'm leaving I'm leaving I'm leaving (I'm singing this, I'd like to write a ska tune about it, with lots of horns and a mellow reggae section in the middle). I believe this is graffitti, though I could be wrong, somehow, though, I don't belive it is a city comissioned art piece though it's kept up...



I like it though, it's just around the corner from the Morrison Hotel on Pico. I suppose when the building finally sells it will get painted over. These two are from Pico Union, but Selena has definitely seen much better days



She used to be directly opposite from a mural of Princess Diana...I always wondered what exactly Lady Di was doing in the heart of the largest Central American population outside of Central America...she did get painted over years ago, and I still regret that I never got a shot of her. But they have painted this mural which is beautiful



I shan't get started on the war or who exactly are the Americans fighting it, they're all recruited from this neighborhood though, fucking recruitment centers in high schools, immoral is what it is.

And art etc? Check this thing out



What is it?? I have no idea...it looks like one of the forts I built with my brothers back in the day...much nicer though, we didn't have access to that kind of material. I like building forts, how long has it been since I built a blanket fort in the middle of the living room? Might be fun to do, I'd take in a bottle of wine, lots of pillows and a couple of good novels and just chill...

Anyways, here's my contribution, a little still life



Bet that kid is sad he ever forgot his toys and let me get my hands on them! Hope he comes back to collect them, nothing sadder than toys ownerless and unplayed with!

blah blah blah

A lifetime's like a fine-spun thread

The road goes up by the rope at the edge
When he pours his libation of tears to the ghosts in the stream
The ghosts gather, a shimmer on the waves
Meng Chiao 751-814

When your tears pour out to rain uncollected, to pool on the end of your reddened nose and sparkle on your eyelashes, is there still a gathering of ghosts? I suppose you simply can't tell in the harsh bright phosphoresence of SAJE's bathroom, it's not a good place for such experiments though that couldn't stop me today. Still, I would have liked to have seen one, might have scared me the hell out of sadness, I think I'm wearing thin, getting stretched taut, my smooth happy surfaces growing rough and jagged and becoming unfamiliar terrain. I've never been through such sustained and unending constant though low-level drama, will I last three more months? Three months and I'm gone, not a day longer, I'm afraid my bones will break out of my skin and my heart will just break beyond repairing. Today I felt like crawling under my desk and sitting curled up in the dark, listening to sad songs...it's brutal to laugh and smile and work and play at normality.

The wind and waves know no pity for for the frail pond-chesnut's branches
In the moon and the dew who can sweeten the scentless cassia leaves?
We tell ourselves all love is foolishness -
And still disappointment is a lucid madness
Li Shang Yin 812-58

Brutal, but what else do you do? You can't really refuse to go gentle ino that good night, rage rage against the dying of the light while at the same time making an appointment to visit yet another poor family in yet another roach filled slum building to get some really good photos of cracked plaster, broken plumbing, and if you're really lucky, a rat or two. I'm hoping for rats, we're going early so they might not have emptied the traps yet...I need to round off my power point of horrors, and will all this work make a difference? If my analysis is correct (and in all modesty, I am almost always right) and unbridled capitalism is essentially the problem, then fuck me, I doubt it. It requires poverty and a desperate uneducated work force to cook clean and serve, though you'd think that rich people would care that their cooks and nannies live where TB still roams free, where women suffer from mysterious rashes, roaches in their ears, rat bites, lead poisoning...

Well then, now I'm more angry than sad, that's good. Maybe I'll return some of my friend's phone calls and come out from under the table (two attempts at humour now! I'm writing myself better thank god). I'm a naval-gazing idiot as well, probably need a good shaking more than anything. Might just be the lack of someone to give me a good shaking that's the problem, take my mind off things, girlfriends don't tend to do that for you. It would, however, destroy the precarious balance currently existing in my house and I certainly couldn't take 3 months of despair and fury so I believe it's out of the question. If I wasn't so well balanced I'd pick a fight I think. With a yuppie. I'll just be dreaming of the promised land of Scotland and my freedom...

Step inside this house, girl
I'll sing for you a song
I'll tell you bout just where i've been
it shouldn't take too long
Show you all the things that I own
My treasures you might say
couldn't be more'n 10 dollars worth
They brighten up my day

That's just about all I own
and all I care to I guess...
Lyle Lovett, 1957 -

Joshua Tree and the Salton Sea

Went camping the last two nights at Joshua Tree and it was beautiful, beautiful! Just look at these plants, they are amazing.

I haven't been camping in so long, forgot how much I loved it! We arrived Sunday and went for a short hike then up to Keys Point for the sunset



The wind was blasting and we were chilled to the bone and stayed that way for approximately 24 hours, I have never been so cold for so long. As I lay in our tent shivering with no feeling in my feet the guys at the campsite next to us were drinking beers, talking loudly, farting, talking loudly, belching, talking loudly...that was the worst bit of the trip though the funniest thing to think back on since both bev and I were lying awake listening to these assholes, some quotes are "have you ever had the palpable taste of shit in your mouth? I mean, so thick you can actually taste it?" he was talking about staying near an outhouse..."I can't believe you forgot the mayo! You know why this shit is so good? It's 100% saturated fat, that's why, nothing better." "I fucking hate the lakers! I can't believe you hate the lakers too!" "Hotdogs! God damn I love hotdogs." And on, and on, and me shivering all night long and the marrow of my bones beginning to ache...

So the next night we went over to walmart and bought some fleece - a purple princess blanket for me and little booties, stopped over at the crossroads cafe where we were able to rationalize breakfast every morning in fact, and back to hiking. Here's Ryan's Mountain...



and then over to Cap Rock...when Gram Parsons died in the Joshua Tree Inn, his parents sent for his body to be shipped home. Two friends stole it from LAX airport and brought it all the way back to be burned here



Now, there isn't even a plaque or anything to let anyone know this facsinating piece of musical history, but if the park rangers had an ounce of humour, they would use the following sign



But they don't...ah well, I suppose it might be considered in slightly bad taste. Second night was better, very quiet and toasty, took a last drive through the park, through the cholla gardens which were incredible



and then we were off to the Salton Sea in search of Salvation Mountain and Slab City. We found Salvation Mountain...it's amazing!



Mr. Leonard Knight has been building this thing for years, and lives right behind it, right on the edge of slab city...which used to be a government outpost. When the government left, the people moved in, and now it is an outpost of people who are united in their dislike of civilization, here's a view over Salvation Mountain



Salton Sea is an eerie place as well, made famous by the Val Kilmer movie which I must admit I have not seen. We were on the North shore which was abandoned to all intents and purposes. It was filled in 1905 when the Colordao broke through a levee, and now filled with pelicans and herons and gulls and other birds...but along the shore we found these



Never a good sign, and this picture frightens me even though I took it. There were hundreds of them, I have no idea what could have happened to kill them all, and there was no one to ask...

So that's the photo bit done...I really wanted to go to the desert because I am thinking thinking all of the time, cannot stop my mind, it runs on and on and will not cease as my future looms up and the past looms up as well and i feel like I'm in some kind of trough between the two and I do not like it, it's like treading water or walking up an escalator that's going down, i cannot progress and I hate this effort to do nothing but stand still, like Alice in Wonderland I am tired and out of breath at the end of the day and have not left my square. I wrote, a lot.

Some places when you arrive you feel welcomed, held by the hills and the earth itself, a homecoming. Even though this is desert, not so far from my very own desert where i know every rock, every cactus, love every line of light and wind that breath and sing over the stones...still, it is foreign. There are no answers for me here, and so emptiness wells up a bit, the familiar and much loved song of the quail in the dusk, the coyotes in the dawning, they bring tears to roll silent down my cheeks. Some places comfort you like a mother would, and that is what I wanted. I lie awake, the wind is buffeting the tent and moaning across the mouths of the empty bottles on the table, I can hear it pouring over the rocks like water. It picks up one corner of the tent then another to send canvas against first my feet, then my side, I wonder if it could dislodge us entirely, send us bouncing across the desert the way I have done in my dreams, unhurt, almost flying, spinning and weightless. The flap speaks to me ceaselessly, rattling back and forth, and sand hits the tent, in waves like the sound of bees, and sometimes clumps, like a mischievious child dumping a small bucket of pebbles over us. Grit interferes with the slight scratching of my pen and the marrow of my bones hurts, my heart hurts...and the words still spin in my mind memories of the past and fears for the future, great excitement and great sadness and a great wondering of what exactly I need to be happy and fullfilled. What exactly I need to be able to jump out of bed glad to start another day. I shall find it I think, but not here, and forget all those sages who say that it lies only in yourself, because I think what I did find today was that some places hold you, keep you, make you well just being there, and the place I am, this place I have been? It does not.

The Doors 40th

It was Wednesday, imagine, the Doors at the Whisky A Go Go again! I had my special VIP pass...here's what the spot looks like, Sunset and San Vicente at the heart of the strip:

Tafarai and I waltzed past the people in the line, right up to the very large bouncer who looked up our names on the list, gave us wrstbands and opened up the red velvet rope...it was magic. We strolled in fashionably late, and grabbed some of the free booze being passed around by the waitresses. And there was Ray Manzarek keyboard genious, Robby Krieger on Guitar, John Densmore on the drums...John called us over, we've met a couple of times before and he came to our big action at the Morrison Hotel when we were forcing our way into the building. That day gave me a high I shall never forget! We met the band, they thanked us for the amazing job we were doing making Los Angeles a better place and preserving the rights of working folks to live in the center city, and they they went on stage and played and the place just irrupted...

No, wait, that was just what i wanted to happen! Except for having met John Densmore before...like Dougal from father Ted I sometimes have a hard time separating dreams from reality I'm afraid. We arrived late, really really late which generally isn't a problem where you're out on the strip but we missed the program. Partly due to lateness, but mostly because we were in the damn vip line for an hour and a half...in the words of the guy behind me, "a fucking vip line just ain't what it used to be!" I lost a bit more of my innocence that day I'm afraid. It was good for people watching though I never recognize anyone having never had mtv in the 80's. Here's some faded rockstars, they were on the corner while I was taking the above picture so I got a surreptitious shot in, the guy on the left was going on and on about his friend the drummer from the Runaways, but I particularly liked the guy in the skinny pants, black and white tiger stripe top and rockstar mullet, they were about to head off to the Rainbow Room...all my stereotypes come to life:



The line was made up of industry folks all going on about famous people they had worked with, skinny girls in short skirts and too much makeup were cruising up and down trying to make friends, people who thought they were more important than the rest of us were trying to talk their way past the bouncer and making phone calls, two guys got arrested by the cops and were dragged off, Tafarai was checking the scores from the Clipper game and the progress of his fantasy teams, the real vip's were getting let right in, a few more rockstars from back in the day wandered by in leather and/or spandex. Gilby Clarke, guitarist from Guns N Roses rolled up in his black mercedes...wouldn't have recognized him but for the talkative guy in front of us who knew who people were, but sadly his wife was a real vip and he got in far before us. While at the very front I saw the white light guy married to Piper in Charmed, he couldn't get his friends in which made me feel better, Robbie Krieger's wife took about 5 minutes to get past the barrier even...but finally, we were in!

It's a small place, must have been amazing back in the day! The vip's were on the top level, clusters of very stylish folks talking importantly...that wasn't so fun so we headed downstairs to be with the proletariat, here's a view from the stairs:



You can see there's no one playing :-(, but some classic doors was blasting over the sound system, and everyone downstairs was singing along and dancing...it was a very cool mix of people, Mexican families and punk kids and old hippies, Roadhouse blues came on and the place just went nuts. Here's one of my favourite characters:



I could not tell you the whys and wherefores of the wizard costume, but it was very cool all the same. And here's Tafarai and I:



He's cooler than me I admit...he was my ride and sadly had to leave early to get the car back to his girlfriend. Why didn't I drive damn it! I'll tell you, it's a small matter of a warrant I belive I have, a question of a small unpaid ticket but that's a long story...anyways, since the Doors now all hate each other they were playing in different venues, so we decided to go down to Book Soup to catch Densmore but that was over, and the Cat Club where Ray was playing had another fucking long ass line in the face of which our vip wristbands were worthless so...we headed on home. So disappointing, I was so disappointed, but I suppose you can't recpture the magic that was once the Doors...Jim Morrison dead and 40 years and a long acrimonious lawsuit later...seeing domingosiete the next night and being able to dance the night away was miles better, and I think perhaps I shall just forget about seeing my favourite bands from back in the day and let them live larger than life in my imagination...much the best place for them really as the current reality is a bit sad.

ramblings

Friday lunchtime...almost no one is here in the office, we had a huge fantastic event last night, domingosiete played, over 150 people here, and I danced as if there were no tomorrow, so now that tomorrow has come like a load of bricks to the back of my head, I'm feeling a bit the worse for wear. Could've been that last bottle of champagne that did it...glad that no one is here actually, cause I don't feel like talking. I took a little walk in the warm sunshine, eyes half closed against a much too sunny sun, down to the mercado for a bean and cheese burrito. I've decided to be a vegetarian until Christmas, and I'm five days into it, and you know what? I'm a lot hungrier a lot more of the time. Why did I decide to do this? I'm unsure of the exact reason, maybe just to see if I could! Maybe because I think eating meat is wrong? No...don't think that's it, clearing subsistence fields of diversified crops to plant massive regions of soya beans and lentils for export to the international market is just as wrong as massive pasturage for beef, and I think our teeth prove we were meant to eat meat, as do my cravings...still buddhists might have a point. In short, I just decided to do it, perhaps I just feel the need for even more change than is already coming my way. But as I say, I'm a lot hungrier a lot more of the time. I am going to take a turkey break over thanksgiving, as I don't think I shall require my folks to change their eating habits for my accomodation, but in the meantime I am going to have to buy lots of healthy snacks I think.

I wandered past Theosophy Hall on my back to the office, Cool old building and there are still theosophists running around LA it seems...their motto is "The truth shall set you free" which I like, but apparently there is no commonly accepted definition of their beliefs, or better put the are many different strands of thinking that could be called theosophy. I have always wanted to go in and see exactly what they're all about, because I just know about Madame Blavatsky and her familiars and also that Yeats was a theosophist. Obviously, however, today was not the day. It's on my list though, of things to do before I leave LA...a list which is getting ever longer.

I'm supposed to go out for a quietish night on the (china)town, but I'm not sure if I'm up for it...have been out on the tear tues, wed, and thurs of this week, have another big thing saturday night and am off to joshua tree for 2 days of camping on sunday morning so...maybe the exciting Doors event shall be posted this evening. We shall see...

Aterciopelada and hot

Which means velvety y caliente, and that's how I'm feeling at the moment. Just got back from seeing los Aterciopelados at Amoeba records, and damn, they were fantastic! Too short a set, but no admission charge and they had a mountain of records to sign...I decided not to wait though I did buy the new album, I'm really liking it. Here they are in one of my favourite spots in all of LA

I'm the only one I know who was excited about seeing them, but you can go to the record store all by yourself without feeling too lonely or getting hit on by drunken idiots.

Apart from some great live music (and who honestly can ask for more from a day?), today was also the great voting day across the nation and I did my part though I'm not sure I believe in it anymore...and looks like Schwarzenegger's going to win anyway, racist mother fucker. In spite of the fact that he is hated by nurses, teachers, firefighters, policemen, public employees, immigrants, and thinking people everyone. Enough to make you want to cut your wrists. If Steven Seagal or Tom Cruise run for any kind of office whatsoever, I will.

Passed this on the way home from work on my bike today...on Hill under the freeway:



Perhaps the homeless are celebrating his victory as well? Or burning things before the police can arrest them and throw everything away. Our city now has three cops on every corner of skid row, arrests people for being on the street though there are 90,000 homeless people in LA county and only a couple of thousand beds in the shelters...last week on my way home I passed 3 squad cars and 6 cops arresting the two guys who live near the drugstore and do nothing to no one. You'd think there'd be some real crime going on somewhere, in fact I know there is, instead of the war on poverty we've declared war on the poor. Makes me feel a bit like burning things as well I suppose, the fire trucks passed me a few blocks further on, I almost turned back but the Aterciopelados were calling me. Besides, the effort involved made me pause, it hit over 90 degrees today! Can't believe it's November, honestly.

music

Moving is a bitch. I'm going through all of my things, and I have far too many things...This weekend I've started going through my books which is heartbreaking enough, but the big news? The boxes of old tapes I've dug out of the closet...all those mixes I made back in the day (I was a huge mix maker cause music just happens to be one of those things I most love in life), mixes friends made for me, stuff I taped off the radio. I'm listening to them all, downloading all the songs I don't currently have on my i-pod, and...and...and...throwing them away. I must say, it's bringing a tear to my eye, and an avalanche of memories. And an embarassed chuckle or two, I found the electric slide AND la Macarena, what was I thinking?

Anyways, had a good day today aside from the trip down memory lane...who knew that John Waite's Missing You could still make me cry? It's going to take me all week, this playing tapes and throwing away and remembering things (Christ, just found some Ton Loc! Carlos from homeroom in Jr. High used to sing this fucking song all the time, thought he was a playa...and he was. Took steroids in the drinking fountain and was a dad before graduation...) So, anyways, I went on down to the farmers market in Hollywood on the train...just wanted to show an example of LA's finest public art as seen in the Civic Center metro station



They have any number of these guys suspended over you, they all have numbers on their chests, and I find them a bit frightening.

I did overmaster my fear, however, in my quest for fresh vegetables. After the vegetables i went over to Amoeba music, the best music store in LA and I believe the world. I know I'm supposed to be getting rid of all my music but it's depressing and what cheers me up more than looking at music I don't have yet? Anyway, I wanted to buy The Doors Morrison Hotel on vinyl so they can all sign it for me on Wednesday Night. Didn't find it, but thought I'd get some R.L. Burnside and found what might be possibly the best album cover ever:



A Ass Pocket of Whiskey? Why is there no n? How did they get that bottle of whiskey down their shorts and what will happen if they sit down? What is he going to do with his belt? It's a good album and so I'm giving it to Dan for Christmas, he's in law school and has no time be reading his sister's blogs I hope...he doesn't respond to my emails at any rate, so serves him right.

Anyways, to continue with the music theme, here's a lovely view of capitol records and some typical Hollywood frontage:



The cave, nice! They even have a cash machine inside.

I also got a hair cut.

Puedo escribir los versos mas tristes esta noche

Escribir en espanol es como susurrar a las estrellas, rendir mis secretos al viento, cubrirme en la tela de la noche y sacar mis versos, topacios minados de mi tristeza, para regalar a las olas del mar. He estado leyendo Neruda, se nota creo, y lo hago para ponerme mas triste? Ando anhelando algo, deseando el deseo, queriendo fuego donde solo siento frio. Ahora tengo miedo. En general soy tranquila, hasta alegre. Son pocas las cosas que me saquen de mi tranquilidad, pero tal vez estoy no mas estancada? Me voy de aqui, tengo que irme, lo sabia por la fuerza que necesitaba para levantarme de la cama cada manana para enfrentar otra dia, lo sabia por la tremenda soledad que me ha inundado, la tristeza que me ha llenado desde el mas profundo. Vinieron estos sentimientos como ladrones, comiendome por dentro sin darme cuenta, y no se como mataron lo que sentia y creia tan fuerte. Ya me siento vacia, perdidas amores y ideales y fe. Soñando algo mas de lo que tengo. "Ay amar, es un viaje con agua y con estrellas, con aire ahogado y bruscas tempestadas de harina: amar es un combate de relampagos, y dos cuerpos por una sola miel derrotados." Soy una romantica desatacada, idiota, a pesar de mi manera practica y mi calma, mi costumbre de pensar demasiado, buscar el porque de todo, esconder mi alma por el miedo que alquien lo pudiera matar con su desprecio... pero se que el amor no tiene nada que ver con la cobardia. Quiero sentir algo mas profundo que pensamientos, que no tenga un porque, que se olvide del miedo, que llegue mucho mas alla que la razon. Mi miedo existe en la duda que no soy capaz de sentir asi, igual de que no hay alguien capaz de sentir asi por mi. Sueño con una recorrida de labios llenos de miel, un calor que me puede rescatar de la niebla fria, alguien tan cerca que su mano sobre mi pecho es mia, tan cerca que se cierran sus ojos con mi sueno.


18-Pablo Neruda

Aqui te amo.
En los oscuros pinos se desenreda el viento.
Fosforece la luna sobre las aguas errantes.
Andan dias iguales persiguiendose.

Se descine la niebla en danzantes figuras.
Una gaviota de plata se descuelga del ocaso.
A veces una vela. Altas, altas estrellas.

O la cruz negra de un barco.
Solo.
A veces amanezco, y hasta mi alma esta humeda.
Suena, resuena el mar lejano.
Este es un puerto.
Aqui te amo.

Aqui te amo y en vano te oculta el horizonte.
Te estoy amando aun entre estas frias cosas.
A veces van mis besos en esos barcos graves,
que corren por el mar hacia donde no llegan.

Ya me veo olvidado como estas viejas anclas.
Son mas tristes los muelles cuando atraca la tarde.
Se fatiga mi vida inutilmente hambrienta.
Amo lo que no tengo. Estas tu tan distante.