i got the fallin’ downs

A rare joy in life is chancing a fiver on a CD and finding a true gem, I'm sitting here tonight listening to a compilation of bottleneck blues and the smile of pure gut wrenching happiness has not left my face…it's amazing. Blind Willie Johnson…pure magic in his voice and his hands, Robert Johnson, Son House and Lightnin' Hopkins of course, he's fucking brilliant though I knew that before buying this, I've been listening to 'goin' away' over and over the past few days, makes you close your eyes and sway back and forth and it does something to your insides like few songs can. Been in a Lightnin' Hopkins – Steve Earle – Van Zandt sort of mood lately, sort of that bittersweet sadly happy kind of mood like the weather racing across the sky in sunshine and rain. Still, the sweetness is in the pain and the smiles in the song on this called 'Hitch me to your buggy and drive me like a mule" can't get better than that, until you get to 'Busy Bootin' with the line "Take it easy greasies, cause I'm busy bootin'" and "don't you remember when my door was locked, I had yo mama on the choppin' block" with a chorus of "I'm busy bootin' and you can't come in" How have I never heard the phrase busy bootin' before? I know it'll be a hit when I next slip the phrase I was busy bootin' into casual conversation. Great song Fallin' Down Blues, "I got the blues so bad, it hurts my feet to walk…Mama, I feel like jumping through the keyhole in your door…She caught the rumblins, I caught the fallin' downs…" Dunno what the rumblins are but I catch the fallin' downs from time to time, never knew what they were called before. The only hitch is that it's a compilation made in the Czech republic where they don't seem to believe in liner notes, sound's not the greatest either but that could easily be the fault of the original recording so I shall give the Czech republic the benefit of the doubt, anyways, there's a version of Statesboro Blues from 1927 with Blind Willie McTell playing and an unknown woman singing who is brilliant and I've never heard before, I shall have to see what google can do but this might be a bit beyond its powers.

This all reminded me of the liner notes from T-Model Ford's album Pee-wee Get My Gun, a title in itself as brilliant as Burnside's Ass Pocket of Whisky, but the liner notes are the best I've ever seen, they go "Years before, when I was a kid, I owned a little Ford runabout, a Model T. And I took care of that car as a man takes care of his love – for I did love it. I was and remain a Model T guy, more comfortable with imperfection than its opposite, cherishing the ability to discern and shore up a latent weakness, I knew the car wasn't a Cadillac. Hell, what would a guy like me do with a Cad? It was a Model T, and I treated it good and it treated me good. When I sold it after two years of trouble-free driving, it was actually in better shape than the day I bought it.
Two months later it was in the junk heap.
Less than two months after I split up with Ellen, she was whoring."

So I know I know my sense of humour is darkly twisted and politically regrettable, but I find this brilliant, besides being myself much more comfortable with imperfection than its opposite. Given the humour, I do thank the sweet lord I didn't get that job with the feminists that I applied for, but after an interview where I discussed the evils of pornography with false enthusiasm and yet made the fatal misstep of saying the words fluffy porn upon which the room turned ice cold and my breath came out of my mouth in clouds I knew I wasn't taking it even if it were offered which it clearly wasn't going to be. All activists should be required to have a sense of humour anyways, the ones that don't destroy the movement and make the rest of us look bad.

Right, I'm off to listen to my other find which is John Peel and Sheila – the Pig's Big 78's, random recordings off of random 78's which is just my style and quite ridiculous but also contains another Lightnin' Hopkins track I've never heard, and Sonny Terry…and then I'll be busy bootin' or, well, just thinking about it, I've got the wee single bed blues myself.

life cemented in place - or out of place

Because today I just sent off the transfer deed for my L.A. house...that's it, it's sold, I shall go from the skintest I've been in 10 years to the wealthiest I've been ever in my lifetime and have to deal with the glory and the nightmare of money, hopefully really soon actually because I've been overspending I'm afraid...I'm happy I think but still there's this kind of hole in my stomach where my house used to be, I did love that place and now I belong nowhere again which is freedom and loss at the same time...and my cats, anyone want them?? They're lovely and Manny isn't taking them along...

And I just sent out my novel again...to agents, we shall see how it goes. And my short story to a very cool literary magazine...so I need everyone to pray for me, between us all I think we have all major religions covered except for mormons and jehovah's witnesses and if either of them are the ones who have got the whole God question sorted than I might not want to live anyways, or I shall sell my soul to the devil in which case your intercession won't be needed...I'm most excited over the story because it's actually good, the novel's alright and represents years of escapist effort and might make me some money, so I've another hole in my stomach where both of those used to be, and my pride on the line once again, I try and try to outwit my ego but it's damned hard...

so that's me...almost all ties cut and new ones being forged and perhaps I'm a writer after all...

writing

Haven't written this in ages, because I've been writing loads of…of…serious writing I suppose. And living brilliantly. But I had the perfect day yesterday, it was sparkling and glorious and included Hatch chiles on my breakfast eggs and incredible music and Iain Banks in the flesh and Macbeth performed on a jumping castle and activist writing and great company and drink and new friends and a drunk Welshman named Gary Cooper (!) and it went on and on, even continuing into this morning when I left folks sleeping as I headed out into the warm Edinburgh sunshine for my Glasgow bus, but a few hours sleep's not quite enough and the day grew dark like the fog in my mind. Still I'm happy.

I was thinking thinking thinking about music and writing and wondered if poetry could always become song or song always be poetry, but that thought wasn't deep enough for my mood and I sang to myself "I've legs to walk and thoughts to fly, eyes to laugh and lips to cry, a restless tongue to classify, oh I'm born to grow and grown to die," which I love because the music and the words together turn my heart inside out and I think perhaps words demand their form as you write them and words meant to be sung must be different than words meant to be spoken aloud must be different then words written to be simply read by someone who can understand them. They all live in the spaces between people; to write for no one is to write words that lie dead. To breathe them life you must strip yourself bare, give everything, spare yourself nothing, seems to me music is the same, the hardest fucking thing you ever do and lucky there's something driving you to it. And you truly love those few who have somehow found this immense generosity, you know them right away…yet still it is only between the one who gives and the other who truly hears that the greatness happens, I think that's the beauty of the thing Es algo imprescindible. It's a fierce rare joy to write something and get it exactly right, you ring golden like a bell, and you share its resonance then it becomes magic…songs, words, music, they are gifts, I saw it yesterday, think that's partly why I am so happy. So tonight I'm wandering among some of my favourite words and tunes...and I have to say that without paper I would write my words into the sand even if I were the only person on earth, but it's an amazing thing to give what you create, and to share what others have given.

At my window,
watching the sun go,
hoping the stars know
it's time to shine,
the day dreams
aloft on dark wings,
soft as the sun streams
at day's decline,
living is laughing,
and dying says nothing at all,
my babe and I lying here,
watching the evening fall
Townes Van Zandt

Lady in the frilled blouse
And plain tartan skirt
Since you have left the house
It's emptiness has hurt
All thought
In your presence
Time rode easy
Anchored on a smile
But your absence
Rocked love's balance
Unmoored the days
They buck and bound
Across the calendar
Loosed from the quiet sound
Of your flower tender voice
Seamus Heaney

Así te amo porque no se amar de otra manera..
Sino así de este modo en que no soy ni eres
Tan cerca que tu mano sobre mi pecho es mía
Tan cerca que se cierran tus ojos con mi sueno
Neruda

(I love you thus because I do not know another way to love
Only this way where I am not I and you are not you
So close that your..nhand on my chest is mine
So close your eyes close with my tiredness

the moon is hiding in
her hair
The
lilly
of heaven
full of all dreams
draws down.

cover her briefness in singing
close her with intricate faint birds
by daisies and twilights
Deepen her.

Recite
upon her
flesh
the rain's

pearls singly-whispering

Possibly the most beautiful poem in the world, ee cummings

Begin
With singing
Sing
Darkness kindled back into beginning
When the caught tongue nodded blind,
A star was broken
Into the centuries of the child
Myselves grieve now, and miracles cannot atone Dylan Thomas

Las palabras fueran avispas…………………The words were wasps
Y las calles como dunas…………………….And the streets like dunes
Cuando aun te espero llegar………………...While i still wait for you.
En un ataúd guardo tu tacto………………In a winding sheet i keep your touch
Y una corona ……………………………….And a crown
con tu pelo enmaranado……………………..tangled in your hair
Queriendo encontrar………………………...wanting to find
un arco iris infinito………………………….An infinite rainbow
Mis manos que aun son de hueso…………...my hands that are still of bone
Y tu vientre sabe a pan..…………………….and your stomach tastes of bread
La catedral que es tu cuerpo………………...the cathedral that is your body
…
No se distinguir……………………………...I don't know how to distinguish
entre besos y raíces………………………….Between kisses and beginnings
No se distinguir……………………………...I don't know how to distinguish
lo complicado de lo simple………………….The complicated from the simple
Y ahora estas en mi lista……………………..And now you are on my list
De promesas a olvidar……………………….Of promises to forget
Todo arde si aplicas………………………….Everything burns if you apply
la chispa adecuada…………………………...the adequate spark
Los Heroes del Silencio

Forgive what I give you. Though nightmare and cinders,
The one can be trodden, the other ridden,
We must use what transport we can. Both crunching
Path and bucking dream can take me
Where I shall leave the path and dismount
From the mad-eyed beast and keep my appointment
In green improbable fields with you.
Louis MacNeice

Green improbable fields, damn I wish I wish I'd written that…and to end, all the things I try to believe in, Silvio Rodriguez, though cantera is hard to translate…talent isn't quite it, ability perhaps…and masa's hard too…dough might be better than flesh, corn flour mixed with water, but it could never mean the same in English

Si no creyera en lo mas duro…………..If I did not believe in what was hardest
Si no creyera en el deseo……………………If I did not believe in desire
Si no creyera en lo que creo………………If I did not believe in what I believe
Si no creyera en algo puro…………….If I did not believe in something pure
Si no creyera en cada herida…………...If I did not believe in every wound
Si no creyera en la que ronde………….If I did not believe in what surrounds
Si no creyera en lo que esconde……….If I did not believe in what is hidden
Hacerse hermano de la vida………………...In becoming a brother to life
Si no creyera en quien me escucha…….If I did not believe in who listens to me
Si no creyera en lo que duele………………..If I did not believe in what hurts
Si no creyera en lo que quede……………If I did not believe in what remains
Si no creyera en lo que lucha………………..If I did not believe in my struggle
Ay que cosa fuera……………… …………..Ay what would I be,
que cosa fuera la masa sin cantera………What would the flesh be without talent
un amasijo hecho de cuerdas y tendones...A mass made of cords and tendons
un revoltijo de carne con madera…………....A mix up of meat and wood
un instrumento sin mejores resplandores……An instrument without greater splendour
que lucesitas montadas para escena………Than little lights staged for a scene
que cosa fuera, corazon, que cosa fuera…..What would I be, heart, what would I be
que cosa fuera la masa sin cantera……What would the flesh be without talent
un testaferro del traidor de los aplausos…A figurehead of the traitor to applause
un servidor de pasado en copa nueva………..A server of the past in a new cup
un eternizador de dioses del ocaso……….…An eternalizer of the western gods
jubilo hervido con trapo y lentejuela…Experience boiled with rags and spangles
que cosa fuera, corazon, que cosa fuera…..What would I be, heart, what would I be
que cosa fuera la masa sin cantera……..What would the flesh be without talent

Fucking hell this is long, inspiring at least to myself but long, I cannot be concise when this tired, and i can never tell whether what emerges from the fog is truth or rubbish…and there are so many lyrics poems words I love, better than sleep to read them but no, I'm off to my bed…

evening

I sit in the conservatory and the light is liquid gold, luminous, impossibly beautiful in those few minutes at close of day when magic seizes your heart and makes it whole…too whole, almost overflowing and the overflow is what you hunger for through your mundane hours, but this moment, glorious and still, like the culmination of passion, the peak of happiness, the eye in the storm it holds you and wraps you round and whispers to you in the falling rain and the world is perfect beauty even with you in it, as flawed and hungry and uncertain of anything as you are, and the moment fades to be replaced with a sadness, and dusk comes on surely now, the darkness creeping over green fields and the flowering apple tree, clouds lit up from behind in pale yellow and silver move swiftly across the horizon and just as you wonder if it is just over there that your destiny lies, the world lights up again with the moving clouds, a reprieve and a second golden time, a hint of blue sky on the horizon, golden light pouring like the rain around you, I love these days of rain and sun, love gold filled light and the pounding of water, it is luminous again, magical again, more beautiful after having prepared oneself for the dying of the light, it gives me hope. For what I don't know, just hope is enough, a quiet undemanding sort of hope, the hope that carries peace with it, not the demanding torments of passion or desire or blind need.

The blue sky is now encircled by clouds, deep black heavy laden ones running low, a thin line of glowing white ones above. This place is beautiful. I am glad I am here, there is nowhere I would rather be. That makes me smile, it might be a bit sad my smile, bittersweet is life, I taste it on my tongue. I am always amazed at how fast storm clouds move, I remember watching them before the monsoons hit in Arizona, amazing that they race the same over desert and green farmland. Another thing bringing these two worlds together besides me, I have trouble sometimes reconciling myself with myself, I am too many things to exist in one person I think, but watching the clouds race calms me down, I lose myself in them like I lose myself in the light, my inner voice stills and finds silence and I am content. Even as the dusk falls surely now, the darkness comes…

leftover Chocolate Cake

The breakfast of champions!! Especially when thick and yummy with mum's classic buttercream frosting, T actually called our mum two nights ago so he could make me a vintage Gibbons family birthday cake and it was perfect! He didn't handwrite happy birthday Andrea in another colour of frosting, but I love those little sugar letters so it was just as good...and funnier than I am used to:

I have grown accustomed to being called the beast...though as lovely, fragile, and sweet as I am, I have absolutely no relation to the creature who lurked on the other side of the high fence in The Sandlot and ate baseballs. I have come to recognize that boys are irrational however, so I don't mind, and I did love the "yippie" and the "woo", apparently there weren't enough letters to spell out the Robert Burns poem on the wee timerous beastie that T originally planned for so yippie and woo had to do. We had party food last night and they put up balloons on the wall for me, T put Marty Robbins on the Cd player for a bit of nostalgia...we grew up with marty robbins as he is one of my mum's favourites, and all of us still tend to sing along when she plays it in the car, it's very funny. Well, Laura finds it really funny, I find it absolutely natural and normal and cool. I got some Iain Banks books and a pair of shorts with my Mark's and Spencers gift vouchers, I have every faith in my luck and global warming and can't wait to wear them! T read me some of the stuff he's been writing, 4 of the 6 of us in the family are aspiring writers, I think it must be a record...so much aspiration and so little accomplishment, though it's only cause our genious goes unrecognized. Apart from Brian Adams who thinks we are the most intimidatingly brilliant family he's ever met, and he told me that while drunk so I know it's absolutely true. Dan can back me up on that, he's Dan's friend anyways. Besides, his name is Brian Adams, so clearly he has no problems or unrecognized genious of his own.

Well, still working selling underwear, though I need to come up with an alternate story, because when I tell men in the pub what I do they get this happy sort of glazed look and make bad jokes. But I have finally found a run of positions that I am interested in and highly qualified for and have applied to 5, been called for an interview to one already on the 1st...so I believe that by this time in 3 weeks I shall hopefully be making the painful decision over which one...which one. I hope, that would be nice. And I am writing the best fucking story I've ever written, that alone has made this the best birthday of all time and entirely validated the mad decision to move to scotland to sell underwear...

stunning

Today I wandered lonely as a cloud...no wait, that was yesterday, I didn't work yesterday and luxuriated in blue skies and sunshine, it was fucking beautiful. I went for a run in the Maryhill Woods. Now when I say run, I mean something closer to a short run slowing to a short jog punctuated by long intervals of walking. I remember running back in the day before I ruined my shins, remember running in the dusk and the earth sped beneath my feet and it was effortless and I was motion and nothing more, the wind blew right through me. That was long ago though, now I'm finding running to be a bit more of a sado-masochistic activity, the best thing about it is returning home exhausted and virtuous and sleeping soundly through the night, I am missing my bike ride to work. But yesterday, ahh, I stripped down to my tank top yesterday and found a new trail up along the hill looking out over Semple Loch and the second loch just to the south and the sun beat down and the wind smelled of spring and the birds were singing and I saw lambs gambolling about and they were so beautiful and I thought holy shit, I live in Scotland. I still can't quite believe it. Every now and then walking down a Glaswegian street I shake myself and smile just at the thought of it. Especially when someone's playing the bagpipes, I love the buskers here. You have the bagpipes of course, but there is an amazing reggae player, an old guy who plays old electric guitar surfer music, a 3 man band playing rock'n'roll, and a duo on guitar and accordeon. Last time I passed them they played the theme music to Amelie and gave me 5 minutes of magic on my way to work. Ahh work, I knew there was a reason to go for that masters...I was not cut out for retail. I like people well enough, but to be all smiley and bubbly and friendly and repeat the same phrase a hundred times to a hundred different faces, well, it makes me want to spit. I am learning an immense amount about breasts however, principally that I am quite happy with mine. Oh, and that in spite of that they will actually get bigger. I do have to get pregnant first, that's a bit of a downer, but apparently they don't really look back after the first one. I am also now able to sing along to all of the pop hits, my repertoire of chatter on girly subjects has grown by leaps and bounds, and I am making friends, so on the whole as a life experience this is has been right up there. Still, I am more afraid of being questioned about nursing bras then I ever was to sneak into the Morrison hotel in the dead of night...a small character flaw when your fears involve underwear and not your physical safety. A wonder these genes ever made it as far as they did.

St Patrick's

Hey ho, home early after a grand celebration, well, not so grand but good, very good, I'm quite happy at the moment...went out out to the Hamilton local, not the Bay Horse which is closer but rough, very rough, no, we walked all the way to ML3, it's nice, quite nice. It was pouring down rain as we walked there, it came down in sheets across the street lights, lit up golden against the night sky and beautiful, and the wind blew mad against our backs and the trees sang above us and I was happy to be outside, happy to be walking, and I know it's because I'm crazy, one day I'll the man who finds that amazing even if I'm a stupid girl, and the world was beautiful and we sang nay, no, never, no never no more, will I be a wild rover...beautiful it was and we arrived in the torrent sopping wet, completely soaked, everyone stared at us and we laughed because life was in the process of being so well lived it was brilliant and I ran to the lady's toilet and squeezed`the water from my hair so it wouldn't keep running down my neck and soaking the top of my blouse and ran my fingers through it though fat lot of good it did, I just hoped for the best and figured that perhaps that fresh-out of the shower look was attractive to the occassional bystander because that's exactly what I looked like, with the backs of my jean legs sopping and clinging lovingly to the backs of my calves and dripping to the floor...

A few drinks, some brilliant indy tunes with a bit of Pink Floyd thrown randomly in, I could have done with a strong dose of the Pogues but it was not to be and it didn't matter, I don't know why I'm so happy today but I am, happy. Life is brilliant...

nothing much really

I haven't written anything for ages. I've been busy I suppose but can't quite find that burning drive to write that hits me at times, I need my own place, want my own place, would do just about anything for my own place...living with relatives you learn quite a bit, mostly about yourself, I discover that I am quite impatient, more antisocial than I thought, not at all domesticated or housebroken, only appreciate dining or high tea formality on very very rare occassions...and of course I am again reminded how good men have it in the world. Why is it that my cousins can get away with letting all the women do the cleaning up so they can watch rugby? I want to watch rugby, and if only my aunt appreciated rugby at all, we would have done the washing up later, or had our lunch on paper plates so there would have been no washing up to do, or sent the boys off to do it, the game was fantastic. I watched the beginning of it as others cleaned around me and was smote mightily by my evil woman's conscience, I wish that would just go away. Not that I mind cleaning, I just like doing it my own way and when I find it convenient...and the amount of dishes my aunt considers necessary for a meal is astonishing. It astonishes me. The amount of food as well, she loves feeding her boys! I ate more yesterday than I had the entire week before and found it a bit difficult to roll myself out of bed later. And I have not been able to say the word fuck for almost a week now, say what I'm actually thinking, walk around the house in my underwear, listen to music turned up really loudly, leave food on my plate cause I'm full, or fully relax for some time now...

But other than that things are going quite well, I'm meeting more folks, applying to jobs, now understand almost everything I hear unless it is coming from very old men without many teeth...I'm working on a small community online and paper news sort of thing with some folks which is great, and not bad at all for one month in the city, I'm rather proud of myself! And trying to decide how much of an activist I want to be, I'm not sure about that, I think I was actually quite burned out when I left and yet I still love talking politics and getting all fired up over pints in the pub and now have folks to do that with who are brilliant, so I'm happy. Hopefully staying with the brother tmrw, where I can say fuck all I want, and he usually thinks what I'm thinking is really funny and I don't have to eat everything on my plate...the walking around in the underwear will just have to wait, but I'm not too fussed as it's just a bit chilly...

Whose sparkling personality?

So I'm trying to figure out if I'll be earning enough to move out and rent a small room somewhere...it'll be tight but probably worth it. In the meantime I've been amusing myself, I've embarked on one mad adventure and I'd tell you all about it but am hoping that everything I write on the subject will be one day copyrighted and sold in newsagents everywhere so you'll just have to wait for it to be published. I've started work on the novel as well, I knew moving was a fucking brilliant idea.

And I'm having so many adventures that some can be shared...yesterday I went into town and walked around with Bob, started at the Gallery of Modern Art which is kind of a cool place and I discovered there's a library and a cafe in the basement, who knew? I'm going to have to go back and see about getting a card. On the second floor there's a crazy art piece about the weapons invented by schoolchildren, I quite like it. So after a coffee and some discussion of the common good games, we went off on our walk and Bob's brilliant to walk with, he knows everything about everything. We passed my new place of work, walked past the old sherrif's courts and I learned that the building in front used to be an old sweatshop with artist studios on top and Bob had a studio up there and they used to sit out smoking weed while staring down at the sherrif's bldg, and when the sweatshop workers went on strike in mid winter, they'd come warm up with a quick coffee or tea in the studio before heading back out to the picket line. Passed the Trongate which has a brilliant history: http://www.tron.co.uk/about.asp?page=History, and the Panopticon theatre where Stan Laurel of Laurel and Hardy made his stage debut http://www.monklands.co.uk/panopticon/index.htm... I love Laurel and Hardy, and I love Glasgow, this town is full of treasures and no one even knows that they're there. Hope the fucking council doesn't decide argyll street needs another mall and that it has to knock more cool old buildings down.


Then we headed down to the print shop, I love print shops, met Tom who prints all kinds of radical literature for groups for free, prints the variant paper, and whose door is covered with stickers I assume he printed as well, anti-war, anarchist, punk rock groups, anti poll tax...very cool. Walked past the old anarchist centre which is now a trendy shop selling very expensive industrial looking jewelry. Walked on down to an art centre right next to the 13th note...will have to go back to that pub, plastered with indie rock posters and have bands playing live in the basement, but the art spot was cool as well and I got to go into my first darkroom which was brilliant, made me want to go buy a proper film camera and play with chemicals, I think I'm going to take a class. Heard stories about art under Maggie Thatcher and the beauty of a tube of vermillion paint...fucking beautiful man. I don't think Bob paints anymore, but I really want to see his canvases which apparently are all huge and piled up in his basement...I'm dead curious to see what kind of things he was painting. After leaving there we met up with someone named Jo who makes documentaries, and the first question out of her mouth was, "well, how was your equinox?" Who knew it was the equinox? Fuck me, can't believe I let another equinox slide past without proper celebration, which I'd hope involves alcohol, my celebration certainly would at any rate. Found another great pub, cafe, vegie fare place, could end up one of my favourite places here I think...big, relaxed, good music, lighting that's brilliant cause it has this dome sort of thing...and definitely lefty, bet its one of those places you're always running into people you know if you're involved in anything here. Called Mono anyways. So it was a brilliant day, it even snowed! And the wind was calm so the snow just floated down to kiss your face just the way I like it to do, it was beautiful even if it melted as it hit the ground...the hills were all covered in snow and shining white...too bad I started coming down with something yesterday and spent most of today in bed. Reading the Kite Runner, it's a bit shattering.

Oh, and I think you can tell I haven't been able to curse freely since last Monday morning...

Tuesday morning at 9 o'clock

Ahh, beatles reference, nothing beats it! It is of course late afternoon and I am sitting in my uncle's office with a torrent of water pouring down the little waterfall, it is quite incredible what some rain will do. Today on the train back from Glasgow I saw a rainbow between Paisley Gilmour Station and Johnstone and it made me extraordinarily happy. I do not believe that rainbows represent God's promise to Abraham never again to destroy the world by flood...even if they are nothing but a refraction of light and water they are miraculous, but I like to believe they are promises of something, pure beauty flung across the sky, living colour against the darkness, a call to remember that life is fucking marvelous and to be lived as deeply as possible. My ipod was presenting a classic rock moment as I watched, a little Marshall Tucker band and led zepplin, it was perfect.

I have this ring I wear all the time, silver with amber set into it. I was sitting on the rapid bus down Wilshire in L.A.next to this guy who was tatted and pierced and covered with jewelry and scarily thin. He liked my amber earrings so we started talking and I was telling him about all of the wonder and magic of the Tucson gem and mineral show, and as we approached La Brea his friend sitting across from us pulled out a rubber tourniquet and wrapped it around his arm, then a little vial and shook some heroin into a spoon and held his lighter under it and then he pulled out a syringe and filled it up and I know my face changed. The pain of his addiction hit me like a hammer for some reason even as I pretended not to see not to know not to feel, I raged at the sadness of the human life before me because every human life is beautiful and I wished there was something inside of me strong enough to stop him, to make him choose life, to give him hope as a gift without judgement...I wished I were more like a rainbow than a girl. He sat there, hand with syringe in pocket, veins bulging beneath the rubber, leg nervously bouncing up and down from the balls of his feet, waiting for the bus to stop so he could shoot up. The guy I was talking to leaned over and said it's alright, there's nothing anyone can do but him, but us. And then he pulled this ring off of his pinky finger as he stood to go and gave it to me and it was so unexpected I took it without thinking and then protested but he was already on his way out the door...it's a prized possession though I don't know why looking at it makes me happy...

Friday in Edinburgh

The old man burst out of the door of the old tenement building, wearing cropped silver hair and nylon navy track suit. A track suit with shorts no less. He stood a moment at the top of the steps, chest out, proud surveyor of a city waiting to be conquered and impervious to shafts of curiosity or laughter. A deep breath and he was carefully, quickly down the stairs, an old roller suitcase bouncing in offended protest behind him. It appeared empty, a brilliant battered red against the day's muted grey. As the old man shuffled in a determined jog down the main street sidewalk the battered case trundled behind him yielding reluctantly to the afternoon's adventure. I stood a moment and thought, but of course I followed.

The unlikely pair moved slowly down the street, taking the most direct route in and among and around the masses of Friday's pedestrians. From time to time the old man's thin legs would slow to a walk, the suitcase slowed its wheels, confronted with an impenetrable wall of prams or hooded teenagers travelling in packs. A breath only. The old man would slow to a walk but looked neither to the right or the left; he looked always straight ahead and picked up his shuffle as soon as he was able. The suitcase rolled confidently behind him, its wheels trapped in the rut of the road most taken. My own feet were delighting in the absurd and the new and the unknown. Smiles blossomed along our path like flowers, and heads turned to watch him like blades of grass before the wind.

Why would an old man go jogging pulling a roller suitcase behind him? Training for the great roller suitcase derby, senior division. Training for his next holiday with its short layovers and mad rushes from train to train, train to bus, bus to plane. Specialized training for the muscles in his arm and lower back. Perhaps the suitcase wasn't actually empty, perhaps it held dirty track suits, microfilm, a kilo of cocaine, the maltese falcon, the novel he'd been writing for the past 40 years, the last piece of his wife needing disposal, a hot meal in Tupperware for his granddaughter, his vintage porn collection rescued from diligent housecleaning, smuggled Russian cigarettes, a genuine Renoir, a bottle of chocolate milk to be shaken, black-market watches for sale, pink lingerie, crisps, an entire flea circus, a lock of his lost love's hair, brilliant poetry on crumpled up paper, the answer to life's greatest question which he had just resolved through physics and that he now needed to urgently deliver, the winners of tomorrow's horse racing, his wig collection, cabbages…

And so I followed him, slowly, for my walk was faster than his shuffle. Rain fell. It fell lightly all across the great fucking beautiful city, a web of silver spun silk to shroud ugliness and hide tears and awaken a deep throbbing loveliness of colour in the world. It cleaned the sky. People hurried through their afternoon, hurried through their lives and I exulted in rampant loneliness and adventure, following an old man pulling a battered suitcase. The ordinary become extraordinary. I love how that happens every day.

Escocia Querida

I love it, and why? I'm sticking the funny stuff in first this blog because it's hell of long and philosophical:

Wholey apart from fabulous whiskey flavoured condums, as though you hadn't just drunk far too much, I have never read anything with more delight than the "WARNING: Do not drive whilst using this product." It is quite fun to imagine operating a condum and a vehicle at the same time, full of interesting possibilities, even more interesting for the men. Sadly, the machine was empty...I shall be on Rose street again though, it was a really nice pub too so I shall definitely be back. Bet you all know what you're getting as birthday presents and christmas gifts now...unless I find another stock of Nightrider and A-Team beer coasters at Pivo Pivo, you never know.

So, I am enjoying myself here but I am missing frijoles y tortillas y chile. I knew I would. And I am missing spanglish and gerry's jokes and my friends quite terribly.

It's incredible to think that you have the power to send your life shooting off into whatever direction you choose, and incredible to wonder who I would be if I had moved to Gallup, New Mexico or the Yucatan or Mongolia. I wouldn't be a different person right away of course, but after 6 months, a year, who would I become? And who shall I become now? I want to know, and when I want to know something i can't know it rather makes me feel like throwing a metaphysical tantrum. That would be a good novel actually, the parrallel lives of A Gibbons all branching out from one single point like the delta of a river and each of them throwing tantrums over not being able to unravel the secrets of life at various points in the book. I might write it, so consider it copyrighted though I have a sneaking feeling it's already been done. I can't decide if I believe in fate or not, soulmates or not, God or not, death as the next adventure or death as the absolute end, if you should work to live or live to work to change the world, if there's any hope at all for us, if the rightwing tide will ever turn, if enlightenment is possible and if so do you really have to go without sex to find it, if the revolution is ever fucking coming and if it does will it actually result in equality, if one day everyone will just suddenly stop believing in money cause it's make believe anyways...I could just sit and wonder all day, wish you could get paid to wonder...the point I wanted to get to was that my being here in Glasgow is based almost entirely on my brother's chance meeting with scottish girlfriend laura several years ago on a study abroad program in France...and looking farther back I suppose meeting my ex, getting hired by Carecen in L.A., getting my university scholarship cut which means I didn't go to Russia. Can you believe I was studying Russian and planned to go to Russia? Fucking hell, but Swarthmore College screwing me over more than 10 years ago now has possibly had the greatest impact of all. And then there was this beautiful and tiny blue butterfly flapping its wings on the asian steppes at 11:34 am on February 2nd, 1982...

Still, I am here! Still swinging between intense happiness and loneliness and a bit of panic. I had forgotten how much I hate not knowing what I am doing, I wish my ego would take a bit of a rest because I know that no one really knows what they're doing, still, I hate not knowing what I'm doing. I have to go to the job center tomorrow and it's freaking me out a bit. Which is a bit justified because I have heard terrible things...but more of the annoying bureaucratic sort rather than of the random beatings for being unemployed and occassional public humiliation kind or vampires in the plumbing so I know I really have nothing to worry about, which is why I am annoyed with myself.

Anyways, haven't been able to write for a while, you can tell because all kinds of silliness is just pouring out...haven't been with my beautiful silly L.A. friends, that's probably the problem, I need to find silly Glasgow friends who like to discuss life and politics and videogames at length over pints - maybe I should do a personal add? That would give me some interesting stories...But I had a great weekend with my cousin and his girlfriend in Edinburgh and and walked miles and miles and took some brilliant photos. We went up the coast a bit on Saturday to Gullane point which looked like this in the afternoon:

And became even more beautiful as the sun set

And looking at beauty such as that you don't worry about life or death or sex or revolution at all, you just feel intensely alive and content in standing seeing breathing living...so forget everything I just wrote, I really do have the answers.

Sunday we walked round Edinburgh, down Leith walk which is also absolutely stunning

Edinburgh is honestly one of the most photogenic cities I have ever been in, you could just wander about taking the most incredible shots day after day after day. I love Glasgow as much, but it requires more work to discover its beauty...like L.A. I think, funny how I prefer L.A. to San Francisco and Glasgow to Edinburgh. Or do I? That's a discussion for another day though. We walked all the way up to the museum of modern art and one of the coolest art pieces I have ever seen and fell in love with at first sight:

And now I'm back in Howwood, the weather has turned cold, grey and rainy again, perhaps also inspiring such a ridiculously long blog. I might go down to the local pub by myself now, that would certainly be adventurous of me. But dare I court the dissaproval of the aunt and uncle? Perhaps not since I'll be staying with them another couple of weeks at least and its a dubious sort of adventure, with a possibility of intense discomfort...I might save it for later.

1st blog from scotland

Sunday morning, sitting in Hamilton sipping tea and eating toast...it's cold and grey and raining softly outside and i can feel the cold creeping in through the window. Can't believe I'm here, it doesn't feel real at all which is why I don't mind the cold or the rain and just feel a bit removed from myself, outside myself, a stranger's hands typing on the keyboard, a body I am watching from just above and looking beyond to the green grass and bare branches of the trees and roses outside. I hope it snows today, and apart from hope i think I am feeling very happy, a quiet happiness this morning, and lonely, an expectant loneliness this morning, and nervous, a nervousness born of infinite opportunity and new beginnings this morning...

time to go eat square sausages with Laura, I love square sausages. I have been made sad, however, by the absolute absence of pinto beans from the supermarket shelves, and the fact that double sinks don't seem to have caught on here, and I cannot figure out how you wash your dishes and then rinse them without what seems like a lot of extra work...still, I went out to the pub with my uncle on Friday and ordered a steak pie and just on the off chance I asked the waiter if they had any chile sauce or red pepper flakes...they didn't of course but guess what? The chef made me chile sauce...and it was really good, not so spicy sadly but really good and it made me so happy! I love this place.

monster trucks

Alright, hanging out, went hiking this morning and it was great except for the bit where we left the trail and I led Mikey's lovely lady into danger and she was attacked by a cactus and blood was pouring down her hand and I did feel really bad about that...she is now extra special welcome to the Gibbons family though, she was awesome and laughed more than she cried and she didn't even curse me none...and I'm tired, not as tired as this dial up connection, but lying on the couch with the laptop I pay that no mind, just finished watching Talladega nights extras if you couldn't tell.

Talladega Nights was just a wind up to what's on now...monster truck rally! Fuck yeah! The only place you can hear announcers saying

"that truck's broke"

"The escalade's real popular with the young people, the neon, the spinners...dude, it's got it's bling on!"

The judges were like 3 regular guys in T-shirts and caps and they were snapping pictures with their digital cameras while holding up their scores...Too bad we tuned in at the end, it was the world championship but not much international competition surprisingly enough...now it's a real life...ron jeremy in the flesh! And Pepa (from Salt n Pepa) deep throating a banana, she put the whole thing in her mouth and then took it out again...nice. She's got skills I can only dream of. Webster! Cool! And China Doll with dogs Bambi Roo and Honeysuckle Hunnybunny...tv is just so good on Sunday afternoon! Superbowl coming up. Let's just hope I never have to go through the superbowl again, my dad signed us up for neighborhood party...I'm just going for food. Some classic American moments before I leave...three days, can't tell if I'm happy or want to throw up. Both maybe.

last wednesday

Forcing myself to write for myself later on...last night I went to dinner with Maria and Araceli and Monic to la Guelaguetza...mmm, mole and nopales and quesadillas with huitlaco...huitzlaco...huitzlacochitl? Maybe? It's some nahuatl word and I don't think that's right...It's a mushroom that grows on corn and absolutely delicious, I'd never had it before...

And then this morning I went to see Agustina...she made me feel so much better about everything because here she is in her very own office, her business started with the money from the Morrison struggle



I had some clothes needing a bit of taking in, and Agustina always inspires me, she's an amazing incredible woman, and it made me so happy to see her again, it's been awhile...she has also learned to drive since I last saw her! And her business is now taking in a profit, if you need anything tailored let me know and I shall give you the address!

Today went to lunch with Linda but we were so busy talking I didn't take pictures...and then to dinner with dona Irene y Pati, here's my adopted mexican grandmother making gorditas



They were soooo good, and I can make them as well now...but I ate far too much, I shall be rolling onto my plane I think. I biked home, the skies have finally cleared and it was cold and lovely and a full moon. Beautiful. Nights like this I love L.A.

remembering the Morrison

Sitting at home, watching the documentary Jeff Kauffman did for us on the Morrison Hotel...such a crazy time of my life, all-absorbing life-changing really, I am watching Maria Rivas open up her phone and seeing it crawling with roaches, one of my most disgusting horrific memories...the hallways with their boarded up doors, Mark talking about pulling himself up four flights of stairs, Mark pulling himself out of his wheelchair, he lost a leg because of that damn building, when you're paralyzed you can't feel the roaches crawling over your legs, your genitals, can't tell you have an infection that will mean amputation. I remember the smell, the mold, the fleas that attack you as you walk in and you know are from the fucking rodents, puppy rats the tenants called them because of their size... I remember sneaking in late at night to take photos and document conditions and talk to our folks, the fear and adrenalin as I walked past security dressed in ridiculous clothes. And damn, I remember the day we had our first action and got into the building after months and I have never in my life been so happy, so high really, it lasted for days. I remember the manager sitting on the floor on the 4th floor rocking back and forth with his head in his hands...a small payback for threatening tenants with his pit bull and throwing people into the street but it was something...the remaining tenants cheering us as we roamed the hallways like champions.

I'm sadly one of the stars of the documentary...I wish I spoke better, I feel things so deeply but can't seem to express myself well out loud, perhaps that's why I'm a writer I suppose. I am fueled on pure fury, much more so than hope, and I think there's no way to tell that, funny that you can't tell how angry I am all of the time...And I look tired, I think I've been tired since I first started working, first started fighting with every ounce of strength for a little piece of justice. It's funny to watch yourself speak. I am so glad, though, that there is some living record of such a long struggle, so glad to see everyone I love, everyone I worked with. Even John Krusynski, he makes me laugh because he is just so ridiculous at times, he's a psychic you know, and Nasa has been picking up his thoughts by satellite for years. He actually said in his interview that we were a bit annoying at times, that somehow didn't make it into the finished film. I'm going to miss him. Nor did my stunning analysis of the role of property rights over human rights but that's alright. Elvis is also missing, he sold out early on and bought some beautiful new clothes we heard...His room was like a tunnel between stacks of papers and sheet music and plastered with music posters of Elvis and the Doors and even a picture of the real Elvis' mother. he came to all of our meetings with his guitar. Mr Brown is there at the protest, a crochety old veteran who was lost as well when he lost his room, his own place, his home. It was a horrible day the day we had to move him out, I cried. And Sebastian is there at our meeting, an old Italian fisherman, he will never know how much I loved him and I think he left believing we had sold everyone out by taking a deal and that hurts like nothing else. We would have fought all the way if the other tenants had wanted us to, I wanted to fight...but with their kids getting assaulted in the hallways and 90 boarded up rooms and drug deals in the bathrooms...they couldn't fight anymore. And who were we to demand it when legally we were finished?

The documentary is almost done, nice to see Mark as he was, without his home shithole as it was, he's lost. He's been on the streets since then, in and out of the hospital, looking worse every time I see him, how hard is it to understand that a home means more than money and cannot be replaced? There was another tenant with severe mental problems who lived there, we tried and tried to talk to him, other tenants tried to help him, but he would never accept it. he was the last to leave and I don't think he got any money...He's homeless now and lives on 30th street near the freeway, only blocks from our office...I wonder if he knows it. I pass him on my bike coming to work in the morning and it makes my soul hurt.

I wonder if the Morrison has given me more hope or less...I know I didn't have much left inside to give after it, still don't, definitely need to rest, to recharge...the ending of the Morrison with everyone moving out, a small win more bitter than sweet...and the shooting of Maria's son, those two unconnected things together have killed a piece of me I think, I wonder if it can come back.

I'm packing this evening, getting rid of more stuff, I suppose it's a good time to think on all that has been. I am sad, and nothing seems real this evening, even all that I have done, the documentary proves it happened, the tiredness in my bones does as well, and I suppose the hole inside me that appears whenever I cry. My ipod is magically matching my mood on shuffle...shutting the cover on years of your life requires a good soundtrack, did I say I was fucking sad as all hell?

weekends

they're full up to overflowing and I'm exhausted, I just don't want to forget everything once I'm on the plane...so, in a mad rush to finish and go to bed, went to the mercadito with bev and jose and gauri, sang to the marichis and thought how much I'd miss mariachi and got sad, walked past the stalls where they sell mole and chiles out of buckets like so

and thought how much I'd miss mole and chiles...I also stocked up on magical oils like theses:



thought they might come in useful in Scotland, and I just don't know how widely love potions are sold there...it's the secert to my success really. I also went to Santa Barbara and on the train Bob Dylan singing the times they are a changin' actually made me cry, can't believe how many years ago he wrote that and how much worse things have actually become. Saw Sten and Shithi and baby Didin...now Didin stared at me for 10 minutes or more like so:



I couldn't decide what was wrong with my face, it made me very nervous...luckily she decided I was worth her while and we became friends...here's my beautiful friend and her family:



and damn but I shall miss them! No photos of beautiful Santa Barbara or Goleta or the ocean...it was raining all weekend, and looks to be cloudy and drizzly the rest of the week. Just my luck my very last week in california shall be without sun...doesn't seem fair.

global warming and stuff

I've only had a few hours sleep so forgive disjointedness, and i'm watching An Inconvenient Truth...and preparing myself to be really depressed. I think I need to hurry up and go see a glacier because apparently there won't be any left soon, i shall just bump that to the top of my list...i think we're pretty fucked...

But why didn't he make this movie 10 years ago? So many people feel that the election was stolen in 2000, hell, i think the election was stolen and still, angry as I am that Bush is president, I think it's...i don't have an adjective...why didn't people rally round him? I think the election was stolen but I have never seen him as my president. Perhaps it's cause I wasn't active in his campaign, I didn't quite understand what was coming, I know it's in large part because he yielded and didn't fight...you can't rally round someone who has already given up. I wish he hadn't. But now he's talking about Katrina without mentioning structural poverty or racism, and I suppose that's why I've never seen him as my president. He better start talking about power and who gets to make what decisions and why, and what it will really take to change our course or I shall be more angry at him than global warming.

Yep, I'm depressed...and I'm sold already, watching 20 different interesting scientific phenomena proving that we're fucked is not real fun. I want to know who is responsable, who is profitting, who is pushing leglislation that is pushing us backwards...and what are we going to do? And it's not like we'll just be able to talk those corporations and politicians into doing the right thing....

Alright. Problem - population growth. Those damned poor people having all those kids, its a fact poor people have more kids. So let's stop exploitation, support land redistribution, wealth redistribution...end poverty. And what will that take? Still, those poor third world countries ain't contributing much to global warming.

Technology. I love it. But there's immense profit to be made in automobiles, gas, oil, mining...why must everything be based on those things? And is it a coincidence then that we have the president we do? Funny enough there's immense profit in war as well...for a few people.

Well, we're ending on a high point, we can fix this, we just need political will, la la la...it's true enough, I'm just too cynical about what forces are required to change political will due to the forces we're up against, I suppose it's good for the innocent majority he's trying to gavanize that he didn't talk about that too much...maybe they'll stop buying hummers. I've just been in the trenches trying to change political will for too long I suppose, it's like slamming your head against a wall, because even when there is progress it still is nothing compared to the scale of the problems as politicians are entirely controlled by big money...still, the earth really is astonishingly beautiful, I'm not sitting by and watching it be destroyed. But I knew that already. As someone who does not own a car in L.A. I'm rather proud of myself, but I shall try not to let that make me a pretentious ass...it seems to be a major failing of far too many environmentalists, and their emissions might possibly be another major cause of global warming.

The secret to fun on jumping castles

Alright, this will be quick, had a little goin' away party last night, so much happened, I'm off to san diego in 30 minutes, so I decided to just focus on one thing before I post the rest of the pictures...chinatown, 2 am...you know who you are. And you should be afraid :-)

Right, so if you're lucky enough to have a friend who actually owns an inflatable jumping castle, and you're lucky enough that he decides to throw you a little going away party one Saturday afternoon (Gerry, you are the best), this is how to have a good time.

1. Find an adult friend who also wants to jump in the jumping castle. Funnily enough, this is a bit difficult, I cannot understand why...Ludin can't either.

2. Kick all of the kids out of the jumping castle (one of the few perks to adulthood as far as I can see)

3. Get in and start jumping!



oh the joy! DO NOT allow the kids to discover that you are only pseudo adults, they will quickly pile in, and since this is a small home version of the industrial strength fair castle, it will immediately start to deflate. And I'm a bit out of order here...you should have taken off all of your jewelry before entering, because if you don't, it will get trapped in the netting and you will end up like this...



arse in the air and children laughing at you...so you boot them out again, wait for the thing to re-inflate (with some help from Evelin, photographer), and then jump once more. Sadly, it often happens that you forget just how tiring jumping castles are, and when the kids pile in again you don't have the strength to boot them out, you end up semi-comatose, getting bounced around like so, this is when it's not bad, Ludin looks positively asleep:



This, however, this is not good at all:



So finally, with the last ounce of strength you possess, having given up the battle against the evil children and the castle that continues to deflate and inflate, you struggle out of the mesh exit designed for 5 year olds, and collapse onto the grass like so...



And then. once you've some breath back, you spring back up and put on a good show like everything happened as planned and you've had the upper hand all along.

Ta Da!



like sharks, children can smell fear and weakness...

mango hookahs

I highly recommend...they're quite lovely, and habibi's is a cool place, a bit far but I wish I'd known about it when I was at UCLA because i might have wasted a few less hours in class listening to stupid professors in black turtlenecks and v-neck sweaters telling me how to think. Not that I'm still angry about that or anything...anyways, here we have the best shot of the evening...Gauri

I might never be forgiven for posting these, but gauri at least despises myspace so I think I'm safe...here's sumaiya



I don't think I am yet able to smoke a hookah with the same je ne sais quoi as them, but one day perhaps...And finally, me at the end of the evening...I'd had quite enough by then...



I might have a silly grin, but god damn I shall miss my folks here! We didn't get a group shot because I was busy smoking, about 10 of us and dinner was delicious, but here's some faces I shall miss



Kique, Evelin, Jackie, and Baby Steve. Right, definitely bed time..

twenty f'ing four

I'm watching the season premiere of 24, though for how much longer I do not know...jack has emerged from 2 years of torture in a chinese prison with a nasty looking left hand, a splendid physique, a tan, and all of his teeth, if it weren't for the artistic scars, long hair and beard you'd think he'd been at club med. The dialogue when he met his buddies for the first time after two years of torture in a chinese prison was priceless. He's just escaped from the evil arab terrorists the us gov handed him over to, in the most gruesome fashion possible mind you, and has gone rogue again because no one will believe his information because they are all fucking idiots. We have the evil arab in our midst taking advantage of the nice trusting white family...that is infuriating, and the gov has just blown up a house in inglewood. Anyways, all politics aside (hard for me to do of course), this plot has holes in it a mile wide, perhaps they are really hoping that the split screen and clock counting down will be enough to distract the viewer. They really should pay me mad money to rewrite their scripts so an intelligent person can sit through them without feeling a bit insulted. I suppose I am still sitting here and watching it, however, so I'll give them some credit, though the freezing temperature in my house is helping ensure i remain under covers with not much better to do than watch tv. And Assad is pretty hot.

Oh, now the plot rests on stress caused by a ticket taker on the metro...the la metro redline...we have no fucking ticket takers on the la metro...dear oh dear, and we end on a cliffhanger...two more hours on tomorrow. A four hour season premiere that "will change everything," they claim. Turns out this is the minute by minute blog, keifer sutherland is getting interviewed on fox news next, can't wait.

I've just had three of the most inspiring days of my life, people taking back their right to the city, the battle is on and it's almost tragic I'm leaving the states...it'll make the next three weeks inspired though, i'm all fired up again. Right, i just have to say the news is absolute crap, holes in the plot a mile wide much like 24. Are we at war? cause fox news does not seem to have realized it, the latest car chase got pretty emotional though, and i'm glad they reviewed what exactly the OJ simpson case was about and recapped his book. well, here we go, we're going after osama again, he was the target the whole time after all, that's a relief. And crack federal troops in ski masks and carrying automatic weapons are wandering around Tijuana looking for drug cartel members, fox has embedded some reporters, they got a good shot of a guy with scary looking tattoos, sadly nothing else to report yet, surprisingly people are running away from the men in ski masks and very large guns.

I'm for bed I think, inspiration and alcohol really have left me a bit sleepy...that and the stupid state of television. Kiefer said about five words if you're interested...for some reason jack is a bit subdued after two years of torture. I can't forgive them for making that small, I really can't.

LA Adventures

They're winding down...a month to go exactly, and I have never loved LA as much as now when I am about to leave it...it is an amazing city. I only have 4 weekends left before I leave, and they are full to overflowing with plans already...This is more of a journal entry for me to look over when I'm nostalgic in Sctland, so apologies...yesterday spent the day with meo and her unborn, haven't seen her in ages! We went out to brunch and then walked about Silverlake a bit, went to Secret Headquarters, the new comic book store and it's great, I got Love and Rockets which was madness because i am supposed to be getting rid of all of my material possessions, but i swear i am going to read it on the plane. I also realized that a few blogs ago I stated that men only look good in boxers...the Tomatoes episode, a classic LA moment...and I have to now partially reverse this sweeping statement and say that to ME, men only look good in boxers. Apperently, to other men, men look much better in small colourful briefs or thongs...this thought gives me a shudder, but as proof I offer the following view into Rough Trade:



We wandered on in, it's quite tame in the front room, you can see the hard core bondage stuff peeking flirtily from the back, and there's an upstairs as well, but meo wasn't feeling like stairs so we scarpered. We also found a great T-shirt shop, and I bought one featuring "chelvis," or che crossed with elvis, it's ridiculous...

We then headed over to Frank Lloyd Wright's Hollyhock House, i cannot believe in all my years here I had never gone the 20 minutes down sunset to see it. It's quite beautiful



though they would allow no photos inside the bastards. I even went to look for a picture to scan of the inside because it is quite glorious but actually found jack all on the internet and I realized my big art books are almost all sold...hooray for that! It was beautiful, if a bit cold, and sadly I discovered that Mr. Wright did not understand plumbing or allowing for rain so apparently most of his 28 roofs leaked...anyways, it's highly recommended in spite of a slightly annoying tour guide. The views over LA were incredible as well, and since it's been so windy the sky was incredibly clear, and you realize what a difference the absence of smog can make in your life...

Saw Pan's Labyrinth, everyone must see it, and on the big screen if at all possible, it is one of the best movies I've seen in a long time. With the possible exception of you Chris, if you're reading this, given it is a bit of a fairytale. Still, it's an anti fairy tale really, and the previews are crap as it is only partly goth fantasy and the other half you might not be able to resist - the Spanish civil war and the splendid facsist step-father. It's all about disobediance and doing what is right, has incredible characters with actors to match, and I loved it. I believe i will even buy the dvd as I think it requires a couple more viewings. I have also have discovered I have a bit of a crush on Dave White who writes reviews for movie.com; here's what he says: "What's the Deal? Do not, I repeat, do not take kids to this movie unless you're somehow convinced of their innate worldliness, knowledge of the Spanish Civil War and its dour aftermath and ability to withstand nightmare-inducing horror. Because more than anything, this is a frightening, brutal adult fairy tale that really takes its cues from old-school fairy tales in which something evil never fails to befall hapless innocents. It's violent, creepy and unlike anything you've seen in a while. It's also insanely imaginative and beautiful. An awesome movie, but not for little kids. At all...And Another Thing: I want to send writer/director Guillermo Del Toro a thank-you note for not being afraid to go down the darkest, most heartbreaking path toward his movie's ending. Anyone have his address? I might send some chocolates, too." Alright, so this isn't the funniest review, a good one was blood diamond, which I was also contemplating: "What's the Deal? It was high time Hollywood stopped trying to make people care about genocide in Africa with stuff like Hotel Rwanda and simply embraced its natural impulse to exploit. Now it's just a really exciting and gory backdrop for a chase movie about a hot smuggler chasing diamonds who then falls for sexy American journalist Connelly.

Who Hates Jennifer Connelly? My guess is that it's director Edward Zwick. I have no proof of this, mind you, other than the little problem of her performance being world-class awful. It's the kind of sore thumb that makes you think careful editing and a grudge was involved.

When to Check Out: The last scene, when the guy from 7th Heaven is talking and the diamond industry gets to tell you that they do not condone the sort of "conflict diamonds" the whole movie is about. Then there's uplifting dumbness with Hounsou. If you just get up and go, you'll save yourself from a big inappropriate laugh in a crowded theater."

he's brilliant, I shall be reading all of his reviews from now on.

Today, chinatown with Ruel, haven't seen him in ages either. We had dim sum at the Empress Pavilion, and it is the best in town...this morning's feast was worth every second of the hour wait to get a table. Here's a view of the restaurant, it is huge and packed to overflowing so that the poor servers with their carts full of hot steaming deliciousness can hardly move around...you really have no idea what you're getting because English is in short supply, but you can see it...we passed on the tentacled thingie that looked somewhat alive, and the shark fin was a surprise but not bad at all if a little chewy.



Go here too if you're ever in town. 15 pounds heavier than before, we stumbled out the door to get coffee and dessert (managed that somehow without unbuttoning my trousers), and amble around chinatown, saw groups of men standing around playing a complicated game involving concentric circles and white game pieces, a woman playing the something something, I'm really betraying my ignorance today, but the stringed instrument she was playing was heartbreakingly beautiful, a nine year old Mongolian contortionist who did amazing things that made my stomach turn a bit, as you can see:



a woman who could balance absolutely anything...she had 3 raw eggs balanced on a stick on her nose and made it look remarkably easy...I might try it myself later, though I'd be happy with just balancing an egg on an egg in the palm of my hand. Apparently almost no one else can do this 3 egg balancing act, and I quite believe it.



I shall miss this place just a bit I think.

California Dreaming

January 2007, god damn but time goes fast, no? Back at work now, so so so sad, but I don't mind so much because I've only 33 more days to go before my move and the count down has begun! Work makes it go faster at any rate, most of the time I hate my days passing as frantic blurs behind me, slipping away into mist. With something so looked forward to however, they can race as fast as they please. I've a feeling 2007 will be brilliant anyways, I'm doing something absolutely mad to start it off, and a year so well begun can only promise great things. I'm leaving all of my baggage and material possessions in the states, I'll have quit the mad crazy rush of work at the height of my powers, I'm single again, I'm moving to the UK which I have been thinking about since I sat in a kitchen at the tender age of 5 and contemplated a bucket of fresh milk and cream on my Gran's devonshire farm, and all these things are inspiring a million thoughts and dreams to rocket about my head, who knows what I shall do?

I don't fucking care at the moment in the general sense of the word...as long as I grow and grow and grow, break out of shells, ruts, and habitual ways of being, it is what I am demanding of 2007. I love New Years and its reflection on the past, dreams of a better future, it's a good time to think once you've gotten over the hangover...not that it should be the only time. But life is so short, so short...and it goes by so fast. If you don't take stock and push yourself, whatever time of year you may choose to do it, how can you live without regrets? This is all a build up to a couple of stupid new years resolutions, but I take mine seriously and you all can hold me accountable. I do not want to conform to low level misery and boredom, a world narrowing about me, a hollow in my couch cushion that conforms precisely to my ass.

1. To be bolder, wilder, and live life to its fullest. I've been getting better and better at that, and my shyness is going, going, perhaps it shall be gone?

2. To bring out the best in those around me (a bit hokey I know, but how better to move the revolution along?)

3. To make approximately one million new friends in my new city and have people i can always call up to go out with, travel with, laugh with, go to pubs with, dance with, see live music with, play cards with, be football mad with, take random day-trip adventures with, go hiking with, talk crazy politics with, walk the city with, rebel against the world with, watch movies with, be a bit lazy on Sunday mornings with, cook with, try new things with, bike with, build a beautiful world with...because these things make life so so good to me.

4. Clearly doing much more of the above list of activities

5. Write as I've never ever dreamed of writing before

That's it, not a bad list I think, I shall enjoy fulfilling it. If I could sing I'd scrap all the above and be a long cool blues singer in a black dress, but as it is, I think I shall have a damned good year. As shall everyone lucky enough to be my friend