Tuesday, March 30, 2010

"From a historical standpoint it probably will look like the troubadour period of France. I'm sure it will look incredibly romantic. I think we're going to look very good to future people, because so many changes are taking place and we're really handling it with a flair." - Jim Morrison


my life became a series of patterns.

everyday I awoke at approximately 7 am, maybe earlier, maybe later, depending on the level of drunk I allowed myself to get the night before paired with the hour at which my mind stopped racing, usually around 2 to 3 am.

I walked to my car, where 1 in 5 days I would find a parking ticket tucked neatly under my windshield wiper. 20 percent of the time I would get upset, twitter some nonsensical gibberish about how my day had started wrong, and how I intended to either dwell or improve it. The rest of the time I'd simply toss the red and white envelope on my passenger seat, silently concocting ways to contest, looking for loopholes in the system that systematically stole hundreds of dollars a month from my dwindling bank account.

I'd crank my music up too loud for anyone's ears at 8 in the morning, shuffle to find the CD of my most recent rockstar crush; Red Hot Chili Peppers, the Doors, Marilyn Manson or perhaps Nirvana. Kurt Cobain, Jim Morrison Anthony Kiedis served as my sonic boyfriend, my date for the ride to work in Hollywood from my dingy downtown adobe.

I'd work for 8-10 hours that day, 1/4 of which was spent scrolling through my google reader, following their blogs, reading their thoughts, looking at their pictures.

Who were they? Their photos littered my desktop. My huge iMac was a conglomeration of them and me.
They were models, photographers, writers, magazine editors, musicians, DJs, girls-about-town, 13 year old fashionistas, ex-boyfriends, and friends. They were idiots, enfants terribles, insightful beautiful somebodies. They possessed something I didn't, and I worshipped them for it.

They wrote better than me, took photos that were expertly composed, they had evolved taste in furniture, more money, better skin, a solid haircut, cooler friends, and charisma that charmed me through my glass screen.

Sunday, March 28, 2010

once it becomes public, i dont want it anymore.

its important to keep these things to myself.

Monday, March 22, 2010

teen dreams

The importance of doing things for me has become apparent in recent moments of contemplation. i don't know if i'd call myself a selfish person, but yes, a flake maybe. there are a few people i allow into my everyday life for which i will put selfishness aside, and flakey-ness becomes a non issue. i bring this up because my desire to become a full on hermit has been flaring up recently, threatening to blow up into a full fledged research phase.

my thirst for inspiration and for "knowledge" in the form of learning of other's experience, of their intellectual paths and sources has become almost unbearable as there is just too much to cover. i have begun to think it is almost unconquerable in fact, that if i spent every waking non-working moment reading all that I put on my plate, it would still not get done in the capacity i want it to get done in. if i could listen to every album that is sent to me, or that i have downloaded on a whim. If i could devote a day to listening to the first Doors album, or the new Beach House album (conquering as this post is being written - it's gorgeous) I could perhaps be the person I want to be, I could perhaps skim the surface of the long road to enlightenment I feel so close to beginning.

I visited Dallas for a few days, with the intent to travel to Austin for SXSW, a festival I have yet to conquer. Lack of planning on my part made a hotel reservation impossible, and I was lucky enough to stay with a friend for one night allowing me just 24 hours in the city of music. Experiences like those, in a city unfamiliar with so much potential sitting within grasp, just a hop skip and a jump away is exhilarating, and these types of trips always leave me wondering why I don't treat my own dear city of Los Angeles in the same way. There is always something to do, often too many things to choose from, but in Austin, with the tangible end in sight, everything becomes possible.

We smoked a self-rolled joint on a stoop in downtown Austin, proceeded to visit a shanty-town of bands and groupies standing in defined groups, all unapproachable to us, our cold feet dirtied with dusty grime. By chance we ran into some friends from LA, we were all introduced and discussed the importance of "never letting them know you know who they are" and being proud and tipsy and high on life. By chance we ran after a van stuck in traffic and hopped in, to make new friends in the back seat. Pipes and beers were passed around like business cards, acquainting us with each other in the best of ways. It felt meant to be, as the driver played solid 60s and 70s rock including the Doors, my current personal favorite, and it just was. It was life, and the way it is supposed to be.

I left the next day stumbling upon snow in Dallas in March, unfamiliar cold temperatures and cold meetings with parents who I don't identify with anymore. Inane questions and rich food and general uncomfortable situations made me wonder if I could hermit myself away from my own family. Perhaps its a sick thought, but yes I am still a vegetarian, and no, just because you got me a meat sandwich, I will not eat it!

Exhausted mentally I escaped to my favorite used bookstore to further my studies. The "dark nights of the soul" were plentiful, and finally, I was back on a plane to los angeles, only to feel an even darker night of the soul, But these nights are a part pf feeling change. I opened my mailbox upon arrival to find my first published article, and felt proud for just a moment, but who to share it with? I didn't really miss anyone in LA while I was away.

Time to find my Laurel Canyon abode. Time to read my books and to develop my photos and to make my lists of Jim Morrison inspired reading. To try to absorb as much as I can, for I might rather be a jack of all trades and a master of none if it means I can absorb and put things down on paper. To be well spoken while doing it.

my favorite of artists from SXSW, Washed Out, in a steamy club on sixth street, this song is great
Washed Out - Feel It All Around

Friday, March 12, 2010

i met you

I am playing catchup.
I spend my days in the present and my nights cultivating my innate curious connection to the past.

I see myself in the groupies, sweet talking my way into the first Byrds show at the Troubadour. I feel the dissatisfaction in Jim Morrison's blood, his poetry pumps through my veins. I want to pick up his copy of William Blake's The Marriage of Heaven and Hell to thumb the pages he dogeared. His footnotes would spur a great debate between us, because how does one break down the doors of perception?

I sit in a Panton chair next to Timothy Leary as we take LSD and live to analyze his mental state while under the influence. He would tell me all about his trip and I'd lay back and put myself in his shoes, interpreting his rants. I sit smiling up in the Hollywood Hills on a couch next to Rick Rubin listening to Flea tune his bass and John would tell me why we are all fucking delusional. Marilyn Manson would sell me on Satanism and I might lend him my copy of Nietzsche's Genealogy of Morals.

I want to disappear here with Bret Easton Ellis, to experience existential crisis with John Fowles, and to shoot the shit with Charles Bukowski.

I want to be them, I want to be with them. I want to be their confidants and for them to show me their secret Los Angeles. To take me to shows or to recite poetry on the fly with. I want to slow dance on their persian rugs.

Nietzsche wrote "Present experience has, I am afraid, always found us 'absent minded': we cannot give our hearts to it - not even our ears!" ... "So we are necessarily strangers to ourselves, we do not comprehend ourselves, we have to misunderstand ourselves, for us the law 'Each is furthest from himself' applies to all eternity - we are not 'men of knowledge' with respect to ourselves."
(from on the genealogy of morals)

Their past has become my present. They are all my philosophers, and each one offers a page in my Basic Writings.

Beach House - Real Love

Wednesday, March 10, 2010

Monday, March 1, 2010

the colors!

marni a/w10

be who you are


the perfect level of angst for my thriteen year old self.