April 12, 2020 (In The Year of the Trump Virus)

April 12, 2020 (In The Year of the Trump Virus)

Oddly enough, I feel at ease being alone here with Lun*na.  I enjoy the hours of solitude and being at home.  As well as e-mailing and texting friends to see how they are holding up.  Some get back to me right away, and others, after a week, I haven't heard a squeak from them.  Which is OK, because it means that they are not feeling well, or doing what I do for a hobby.  Which is to shop for food online, and being consistently frustrated in not only getting the food I desire but also no window for deliveries.  It's ironic for a few decades now, we have been sold that Amazon is the answer to our shopping needs, yet, it is this website that now disappoints us in a very frustrating matter. Ironically, I can locate and find the rarest album in a $10 range on the far reaches of the Internet, yet, I'm a total failure in obtaining toilet paper.

It is also strange that I got a writing job during lock-up, and it's a fascinating project.  I can't talk too much about it, because it is at the very start of this exciting proposal, but I have to do a lot of research, and that is enjoyable to me.  It keeps me occupied and not think about the daily grind of everyday life in the Year of the Trump Virus.  Still, I had to refresh my grocery list on an hour-by-hour basis.

Life has drastically changed for a lot of people, but for Lun*na not that huge of a change and me, due that we always work from home, when we can.  Money is still a problem for us, and ever since I left the bookstore work at Book Soup, it has been a struggle.  Once I left the store, I decided to become a full-time writer. In the power of Positive Thinking frame-of-mind, I kept to my promise.  What is extremely difficult is being the sole family member taking care of my aging mom and Uncle.  They are OK, but there is always the fear of the shoe falling off, and I trained myself to be alert and ready for any emergency.  Even that, my first thought is to go to them, but the truth is that it is too dangerous.  I try to make sure that they can get help from professionals when the need is upon them.

Before the Trump Virus hit Los Angeles, I was working part-time at Artbook at Hauser & Wirth.  I had to be laid off during the crisis, which is understandable to me.  I asked my manager if I can do volunteer work from home, and I have been organizing friends and artists that I admire, to put together a reading list so that we can put it on our Artbook web page.   Lots of indie bookstores are on Bookshop.org, and I beg you to all buy books from this website, which promises to be the alternative version of Amazon.  All you need to do is type your favorite bookstore, and it will take you to their order page.  It's essential that you must feed your stomach, but you also have to feed your mind.  Reading right now is one of the best things one can do to fight the boredom or anxiety of being contained in one's home or space.

Yesterday afternoon Kimley and I put together another podcast episode of Book Musik, where we discuss various books on music.  The subject matter is David Bowie's Diamond Dogs, and it's a book written by Glen Hendler and published by 33 1/3 Books.  That episode will be up on April 15.  We both need to keep up with this show, not only to entertain you, dear listeners but also to keep a schedule - the purpose of doing something positive.

I hope all of you are having a lovely holiday today, and remember never to lose your sense of the absurd or humor.  I'll be seeing you. -Tosh Berman

The Sunday Series: Sunday April 12, 2015

Sunday April 12, 2015

Sickness took over my body two days ago.  I spent two weeks in and out of a court room, which besides holding two defendants and their lawyers, also held germs in captivity. I started feeling ill as soon as I walked in the court room.  With a will of my own making, I imagined not to get sick during jury duty.  After I was released, and not suitable for either one's case (both the defense and the state) I started to feel the strains of a cold.  I of course ignored it as much as possible.  I went to an outside concert in West Hollywood, and it was there that it was obvious that I shouldn't be out on a cool night.  Since then, I have had a hard time concentrating on my writing as well as my daily reading.  I haven't been sick for at least five years.  I tend to think it is due that I gave up eating meat -but I couldn't escape the clutches of justice.

For the past two days, I have been in bed reading about Los Angeles art history of the 1960s.  There are two books: "Out of Sight" and "Rebels in Paradise."   "Rebels" I find it a total gossip narrative which has very little truth.  The stuff I read about my dad (Wallace Berman) were at its worst, just plain silly, but also I was more alarmed that the author didn't have any sources backing up her story regarding my father.  "Out of Sight" I think is the better book, because I sense a real appreciation of the artist's work.  History, especially recent history (the last 50 years or so) is basically based on various individuals, and each one has a specific point-of-view - and if they don't have a point-of-view, they tend to make things up.   As a writer I never trust my opinion, in the words of Truman Capote, I'm not really a writer, but just a typist.

This Sunday (today) I wanted to go out in the sunshine and see a film later tonight.  Alas, my breathing, the night sweats, coughing, is a strong clue that I will stay in tonight.  More likely to be in bed all day.   My eyes get tired when I read, and the Internet bores me.  What I find fascinating is laying on my back on the bed and watching my ceiling.   I imagine that if I die, and I die in my bed, the last image will be the ceiling. I'm hoping that it will be this ceiling, because it gives me immense pleasure.  The lighting fixture for instance doesn't even work. I think we need to change the lightbulb, but for whatever reason, we just refuse to change it.  I like to think it is due to laziness, but I think it has more to do with let nature do the job.  I'm having trouble sleeping, so I look at the ceiling a lot for the last few days.  Both the natural lighting outside and the lamp on my side of the bed add interesting textures to the ceiling.  It is the one area where I can fully meditate and not think of anything.

For the last two days, I haven't changed my bed clothing or the sheets.  Nor have I taken a shower or bath.  In the sense, I'm rotting in the bed, and that also gives me a sense of peace or pleasure.  Since my cold is getting worse, I'm also enjoying the changes in my so-far mild suffering.  It is if life goes on, even though I have stopped everything.    Now, I must stop typing, and focus on my ceiling.  For some reason, I feel that the answer to the world is on that ceiling.  I don't understand what or why, but I do know that the focus is on that ceiling.