The Beyond Baroque Literary Art Center's Film Festival (curated by Tosh Berman)

Being a poetry/fiction mad obsessed man, I pretty much hung out at Beyond Baroque Literary Arts Center in Venice California.  This was in 1991/1992.  Benjamin Weissman was the program director for literary readings, and he brought incredible talent to the center.  I asked him and the Director at the time if I could show films there.  Or maybe Benjamin asked me?  Nevertheless they said 'yes,' but I had to raise funds to purchase a pair of 16mm film projectors. With a little sweat, good luck, and kindness of a few backers, we got the equipment we needed.  All minimal, but nevertheless we could project 16mm films onto to a stand up screen.  Very old school.

With the help of Lun*na Menoh, and a couple of projectionists, but mostly with Relah Eckstein, we did a show.  One of the first ideas I had was to bring Buster Keaton in a more adventuresome  light.  Famous at the time of course, but still I felt people were looking at him as just as a slapstick clown.  In my eyes he was the ultimate 20th Century man.  I decided to put him on a program with Luis Bunuel films.  It was a perfect fit.

Alice Guy-Blaché and Lois Weber were pioneering filmmakers from the teens and Twenties.  Alice Guy was a major producer who ran a film studio in France.  The films she made were charming and funny.  The American Lois Weber's films dealt with the politics of its day.  When you think of it now quite daring for her time. 

Another program focusing on the works of pioneering women filmmakers. Here I focused on Weber and Guy but also Leni Reienstahl, and got a  nasty letter for showing her on this program.  

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Very interesting double-bill of classic kid novels but versions made in the teens.  "The Wizard of Oz " was actually directed by the book's author L. Frank Baum. 

Early Rene Clair films that were at the time very hard to see.  Remember this was the time of VHS, and a lot of these films didn't make it to the cross over.  "Crazy Ray" was a very funny Clair film. It was about a ray that could stop time, therefore everything is frozen.  Lighthearted yet had serious overtones.  Perfect match.

This was the only time where I actually had the filmmaker showing his films.  Harun Farocki is a German filmmaker, theorist, and writer.  The work was fascinating, and I was very lucky to get him to do this.   The Goethe Institute was very helpful with respect to this program.

At the time I was crazy about Peter Greenaway.  He was the only filmmaker at that time that drove people batty.  I never have been in an audience where someone's work really pissed people off.  These short films he made before he became big, were charming, funny, and hypnotic. 

What a wonderful night.  I showed all the classic Joseph Cornell films, but also a woman came by early with a film reel under her arm.  She told me that Cornell made this film for her, and she never saw it.  So the film has never been projected or shown to anyone.  It was a 'wow.'  But a secret 'wow' because no one, including me was expecting someone to bring such a treasure to our little place.

More Cornell!  Also films by Bruce Conner.  A nice combination because both used found footage in their work.  

To me there was something subversive of showing a silent Oscar Wilde related films.  A man known for his words, yet we had silent versions of two of his major works.  "Lady Windermere's Fans" and the legendary "Salome."  Both films by the way were excellent.  A sold-out audience where no one was under 70 years old.  And all men!

Odd enough "Band of Outsiders" was not shown that much in Los Angeles at the time.  Nor was it on VHS.  This and a Godard short "All The Boys Called Patrick" was a magical night.  Dancing in the aisles!

It is amazing but right now I can look at the right side of the desk and see my French, British, and American edition of Louis Feuillade's "Fantomas" on DVD.  In 1991, the film was a total mystery and no one, and I mean no one was aware of this piece work.  The film is six 1 hour episodes in total. What I did was show Chapter 2, each episode was a separate and complete narrative - and it was an amazing film.  Without a doubt one of my all-time favorite films. 

The great and kind of tragic Edgar Ulmer.  Odd enough "Detour" was not available on VHS at the time.  So here was the perfect marriage of a film with no budget shown in an organization that barely had a budget.  Kind of sad, but beautiful at the same time.

January 26, 2014

January 26, 2014

As an older and much more mature man than I was some years ago, I am almost embarrassed how I acted in front of women with my two friends Roger Vadim and Eddie Barclay.  What we three had in common was drinks, music, literature, and...women.   When the three of us got together a certain madness took over, that wouldn't happen if we were separated from each other.  Thinking back now, it is scary.

There was a beautiful girl, whose name has stayed with me for many years now.  Jenny Colon, whose name I like to think is more of  a grammar issue than a body function, used to go out with a common friend of ours, Gérard.  Or we should say he wanted to have her as a girlfriend.  She sort of played with him in a rather cruel way, and when the three of got together we became obsessed with seducing her.  While we were sitting at the Taboo club, drinking what I think was our third bottle of wine, we thought of a plan to invite Gérard and Jenny to my apartment that wasn't too far away from the club.

I remember the three of us had an argument what records we should be playing on my turntable. Eddie thought of Jacques Brel, but I wanted something more ambient sounding - we finally all agree on Fripp and Eno's "Evening Star" album.  It was my theory that the pacing of the music was perfect for sex.  It was quiet, but there were points in the music where there was a subtle amount of intensity building up, which to my experience was perfect while having intercourse with a woman.  Once we agreed, and all three of us spent time cleaning and testing the sound of the recording, we cleaned up the apartment.

First things first was that we got rid of the chairs and tables.  There would be only two choices here.  Either standing up or laying on the floor or the bed, which was the only furniture in the room.  It was small, there was this room, a small kitchen and toilet with a very small shower.

Gérard showed up with a bottle of wine, but as he entered us three looked behind him to see where Jenny was.  I actually immediately left the apartment and went down the flight of winding stairs to see if she may be on the first floor for some reason.  When I came back up, Gérard was in tears, saying that he and Jenny had an argument before leaving his place.  The three of us looked at each other, and we just without saying a word, left the apartment, leaving Gérard alone with the bed and his bottle of wine.

January 25, 2014

January 25, 2014

Whenever I hear Felix Mendelssohn's "The Wedding March" it makes me a tad sad. I had a girlfriend in my 20's and her name was Nellie Bly. I say 'was' because I am not sure if she is still alive or not. Nellie and I were going to get married, and I insisted that we must have "The Wedding March" as the 'song' for the wedding. She suggested that we find the best recording of the song, but the romantic in me wanted a full live orchestra for the wedding. This of course was way beyond our budget. Yet, we put off the wedding till we can save enough money for such an orchestra. This, in my point of view, was a major mistake on my part.

The longer we wait, the longer it seemed impossible to get married. I think the reason why I wanted to marry Nellie besides loving her of course, was that I wanted to contain her. At her very core, besides being a great beauty, she was an adventurer. What broke off our engagement was that she wanted to go around the world in 72 days, like her literary idol Jules Verne. She made it very clear to me that she wanted to take this trip alone. 

I was scared and turned-on thinking of her traveling by herself in such a manner. Our sex life at this point just got nasty instead of loving. Afterwards I would find tears in my eyes, and I would turn away from her, because I didn't want her to see me in such a state. But even through the tears, it somewhat added a sense of drama to our love making. 

The two music artists we liked to listen to in our heated moment of passion was Sleepy John Estes and Antônio Antonio Carlos Jobim. For some, music gets in the way of the love making, but for me and her, we needed a specific soundtrack, and as our physical passion got stronger, we noticed that we consistently broke or chipped the actual vinyl during our 'session.'

One day she just left me. I didn't know where she went, and no one seemed to know either. One day I got a phone call, with the great help of the Oriental Telephone Company, which strange enough was an American company that sold the first telephones to Asia. Nevertheless she told me that she was enjoying her trip around the world, and also our relationship is over. She didn't say this out of being mean, but it was her nature to do something like this. I could be hurt or bitter, but in fact it made me love her more.

January 24, 2014

January 24, 2014

When I was working at Book Soup I ran across this beautiful woman, who looked familiar to me, but I just couldn't place her face with a name or location or even time.   Someone in the store yelled out "Tosh!" and both of us turned our heads toward the voice at the same time.  The woman was Natassja Kinski, and we both looked at each other and laughed.   She told me her nick-name is "Tosh," and she asked my name.  I told her my name is Natassja.  She looked at me and we both laughed.

She was looking for a book of poems by Caresse Crosby, which sadly we didn't have on the shelf at the time. I often felt like an abandoned book on a shelf, because I knew my time was about to end here, and I wanted to ask her out for coffee if she had time.  But alas, she left the store before I could find courage to ask her.  Later that night I went to Amoeba to purchase the DVD's  "Paris, Texas" and "Cat People"  I found both copies under her name.  Amoeba gave her films their own section in the store.  On the bin card someone cut out her face and attached it to the card.  It made me sad because I feel that this will be the closest I will get to "Tosh."

When I got home, after a long journey on Line 2, I started to watch "Paris, Texas," and I too found myself in sympathy with the leading character who became lost for some mysterious reason, maybe due for his love for "Tosh."   It was there, that I realized that one's idea of a person can be even more satisfying than knowing that person.  I became quite content to have these two DVD's and one is playing in front of me right now.  Towards the end of the film, when she makes an appearance, I turned down the sound and put on a Klaus Nomi record called "The Cold Song."  The beautiful melody and performance of that song matched up perfectly with the image of Natassja.

"Laziness in the Fertile Valley" by Albert Cossery

New Directions ISBN: 978-0-08112-1874-0

I'm not a man that has a lot of heroes, but if I was going to choose one hero, it would be Albert Cossery.  A wrier who is devoted to watching pretty girls from cafes and being lazy.  With those two high-standard activities, this is a writer I will follow from heaven to hell. "Laziness in the Fertile Valley" is another one of his masterpieces that deals with a set of characters who prefer to do nothing when 'something' appears and shows its ugly heard.  What we have here is a family of men, who one, the older brother prefers and does only a great deal of sleeping.  Waking up for the occasional meal, and then back to bed.  The younger brother, foolishly has a desire to go out of the house and find work, and the Dad, is busy arranging a marriage, but has to deal with some rather old guy's specific problems.

Cossery, Egyptian born, but lived most of his adult life in Paris cafes - mostly all located in the St. Germain des Prés section of Paris, is a writer who according to Anna Della Subin in her informative afterword enclosed in this book, came from a family of lazy people.  His grandfather, for instance, refused to leave his bedroom.  For me this is a much desired lifestyle.  There is a tinge of jealousy when I read Cossery's novels, but alas, the enjoyment I get from them is a sense of bliss.

January 23, 2014

January 23, 2014

I woke up early this morning to go to the Broome Street General Store to meet my friend Albert Cossery, for coffee, who just finished a remarkable novel "Laziness in the Fertile Valley."  He just got back from visiting another common pal of ours, Boris, who is an engineer, but works at a paper manufacturing plant, doing something technical.  Both of them has this long-term on-going game of playing Frisbee.  Boris and a friend of his Walter it seemed invented this flying disc, and eventually sold the rights to it to Wham-O.

Albert and I, as we sipped our coffees thought of the other great Wham-O toy products like the Hula-Hoop, and my personal favorite Slip n' Slide.  It is basically a large strip of plastic filled with water, and what you do is you jump on it forward and you'll slide to the other side.  It is perfect for Los Angeles hot weather, but be warned, don't do it near a staircase.  What happened to me was I jumped on and then fell a flight of stairs to a very dry and hot piece of pavement.

It is very rare for two adults to have such a long friendship, but Albert and I share a great deal of common passions.  Both of us are huge fans of the films of Sergei Eisenstein.  We had a passionate argument that lasted for hours regarding Eisenstein.  Albert insisted that Randolph Scott got his start in "Ivan The Terrible."  I told him that is so wrong that it makes a wrong into a right.  We almost came to blows but we changed our mind and instead we ordered another round of coffee.

But since Eisenstein films' were silent, I would show him my 16mm print of "Battleship Potemkin" with an additional soundtrack by Django Reinhardt.  For whatever reason the hot jazz music fits in perfectly with people getting smashed and destroyed in this film.  What became a horror show turned into a really funny slapstick film.

Both Albert and I are big fans of Eisenstein's book "The Film Sense" which is about the idea of 'montage' in film.  But in reality that can be used in an almost everyday occurrence. I can't remember the film's title, but the one starring Jeanne Moreau, where she walks around, what I think is Paris, with cool Jazz music.  If one put in a symphony in that soundtrack, it would have changed the mood.  Maybe even destroy that scene?

As I said goodbye to Albert, and watch him walk away from the coffee shop, I thought 'it is so nice to have such a great friend.'

January 22, 2014

January 22, 2014

I couldn't sleep last night so I got up and watched "The Man Who Laughs" starring Conrad Veidt. It was broadcasted on the local KTLA station, and normally my TV set seems to be attached to Channel 5. Call me sentimental,but I just can't watch any station except KTLA. It meant so much to me as a youngster. I am pretty sure I witnessed the shooting of Lee Harvey Oswald on this station. It was the first time I became aware of someone actually getting shot and dying, compared to watching Westerns on Saturday mornings where bad guys got shot, but mostly just shooting the gun out of their hands. So the fact that someone got shot, and not only they died, but also Oswald didn't have a gun in his hand when he got shot was just simply odd to me. 

Sometimes KTLA would broadcast a D.W. Griffith film, but for some reason it was hard for me to watch a silent film on a TV set. In a movie theater no problem. Especially when they have an organist on the bill. Actually the first time I saw a Griffith film was in Tokyo with Mie Yanashita on the piano. "Broken Blossoms" was the film, and Ms. Yanashita's music score to the film was very touching and beautiful. 

This morning, after I dressed I went to Amoeba Music to try to locate some piano or organ silent movie music. There was some titles there, but I really wanted something that would fit the mood of either "Broken Blossoms" or "The Man Who Laughs." After almost a hour in their soundtrack section I couldn't find what I was looking for. But that's life in the nutshell. You try to force a 'taste' on oneself, instead of letting it naturally go to you. I should have looked for the music with no thought to my head. 

Nevertheless I found myself in the Associates/Billy Mackenzie vinyl section in the other large room at the store. The late (and much missed) Billy always reminded me of Lord Byron, and if Byron was alive now, no doubt he would be a lead singer in some Sunset Strip band. Or maybe work in an used clothing boutique in Echo Park. 

When I got home I felt a depression upon me. Before the dark cloud takes over, I usually can fight it off by reading the poems and writings by Francis Picabia. But this time it didn't do the work, so I put on Malcolm McLaren's "Paris" album which didn't exactly cheered me up, but made the pain seem like a dream.

Will The Real Mr Sellers Please Stand Up (1969)

January 21, 2014

January 21, 2014

Trying to find an vintage Christian Dior dress for a woman I care greatly for is very very difficult.  For the past year or so I have been working on my first novel "The Power of Sympathy or The Triumph of Nature," which is about the dangers of seduction.  To celebrate my good feelings towards the novel, I felt a great need to find a beautiful gift for my muse.

She was a friend of a friend and I met her at a British Pub in Santa Monica, where they have an annual get together in the memory of Benny Hill.  I couldn't keep my eyes off her, she was much younger than me, well, most women I knew were much younger, but nevertheless I have the touch of genius, when it comes to promoting people or certain ideas.  I am often called the Colonel Tom Parker of the West Coast.  When I was introduced to her by that friend's friend, I found out she was interested in writing. I think what made our relationship ticked was she was very much into the writings by Blaise Cendrars, a French poet and novelist.  i never met a girl who even heard of this great writer.  

She's a great beauty, in many ways she reminds me of a younger Peggy Lee, very deep voice, and very hard for me to look at anyone else in a room full of beauties.  Even then I matched her with something elegant and beautiful like a Dior dress.  I don't know if it's the novel I am writing or just me being silly at an older age, but I just can't get enough of her.

I tried to get Jeff Koons to do a portrait of the both of us together, either in painting or sculpture, because I felt it was important to document our relationship in such a manner.  But two things, I couldn't get Koons, and she didn't want me to do that.  Surely she can't reject an original Dior!

Keep in mind that there is nothing physical between us, except that I do have a need to document her beauty in some form or fashion.  Dior struck me as a man who can see beauty objectively and I like to think that I am that way as well.  A friend of mind found a boutique in Paris, that sold vintage clothing, focusing on Dior, and I purchased the dress without even seeing a picture of it. Once it arrived I invited her over for lunch, and presented her with the dress.  She was in a combination of shock and embarrassment.  Which I found was so adorable.  She insisted that she couldn't take such a present, but already, I had a dressmaker there to measure her size, so we can alter the dress to her Peggy Lee like figure.

A few weeks later she came by and tried on the dress.  She looked incredible.  Almost like another woman.  This time she told me that there was no way in heaven or hell that she could accept this dress, and I being the gentleman, said I understand.  Although I didn't understand.  Nevertheless I do have the dress, and I purchased a mannequin and now that dress and mannequin is in my writing room slash office.  Whenever I look at it I get a sense of purpose or power to finish my novel.

January 20, 2014

January 20, 2014

I just heard the news that they are going to shoot my script "In Old Arizona" which will be filmed totally in the outdoors. It's a western and I can't imagine a western without the outdoors and a horse or two. These days it is not practical to film a horse inside a room. It has been reported that Lord Berners had a pet horse that ran freely in his home in England, but alas, I don't feel that's natural, and a Western by all means and definition is 'natural.' 

The good and bad news is that our leading actor is Colin Clive. The bad part of the news is he's English with a very strong accent, and also he is drunk 90% of the day. I was told by the producer that I would have to slightly re-write his character as a drunk 'dandy' (due to his accent) cowboy. When you are a writer and especially working in the film industry one has to compromise, and I do so knowing the responsibility of the work itself as well as the production costs of making such a film. To give the film its retro western look, which I visioned being like watching it as a child on Channel 11 (Los Angeles) on Saturday mornings, we will be using old stock Fuji Film, that was transported by air from Japan. 

This will be my first script that was filmed, and already I feel successful. To celebrate my once-in-a-lifetime mood change, I put on a recording by Juan García Esquivel, who by his nature is always lively and fun. The one thing that is missing from my life on a daily basis is a sense of fun. Writing this Western was my attempt to approach 'fun' from a distance. I feel I can never allow myself the luxury to feel good. 

To give the film the authentic touch, we tried to get the music rights of Slim Whitman, who I think would be perfect for this film. The first thing I wrote for this script is the Colin Clive character on his horse (which I wish had the same color of fur or skin as Lassie) riding towards the darken skies of the Arizona landscape. At this point the Slim Whitman song will come over the soundtrack. The very thought of this made me cry, but it gave me the image to work on to finish this script. Once you got the ending, the rest of the writing becomes easy. One reason I like death, is because it is such a natural ending for a narrative.

I often wished that Federico Fellini had made a Western. One of my literary references for “In Old Arizona” was the French novel by Eugène Sue called “Mystères de Paris.” Although Arizona seems so far away from Paris, I still think of landscape as a place that only exists in one's mind or imagination. I hope everyone who will see this film, will and can enjoy it.

January 19, 2014

January 19, 2014

All the things I really like to do are either immoral, illegal, or fattening.  I was reading an essay by Alexander Woolcott, and was feeling a tad ill.  I went out with a very good friend for dinner last night, and the mixture of potato and enchilada didn't agree with me at all.  But than again why would one eat a potato substance with an enchilada?  There is no such thing in anyone's life as an unimportant day.  Yet, I found myself in bed being very aware of my stomach and thinking that I even look fat when laying on my back.  The true test of being fat for me is standing up naked, and if you can't see your genitals then you are too fat.

I felt an anxiety attack was on its way.   It didn't help matters that I spent a great amount of time yesterday in the bathtub reading short stories by Patricia Highsmith as well as Edgar Allan Poe. I felt like I was a subject matter for a photograph by Larry Clark.  Totally wasted, and very nervous about going out that night with my friend.   She is very beautiful, and with me looking fat, and basically disgusting looking - I just didn't want to appear together, because I felt it would make her look bad.

To calm myself down, I tried to visualize myself in a painting by Paul Cézanne.  It took me five minutes or so, but I started feeling the tropical heat and it made my body feel better.  The great thing is that when I stood up again, I looked down and I could clearly see my genitals.

January 18, 2014

January 18, 2014

Two things made a huge impact on me and my wife was the Northridge Earthquake and the night before purchasing our first computer, the Macintosh Classic.   As a couple or even as an individual we never spent so much money on an object such as the home computer.  At the time I didn't even know its full use.  I was thinking of it as a typing machine with a screen.  But we went to the local electronic shop, purchased the computer after talking to everyone for some sort of advice, and we settled on the Apple computer. The other computer brand seemed too macho or nerdy, I just wanted to turn it on and do its magic for us.  I remember at the electronic shop we purchased a computer game called "Alice" illustrated by Kuniyoshi Kaneko, whose illustrations reminded me of paintings by  Balthus.  

We set the computer up no time, did the registration thing, and added the "Alice" game into the computer.  The game itself bored me (all games bore me) but the images were so great.  My wife and I were thrilled to have "Alice" as well as having a computer.   We went to bed that night happy and content.

Around 4:30 in the morning I felt a dropping sensation as well as a roar that seemed to come from the gates of Satan's home.  They said the earthquake lasted for seconds, but it seemed longer to me.  Without a doubt I knew instantly that this was a major incident that was taking place, that may kill us as well.   The odd part was the quietness after the quake, maybe a second, and then the car alarms went off.  It was almost a musique concrete piece because there were so many alarms being set off at the same time.

It was pitch dark, and we just stayed in bed.  I remember trying to fall asleep but that was impossible.  Once daylight broke out I got out and surveyed the damage.  The first thing we thought of, more than lost life or what happened outside the house was our computer.  I went into the office area and books from the shelves were dumped on the floor, but standing perfectly proud on the table was our computer.  Nothing but chaos around the computer, but there was something almost spiritual about it not being harmed during the quake.

The worst thing about the quake was the aftershocks.  I remember for at least a month I had a deep fear of walking down the street, thinking an aftershock will happen any moment.  Therefore I avoided walking by brick walls as well as telephone poles with wires up above.  I imagine if a quake happened the wires would land on me and of course I would die a painful death from electrocution.  Odd enough that didn't happen.

January 17, 2014

January 17, 2014

As usual after eating my Peanut Butter and Jam English muffin, I took my bath.  Rarely do I take a shower, because I feel taking a shower is sort of the lower class of a bath.  Taking a shower represents that you have to something in great speed or the only purpose is to clean oneself.  But alas a bath is one taking over time, even denying time to soak themselves into a small body of water. Today I took a scented bath (smells like a forest in some imaginary land) while reading the play "The Cherry Orchard" by Anton Chekhov.  It seemed appropriate to read this while taking a bath.  Doing nothing can almost be seen as a political act in our world today.

Carl Laemmle, who was the father of Universal Pictures, so much part of my history, with respect to my love for films.  But the film medium is so fragile, and I remember reading that all his property or place of business was eventually torn down.  Only in the San Fernando Valley is his true home still exist, in a permenent place.  But before that his personal residence was owned by Thomas Ince, whose house was razed in the '40's.  Stars, film and the Cherry Orchard don't last forever!

I think about things like that while taking a bath.  Where i live is also where Mack Sennett worked and lived - yet where is his studio or home?  Shouldn't there be a plaque praising and acknowledging this great figure of cinema history?  But then again, perhaps there is a plaque. Often I have trouble explaining myself, at times I suffer from what Ronald Firbank suffers from, which is a feeling of not belonging.  Nevertheless, once I am out of the bathtub I rarely think about these matters.

Georges Bataille : Literature and Evil

Georges Bataille interviewed on French TV (with English Subtitles) regarding his fascinating book "Literature and Evil."   Thanks to Zach and Daniel Ricculto for bringing this footage to my attention.

January 16, 2014

January 16, 2014

Every morning I have my breakfast of English muffin with peanut butter and a touch of blueberry jam facing my street and always that abandoned car in front of me. About two months ago, I saw a young man in that car, but it seemed like he had trouble starting the engine. I ate one side of the muffin slowly and from the first bite to the last, is exactly how long it took him to try to start up the car. After that I never saw him again, but I am reminded of him whenever I see his car, and that happens every morning.

To distract myself from the sight of the car, I started to read Miguel de Cervantes' "Don Quixote," but the car kept distracting me from the read. I could easily remove myself from my seat where I have breakfast all the time, but I started to resent the fact that I have to move and not the car. The feeling of anger in the morning is not a good feeling at all. But the car in front does change, it gets dirtier and dirtier. Also the front door windows are open, so who knows what goes on inside the vehicle when I am asleep at night.

The other day while I was taking my walk I did go near the car. I didn't want to touch it because it was so dirty. But I did give it a quick glance and what I thought I saw was an image of Kate Moss, maybe a photo taken by Francesco Scavullo on the back seat. It was such an odd juxtaposition to me, that I went back to my house and played some records.

Once inside the house I picked up the Quixote book, but changed my mind and read one of Susan Sontag's essays from her book "Styles of Radical Will." For whatever reason I played the original cast recording of "Hello Dolly" with Carol Channing, and something by Ethel Merman. I just wanted something glamorous and sophisticated in my life. 

But again, I felt a depression sneaking up on me as I ate my breakfast of English muffin with Peanut Butter and jam, facing that same image of that abandoned car.

January 15, 2014

January 15, 2014

I worked at one bookstore for 25 years (off and on).  The last fifteen years was full-time occupation.  My memory is that I entered Book Soup sometime in the 80's and I reached out for a Gilbert & George art book on the top shelf, when I did so, that book and several others landed on the top of my head.   It was at that very moment that I decided to work there, even though I wasn't asked to work there.  But nevertheless I showed up on a daily basis - around 2PM Tuesday through Saturday, and basically hung out there.

I always had the talent to chat, so the fellow (not technically) employees allowed me to roam the store and occasionally help the customers locate books and so forth.  Odd enough the management got a little testy when I picked up their phone when it rang.  I always picked up their phone saying "Tosh here, Book Soup."   On the record I never actually said "Tosh here, employee at Book Soup."  That is a big difference.

When I started 'working' there, I remember a beautiful woman by the name of Elizabeth Short.  She was an expert on Hollywood history, and actually turned me on to some great books.  The one title that stands out at the time is Otto Friedrich's "City of Nets."  One day I showed up at 'work' and she wasn't there. The shock of her not being there was highly depressing to me.  Seeing a face on a regular basis and then not seeing them, is something that words often fail me in describing such a lost.  When people go, I often feel that their spirit remains.   It was one of the reasons why I stayed there for so long.

Serge Gainsbourg in Today's Guardian UK

photo by Tony Frank

A very good introduction to the songs  of Serge Gainsbourg.  Without a doubt one of the great songwriters from the 20th Century.    Read it here on the Guardian:

http://www.theguardian.com/music/musicblog/2014/jan/15/10-of-the-best-serge-gainsbourg

Also read the biography by Gilles Verlant "Gainsbourg."   Translated by Paul Knobloch, and published by TamTam Books.

"Answered Prayers" by Truman Capote (Vintage)

Why I picked up what some consider to be Truman Capote's worst work is to this day a mystery to me.  I was at Alias East Bookstore on Brand, and I had $7 more credit.  Due that I didn't want to hold on to a credit in my pocket for the next week or so, decided on this as a mood purchase.  Also I recently got back from New York City, and I wanted to read something 'classic' from Manhattan aesthetic.  My understanding is that "Answered Prayers" was a novel that Capote never finished, but talked about consistently on TV chat shows, and through the print media.  He was consistently late in delivering the final manuscript to his publisher, and some thought, for awhile at least, that this work doesn't really exist.  Perhaps due to his alcohol/drug dependance of the time, or plain old writer's block.

Once he did publish an excerpt of the book, a chapter called "La côte Basque," and hell opened up to him and swallow him and his book.  The controversy was that he based this story on real people, even including their real names.   Society pretty much threw him, as well as literary critics.  Keep in mind the only other book I read by Capote was "Breakfast at Tiffany's" a novella that did nothing for me.   So, I read "Answered Prayers" thinking it will be a slighter version of the inferno, but alas, it was a pure joy.

One, Capote's really bitchy and funny, and two, he is a remarkable stylist as a writer.  I may have trouble with him as being a narrative type of writer, but for someone like me who enjoys a good sentence or two, Capote is my guy, for now.  Also I have a deep respect for gossip being part of social history.  Gossip may or may not be true, but it speaks a greater version of truth in the narration that is history.  Capote attempted to capture the genius of Marcel Proust, but I think he failed.  But what he did capture was a moment in time, and a time that was very much Capote's last stance in that world.  Surely he knew that once he writes this, he will never be part of that world again.  Is that what happened to "Answered Prayers?"  Nevertheless this is an excellent document of life in Manhattan for the few, and luckly Capote is one of the few to capture that series of moments.