Tosh's Journal: September 16 (Korla Pandit)

TOSH’S JOURNAL

September 16

I was obsessing over Korla Pandit, both the man and his music when walking towards the Central Library in Los Angeles. I looked up at the Standard Hotel to hopefully get a glance of someone up there. Usually, when I’m on the street level, I don’t see a thing. But I saw a sole man, looking at the view of downtown from the roof. I immediately thought if he was going to jump. When I went into the library and began working on my memoir, I read on Facebook that a man jumped from the pool/roof area of the Standard Hotel just now. I felt terrible because I thought maybe that guy up there picked up on my thoughts about jumping. But to be honest, I often think about that. While walking around downtown, due to the tall buildings, one is always aware that someone can topple over the roof or their window, and hit you while you’re strolling along the boulevard. When I read the responses to that post, regarding the unfortunate soul who jumped, most didn’t comment on his suicide, but more to the fact that it is unsafe to walk around the downtown area. One person mentioned that a bowling ball almost hit him while he walked past a ten-story building. Whoever had that bowling ball, used it to keep their window open, for air, I guess.

Nevertheless, I went back to my writing and thinking about Korla Pandit. I find him fascinating, because one, I love the sound of the organ. Pandit was an incredible musician, and myself being attracted to visually stimulating people, found him magnificent. He used to have a show called “Korla Pandit’s Adventures in Music” that was broadcasted every weekday on the Los Angeles TV station KTLA. He never spoke but looked dreamily into the camera while performing his music. Each episode was 15 minutes long. He looked like he came from somewhere exotic, such as India. He had a white turbine and usually wore a tuxedo. One story I heard was that he was born in New Delhi to a Brahmin priest and a French opera singer who traveled from England to India. Eventually, the family made it to the United States.

At the time he was doing his weekday TV series, he also did the music for the radio drama series “Chandu the Magician.” The main character Frank Chandler (“Chandu”) had the ability to teleport, astral project, mesmerize, as well as project illusions. He learned the secrets of the occult from the Yogis in India. In many ways, Korla looked like Chandu the Magician. Chandler, after learning the secrets of the occult was told by his Yogi teacher to “Go forth in the youth and strength and conquer the evil that threatens Mankind.”

As one knows, evil is everywhere. Kierkegaard has commented that “Since boredom advances and boredom is the root of all evil, no wonder, then, that the world goes backward, that evil spreads.” If one can lose oneself into an exotic world, then I feel that there is hope to at the very least, force evil back into the Pandora’s box. By instinct, I feel Korla brings Eastern wisdom into the Western world, or at least he did so when he did his 15-minute television show. Not saying a word, and looking into the camera, and playing his organ, he speaks with significant volume. Even with my slight knowledge of Korla Pandit and Chandu the Magician, I couldn’t save the man on the top of the Standard Hotel. To do good, one needs to be a professional. -Tosh Berman

Tuesday, April 16, 2019

This morning I uploaded my latest podcast which is yours truly reading the Marcel Duchamp chapter from my book "Tosh."  Lun*na added my theme song which is something I put together based on her sewing machine noise/music.  It works well in the context of a theme song (of sorts).

Yesterday was a sad day due to the burning of the Norte-Dame Cathedral in Paris.  I always see that building/structure as something from the 11th-century as well as gothic literature.  Even without the poetry of the place, I feel that the building has its own life.  Also as a building, it's location is essential when I'm walking around without a map.  I always recognized the Norte-Dame from a distance, so I know that I'm close to various other locations in that area of Paris.  For instance, Shakespeare and Company.  Without the Norte-Dame, I think I could never find that fantastic bookstore.  It was late yesterday that I realize it is a functioning church, but I never see Norte-Dame in that light.   To me, it's a scary, beautiful building.  The church itself has no meaning beyond its beautiful structure and textures.

It's funny how some people react 24-hours later (the Americans, who are excellent in having an opinion as soon as possible) on the possibility of the Cathedral being re-built, and its ability to raise a great deal of money to do so.  Some Americans are commenting on isn't it better to give money to starving children, or whatever the pet cause is at the moment.  Same as some who complain about Bernie Sanders being a millionaire.   What does that have to do with the issues he brings up.  For some reason, people feel that a Socialist shouldn't have money.   Alternatively, it is hypocritical to have money and yet for fair representation in politics.   For one, I think those who bring this up are just pissed off that Senator Sanders even exist on this world.   With respect to the Church, the Norte-Dame Cathedral is not just a building, but an iconic spot for the last 800 years.  Buildings do come and go, but the Cathedral represents more than just a structure.

After finishing up the Podcast, I worked on my piece for the Please Kill Me website. We have been going back and forth on this particular essay, and I enjoy the communication with their editor.  Everything he has brought up is something to make the piece better.  As a writer, working with an editor is the best relationship.   I love them.

I just got back from a walk through Downtown Los Angeles. Beside Echo Park Lake, I love wandering around Downtown due to its architecture.  I always get the feeling that I need a martini while I'm in Downtown, but I avoid hitting a bar at an early hour.  I drink, but I'm not yet a full alcoholic.  At 64 I'm always looking for an adventure.

"Slow Writing : Thom Andersen on Cinema" by Thom Andersen (The Visible Press)

ISBN: 9780992837723 The Visible Press

In the 1960s there were a lot of great 'film' related books that speak to the fan of the medium, but also express a viewpoint of the world as well.  Thom Andersen's "Slow Writing" reflects that series of perfect moments when I used to haunt the bookshelves at Samuel French and Larry Edmunds bookstore in Hollywood. 

Cinema was not separated from 'real' life - even Hollywood had to reflect on the outside world once in awhile.   For me, and this is entirely a subjective view there is two type of fans of cinema.  The one that gets into the merchandising and the inner world of that medium - mostly the comic.com generation, that offers a peculiar view of the world that is half-made up and almost have a will of steel in bringing that world up in their everyday lives.  And then there is the cinema that reflects on the politics, the concerns, and the nature of being human in a world that's often unsettling.  These two sometimes go hand-in-hand, or more likely take two separate highways to get to their destination.    "Slow Writing" is a book that reflects on the 'outside' world but through the medium of the cinema.  It's a fantastic series of essays focusing on Ozu to Christian Marclay, Warhol, and for me an obscure filmmaker Pedro Costa.  

Thom Andersen writes clearly and doesn't have the slightest whiff of academia confusion or stance.  He's a guy who goes to the movies and thinks about them afterward.   His interest in politics, film noir, and the Hollywood Red scare era is a toxic seduction to get the reader involved with 20th-century pop cultural history.   It is also a world that bites very hard and doesn't let go of its fans or those who dwell in the history of the urban landscape - especially Los Angeles in this case.  "Slow Writing" is a perfectly paced book.  The essays blend into the others as if one is bathing in its water.  Over the years I have read great books on film, and "Slow Writing" is without a doubt a classic volume on the subject matter, as well as commentary on Los Angeles seen through the medium of film, and how that reflects on the actual world, that most of us dwell in. 

Also, praise to The Visible Press for making a beautiful book to behold and treasure.  It's elegant, which is also very much like Thom Andersen and his writing. 

(I will be having a discussion with Thom Andersen on his book "Slow Writing" at Skylight Books on October 12, 2017, at 7:30 PM. )

February 5, 2017 (Tosh's Diary)

February 5, 2017

I went for a walk in Downtown Los Angeles, mostly to clear my head.  In my depressive mode, I tend to walk in that neighborhood for the architecture, bars, and to look at the people.  I have to admit that I haven't been happy ever since the President got elected.   I thought I had it in with the Stephen Bannon connection, but like everything else in my life, I'm often invited to the table with the big guys, but of course, it's at the end of the table by the toilets or exit.  It's discouraging because I just want to support myself as a writer, and of course, as a community project, build a Trump statue.  The truth is I don't even like Trump.   I just wanted to do something to bring the country back together again.  For awhile, I was toying with an idea of having a statue made of Trump shaking hands with Hilary Clinton.  But again, I was discouraged by friends and foes who say that is a horrible idea.   I was even open-minded to make a statue of Trump and Putin shaking hands - and that too didn't go off well in my community or the board members (my wife and mom) of my foundation.  

I suspect everything is turning from bad to worse, which is causing me grave feelings of insecurity and depression.  The funny thing is when an election is over, and the guy or girl wins; everyone is Ok, maybe things will get better.  But for whatever reasons, everyone is stressed out or even suffering from anxiety of all sorts.   My soul purpose is to get rid of this sense of loss or feelings of apprehensiveness.  As I walk up Broadway without being conscious of where I am going, I came upon a group of really cute girls.   They were carrying signs.  "Water is Life."  "Pipelines are War Crimes."  I found myself in a March regarding the Standing Rock Indian Reservation and the plan to build the South Dakota Pipeline, on Native American land.  I didn't plan to be there, but here I was, walking among them.   

I realize it's fate that I'm here.  Perhaps the statue is not going to bring people together, but the process of going on marches is what is going to unite us.   As I walk with these people, which first, seemed to be a hundred or so, but more come, block-by-block, that hundred turns to a thousand.  Or perhaps more!  It's an incredible feeling to be with the masses, after spending so much time alone, just thinking about my stupid statue project and my useless writing.  I discover the two most important things in life is being with a vast population for one cause for all, and of course, on Facebook.  Is my happiness around the corner? 

"Sidewalking: Coming to Terms with Los Angeles" by David L. Ulin

ISBN: 978-0-520-27372-6 University of California Press

"Sidewalking: Coming to Terms with Los Angeles" by David L. Ulin

As a life-long citizen of Los Angeles, I have always loved it here, because here is not here till I'm "here."   This is a place where your imagination can run down the entire Sunset boulevard.  Los Angeles is endlessly fascinating, and never-ending.  For one, whatever mood you're in, one can just hop on a bus, and let it take you to a foreign part of the world.  The beauty of this location is that it has endless possibilities of landscapes that come and go.  There are so many languages spoken throughout this metropolis, one can easily become an outsider, even though you were born and lived here for your entire life.  Not only can I invent a new identity, but everyone here would accept that aspect of my or our lives.  

There are countless books on the culture of Los Angeles, meaning its people as well as its architecture, and a lot of them just go "huh?"    For me, the confusion is the thing, and also makes Los Angeles the most unique city in the world.   David L. Ulin's homage and study of Los Angeles, "Sidewalking" is one version of a New Yorker coming to terms with the city of illusions.  An enjoyable book.   It is very much like sitting down at the top of the Ace Hotel in downtown Los Angeles and chatting about why we are here and even more important, what is here, exactly.  

All urban areas change.  Sometimes one cannot notice the change, but believe me, change is happening under your nose.  Los Angeles on the other hand, one can physically see the changes taking place as it happens.  Walking Sunset Boulevard a month ago, is so different now.   New structures are being put up, and even one can notice a different accent or language in the neighborhood.  And make no mistake about the neighborhood.  Los Angeles is a city that for sure has a center and a west coast view of the Pacific ocean.   It expands like a wild weed growing in an industrial park.   Ulin captures the changes that took place in Los Angeles, and meditates on what those changes mean to the Los Angeles citizen and beyond.   He mostly focuses on his neighborhood in the Wilshire Miracle Mile, but also the Grove (outside shopping complex), and Downtown.   As a fellow citizen of this town, I can see his point of view quite clearly.   What he says is perfectly true.  "The Darkroom" structure on Wilshire is for sure a masterpiece storefront.  The theme driven architecture of the early part of the 20th century is very much in the blood of this city.  Sadly, not only that era is gone, but so are the buildings.  Nevertheless there is the idea of parks being built that are actually shopping centers - such as the Americana and the Grove.  They're not fenced in, and gives the illusion that they are public spaces, but in fact very much a private property landscape for the consumer and the retail world. 

So as a fellow who likes to wander around his neighborhood (Silverlake, Echo Park, Hollywood, and parts of Glendale) I can fully understand Ulin's take on his part of the world as well.   Each chapter of the book is very self-contained, so in a sense this book's theme is Los Angeles, but one can separate the chapter from the book.  Very much like the city itself.  Which is its beauty and charm, just like "Sidewalking." 

- Tosh Berman

September 16, 2014

September 16, 2014

I was obsessing over Korla Pandit, both the man and his music, when walking towards the Central Library in Los Angeles.  I looked up at the Standard Hotel to hopefully get a glance of someone up there.  Usually when I’m on the street level, I don’t see a thing.  But I saw a sole man, looking at the view of downtown from the roof.  I immediately thought if he was going to jump.  When I went into the library and began working on my memoir, I read on Facebook that a man jumped from the pool/roof area of the Standard Hotel just now. I felt bad, because I thought maybe that guy up there picked up on my thoughts about jumping.  But to be honest, I often think about that, while walking around downtown, due to the tall buildings, one is always aware that someone can topple over the roof or their window, and hit you while you’re strolling along the boulevard.  When I read the responses to that post, regarding the unfortunate soul who jumped, most didn't comment on his suicide, but more to the fact that it is unsafe to walk around the downtown area.   One person mentioned that a bowling ball almost hit him while he walked past a ten story building.  Whoever had that bowling ball, used it to keep their window open, for air I guess.

Nevertheless, I went back to my writing, and thinking about Korla Pandit.  I find him fascinating, because one, I love the sound of the organ.  Pandit was an incredible musician, and myself being attracted to visually stimulating people, found him magnificent.  He used to have a show called “Korla Pandit’s Adventures in Music” that was broadcasted every week day on the Los Angeles TV station KTLA.  He never spoke, but looked dreamily into the camera while performing his music.  Each episode was 15 minutes long.   He looked like he came from somewhere exotic, such as India.  He had a white turbine and usually wore a tuxedo.   One story I heard was that he was born in New Delhi to a Brahmin priest and a French opera singer who traveled from England to India.  Eventually the family made it to the United States.

At the time he was doing his weekday TV series, he also did the music for the radio drama series “Chandu the Magician.” The main character Frank Chandler (“Chandu”) had the ability to teleport, astral project, mesmerize, as well as project illusions.  He learned the secrets of the occult from the Yogis in India.  In many ways, Korla looked like Chandu the Magician.   Chandler after learning the secrets of the occult was told by his Yogi teacher to “Go forth in the youth and strength and conquer the evil that threatens Mankind.”

As one knows, evil is everywhere.  Kierkegaard has commented that “Since boredom advances and boredom is the root of all evil, no wonder, then, that the world goes backwards, that evil spreads.” If one can lose oneself into an exotic world, then I feel that there is hope to at the very least, force evil back into the Pandora’s box.  By instinct, I feel Korla brings Eastern wisdom into the Western world, or at least he did so when he did his 15 minute television show.  Not saying a word, and looking into the camera, and playing his organ, he speaks with great volume.   Yet, even with my slight knowledge of Korla Pandit and Chandu the Magician, I couldn't save the man on the top of the Standard Hotel.   To do good, one needs to be a professional.

June 10, 2014

June 10, 2014

The moment that I became upon, the one that I was dreading from the very beginning of this writing project… has happened.  There comes a time when you wake up and you approach your laptop, you turn it on, adjust the music of one’s choice, and then… nothing.  Vapid of course, but all you are seeing in front of you is a very enormous concrete wall, and you know what you desire is behind the wall, but the problem is what do I desire?  After that, you realize maybe you’re not as good as you think you are, and other self-defeating thoughts, which at first, slowly creeps in, but then all of sudden it is like a damn breaking, and your overwhelmed with dread, with thoughts of failure.  And it is not even 9 AM!   I looked out the window.  I see the same cars parked that are always there, and I go looking for inspiration in the everyday occurrence, but alas, was that even interesting?  How can I make the uninteresting, interesting?

To change the scenery I decided to take a shower, got dressed, and went on the 96 metro bus to 6TH and Grand, and walked over to the Yorkshire Grill for breakfast.  Obviously, I wasn’t feeling hungry so I just ordered a side of rye toast and a cup of coffee. I sat at the counter of course, and oddly enough, I was the only person there. That alone doesn’t really bother me, because I like being in public spaces and being the only one there.  I often feel ‘entitled’ to areas that technically belong to everyone.  While sitting there I found myself silently humming a song to myself “A Cup of Coffee, a Sandwich, and You” written by Al Dubin and Harry Warren.  Dublin continued to be a hero to me, because I think a sense of failure was always chasing him around.  Even though he wrote the lyrics to “Tiptoe Through the Tulips” and “Shuffle Off to Buffalo” the happiness that was expressed in those lyrics doesn’t fully gel with the man who wrote them.   Throughout his life he had to struggle with alcohol and drugs - especially doctor prescribed barbiturates, which eventually killed him.  At the peak of his struggling career was the depression.  The irony of his writing songs like “Lullaby of Broadway” while he was at his worst and with the whole U.S. culture dealing with the aftereffects of such a devastating era. Is very moving to me, as well as an inspiration to my occasional writer’s block issues.

My character is among misery.  I sought to hide it time-to-time, but it oozes out from either my writing, or when I’m home alone having a drink.  I don’t like to share that side of my personality with the world - or at least face-to-face.  But the truth is I don’t like to be in the presence of people that much anymore.  Usually I feel dread, then around the corner comes boredom.  As I sat on the counter slowly drinking my cup of coffee, I realized that what I fear the most is social responsibility and with that, boredom is hooked up as well.

After my breakfast, I walked around downtown, which is my favorite destination for a walk.  It is not until I travel without a map in an area that I sort of know, is where I find the greatest adventure.  I always run across a building or entrance way that I never noticed before, and I wonder why?  This starts my brain cells to make progress in a certain way, and all of sudden the concrete wall in front of me, is starting to chip away piece by piece.  The process is extremely slow, but I’m thankful that there is some sort of movement happening.  When I got back to my writing area, which tends to be in my library, I looked at a self-portrait by Gustave Courbet, a French artist of the 19th century.   The painting is called "The Desperate Man," and it wasn't till now, that I realized that what drew me to this specific painting was that I saw myself in that work.   Then I realized that it was a form of theater for Courbet, in that he used himself as a character in his own making.  Therefore I realized that as a writer, I too have to become a character in my own story.   The concrete wall now has an opening, and at this point, I can stick my head through the wall to find out what was on the other side.

February 13, 2014

February 13, 2014

As I was falling back asleep this morning, I heard the alarm go on, which automatically plays Johann Strauss’ “Blue Danube.” With that melody it never gets me out of bed quickly, especially its introduction which so lazily causes me to drift in a gentle sway of the river itself.  After an hour of making a concerted effort to take one of my legs onto the floor beside the bed, I eventually have to pee.  As the urine flows out of my penis, I whistle, out-of-tune of course, Blue Danube, which somehow controls the piss movement into something enjoyable.

Since last week I got a writing job for the newspaper “La Citoyenne” which is edited by Hubertine Auciert, a well-known feminist, and an incredible boss.  She basically requested that I do a series of articles on Los Angeles, from my point-of-view of course, and if possible perhaps make it into a guided tour seen through my eyes.  She asked me to list shops, hotels, record stores and book stores - that sort of thing.  To me this was a dream job, the thing is she can only pay me in Euros, since the paper is printed and published in Paris.   This actually works out Ok for me, because I have often had this fantasy that one day I will sneak out of the U.S. to go to Paris to live under another name.  It doesn’t make sense, but the fact that I will have a small income in another country, made it sound so sexy to me.

I’m fortunate that I can write 60 to 80 pages per day, without getting into a sweat.  Some are addicted to sunlight, but I have a thing for the solitude relationship between writer and computer screen.  I love the Macintosh Pages application, where I can endlessly make choices between words and sentences.  A day doesn’t go by, where have I made my commitment of at the very least 60 pages, I have been now part of a blissful state of mind.  Some find satisfaction by being paid in gold, but mine is being paid by the word, hell, even by the letter!

To ease the strain of writing (if any, duh!) I need to have sex at least once a day.  I started the art of making love when I was 15, and I haven’t stopped.  I mostly pay for my sexual conquests, because the business transaction is a turn-on for me.  I’m a firm believer that there should be a customer and there should be someone to supply a service to that customer.  If the world was run that way, it would be a sort of paradise for those who can, of course, afford to pay.

Once I get that over with, I can fully concentrate on the writing for the day.  For my work with “La Citoyenne”, I do a bit of research.  Right now I am totally fascinated with downtown Los Angeles.  I love to hang out at St. Vincent Court, which is off Seventh Street, west of Broadway.  It’s an odd area, due that it looks like a European arcade from the 19th century.   There is the incredible Pasquini Espresso Bar, where I often sit to have an espresso and look over my notes.  Then I head over to the Downtown Library on 5th and Flower to do my column and work on my short stories as well.

One time I was challenged that I couldn’t possibly write 60 pages per day.   I took this as a challenge and arranged to have a glass cage built for Human Resources in Chinatown, and sat down in front of an invited audience and they could watch me write 60 or more pages.   Each member of the audience paid $10 to enter.  By the time, I finished my little narrative (60 pages long of course) I was able to print out the work and gave it to each member of the audience.

In the long run, if it's 60 pages or 60 words, what is important is what I write, and how I write it.  Everything else is gravy on the plate that is life.  All I know is that after a day’s work of making love, then writing, I am ready for bed, and there I put on the gorgeous melody of “Blue Danube Waltz, and dance myself to a somber sleep.