Showing posts with label Hamburg. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Hamburg. Show all posts

Tuesday, December 30, 2014

December 30, 2014



December 30, 2014

I have a series of role-models that I use, just to get myself out of bed every morning.  In fact, I have a closet full of role-models, because when you get down to it, it’s the clothing that makes the man, even if you are a bad dresser, it is the window to your soul.  Not the eyes.   When I was 33 years old, I received some money and resolved to spend every last drop of it on a trip to Europe.  I went with my friend Kimley, who I worked with at the Licorice Pizza store in West Los Angeles.   It was the first time that I did something so adult-like.  But now I remember the real reason why I went to Europe was to see a girl there that I had a brief affair with in Los Angeles.  I just wanted to continue the affair, but not here in Los Angeles, but in London, where she now lived.  One would say it was an act of love or passion, but the truth is I needed to remove myself from where I lived, so I can change, and change was the genuine passion for the trip.   Making love to her was just a side-dish.  I was curious about having a sex life in London, and would it be like anything in Los Angeles?   Ironically enough, I didn’t have sex at all while I was in London or in Europe - I mostly wandered around in various cold landscapes trying to find myself in a new light.

The role-model for this specific trip was Paul Bowles, a writer that I greatly admire.  To be the point, the one thing that impressed me the most about him was hearing that he traveled with many, many suitcases.  So I decided to not only bring two or three suits, including ties, and a hat to come with each suit, but also a mini-version of my library.  I remember choosing Frank Sinatra recordings as well to put in my portable cassette player.  Kimley also had her version of the cassette player with her music - so we had a he and she music thing going.  Memory is that she had Alex Chilton cassettes - both solo as well as with Big Star - and besides my Sinatra, I think I had Les Rita Mitsouko as well.   



The plan we made was to go to London first, and that was basically the whole plan for the trip.  We bought one-way tickets to London, with not the slightest idea when or if we will return to Los Angeles.  We both quit our jobs in the last day, and I remember leaving a note to my manager at the store saying the “next time you will see me, I’ll be a girl.” I haven’t the foggiest idea why I wrote that, but I wanted to do something dramatic and important-like.  

We went to London, and we stayed with the girl that I had the affair with.  It seemed on her part, that the affair was over, finished, and mostly forgotten by her.   That was a shock to my system.  Luckily I chose the Sinatra soundtrack for this trip, so it wasn’t a total disaster.  But I did discover London as an adult, and that was a real eye-opener for me.  For my whole life, I worshipped London as the cultural landscape to end all cultural landscapes.  But once I got there, I found it very cold, and there seemed to be a depression added to the cityscape.   To this day, I don’t know if it was me, or the city itself.   I think London recognized a poor soul, and tried its best to welcome me to the British world.   I think we stayed in London for three weeks, before proceeding to Paris.



I never been to Paris before, and it was even a bigger fantasy land to me than even London.  Everything I thought I would love about Paris, was truly there in front of me.   I think we stayed for three weeks, and then decided to take a train to Rome.   Rome only meant two things to me: Fellini and Pasolini - and that was it.   I remember we took a train and we traveled with a French grandmother and her grandchild.  They were eating cheese and bread, and were incredibly polite and quiet.  I took a nap on the train and woke up with an Italian grandmother and her Italian grandchild.  She was screaming at him, and he was crying and hitting her over her entire body.  At the same time, the grandmother was trying to cut pieces of dry salami for the child.  I had to walk out of the cabin with Kimley, and we both discovered that we were surrounded by Italians.  We were not in France anymore that’s for sure.  



When we arrived in Rome, a young good looking man immediately took our suitcases and told us to keep pace with him.  We didn’t think twice if it was alright or not, in fact, I thought it was a Paul Bowles type of thing.  So of course we followed him.  He took us to a hotel that had marbled floors, but no bathroom.  I remember I had to piss, so I pissed in the sink by the side of my bed.   I found Rome to be more Pasolini than Fellini, and I was profoundly impressed with the Roman police, because of the way they were dressed.  The motorcycle cops had knee length leather boots, and carried small machine guns.  Their helmets were beautifully designed and I loved how they look.  In fact, the entire police force was good looking.  Some even had a feather in their cap.   I never come upon dandy cops before in my life.   From Rome we went to Florence, which seemed like the perfect Italian city - I remember hearing the Style Council in all the pizza joints as well as the fine restaurants.  We went to Venice, but only for a day.  We were thinking of staying over night, but the hotels were either crowded or very expensive.  Also the city was too beautiful for me.  Ironically enough, at the time, there were posters and banners all over Venice, for an upcoming retrospective Futurism exhibition.  The irony being that the Futurists wanted to pave Venice with cement.  Now, Venice is still there (or barely) and Futurism is something out of the past. 

From Florence, we went to Munich Germany.  The first thing I saw when I left the train was a German with a Hitler moustache and wearing leather shorts.   And beer.  It seems Munich was very much drunk on beer.   We went to a beer garden, and ordered beer.  The beer came in huge glasses, that seemed obscene to me at the time.  Nevertheless I drank the whole glass, and not exactly did I become intoxicated, but really full.   The third surprise was the food that they served at our hotel.   For breakfast, we had cold luncheon meats and soft -boiled eggs.   It was pretty disgusting.   My thoughts on Munich were that it was downtown ancient German culture.   Also it was very clean.   The people and the streets were both immaculate.   From there, we went to Hamburg, because the Beatles went to Hamburg.  Also my grandmother was from Hamburg as well.   This port town was very impressive to me, because we went to another beer garden and someone threw a glass of beer over our heads and it smashed against the wall.   I didn’t know if this was the usual Hamburg greeting for visitors, but I tipped my hat towards their aim.  Also Hamburg was very sexy, due that both men and women wore leather pants. It was like the whole city was either pre-beatle Hamburg look or more likely Jim Morrison fanatics.   We then went to West Berlin, which at the time, appeared to be in the middle of East Germany.  I remember being on the train and German police came on with German Sheperds to check out our passports. 



Once we arrived in Berlin, it felt like Los Angeles to me.  The cops there wore short-sleeved shirts, and seemed to be more casual.   Also the streets were wide, and unlike the streets of Europe.   One thing that stays in my mind was going to a bookstore and that store having a gigantic display of Herman Hesse books.  It seemed that they re-issued the books with all Andy Warhol covers.  At the time, I thought it was a weird mixture of having Warhol doing the Hesse covers, but then again, perhaps it is him going back to his roots as a graphic designer for book and album covers.   Also we visited a large record store, and I was amazed to see all the vinyl albums were unwrapped - in the words they weren’t shrink-wrapped like they are in the States.   It’s the little things that make the big impressions while one travels.

After being in Berlin for a while, we went back to Paris and stayed there I think for three or four more weeks, and then back to London to fly back home.  We intended to stay forever, but we both ran out of money.   To this day, I don’t really plan ahead, the only reason I leave a place is either out of boredom or the money ran out.   But I did wear a suit everyday on our tour of Europe.   A year later I got some more money and went back to Europe again - this time alone.   Yet, I was still in a Paul Bowles mood.  I will be for the rest of my life. 


Monday, June 23, 2014

June 23, 2014



June 23, 2014

Most of my life I have been obsessed with a Beatle, but it wasn’t John, George, Paul, Ringo, or Pete Best.  It was Stuart Sutcliffe.  He was an old Liverpool friend of John Lennon, and probably one of his major influences as well.  We all need to search for perfection, to better ourselves, and for John in those early years, it was Stu.  All the Beatles were handsome, but Stu, was truly the most beautiful man in my lifetime and beyond.  Although, I guess, in theory, I’m a heterosexual, but with a homosexual bent, going towards the image and thoughts on Stuart Sutcliffe.



What I have observed in books and magazines, I do like Stu’s paintings, but it’s mostly his visual image that captures my heart.  Has he ever took a bad portrait?  His beauty was like the tip of a sharpened pencil, not touched by paper or hand.  When I see images of him, I think of a life that is not perfect, because he’s no longer on this planet, but exists in my head.  Despite the fact that I never met him, nor any of the other members of the Beatle world, I like to imagine him in my life in some form or manner.   Like Paul McCartney who was reported to be jealous of Lennon’s relationship with Sutcliffe, I too, feel left out by not knowing him personally.



Stu died in 1962, and he never knew how the world has changed, when his fellow friends sort of, in a brief moment in time, seemed to change the world. All an illusion of course, but at times, this is all we have.   Yet, Sutcliffe seemed to have found a lover in Hamburg, and chose to remain in a world where he can paint.  It was evident that a man who was so beautiful would be a very good painter as well.  If you think about it, most celebrated painters were also fantastic looking people.  There are ugly musicians, but for some reason a good painter is the one who always looks at the very least, beautiful.  I often imagine his life as a Bob Fosse choreographed dance piece.  He’s the lead, and I’m in his arms dancing in some one-bulb barely lighted artist’s studio, somewhere in Hamburg.  Of course it doesn’t deal at all with reality, for instance I know by the photographs what Stu looked like, but for instance, I never heard his voice.  It’s amazing when you think about how important he was to the Beatle narrative, yet, there is no recording of his voice.  So all we get are just the dazzling images of him in the Hamburg years of his young life.  I came to love him, but obviously it was more in love with the thought of loving him.  The distance of my feelings for him and reality became a troublesome obsession on my part.  I never expressed this to anyone, but some time ago I made the decision to do something about it.



I went to the Kinsey Institute located in Indiana University to hopefully do a series of interviews with the director at the time, John Bancroft.  I spoke to his assistant, regarding my thoughts on Stu, and how I cope day-to-day in my life.  He made note of my sexual practices as well as some of the other strong sexual fantasies I have.   He basically told me that he couldn’t give me advice, because of his role in this manner, is to record my story, and that is about it.  But he did let me know off the record that he feels that a love for one’s own gender is very basic truth.   I never had a fantasy of having sex with Stu, but more that I want to be a part of his presence.  I think of Tom Ripley when he actually wanted to be the person that he was obsessed within the novel “The Talented Mr. Ripley.”



My feelings for Stu never went away, and I often felt angry when I come upon a Beatles record or film, for instance, “Help, ” because there is no reference to Stu Sutchliffe in the film.  It is almost like he’s erased from history, and all I have are my thoughts of me being in his arms dancing “The Pajama Game.”