February 12, 2014

February 12, 2014

I went around Los Angeles taking photographs from my i-phone of landscapes that I know will be altered forever. Specifically the Sunset Strip area, which as I write, construction workers are tearing down the building toput up the new structures. Eventually if someone blindfolded me, turn me around five times, and then removed the blindfold, I don’t think I’ll recognize the area anymore.

People have a tendency to believe that Los Angeles has no sense of history, which is part of the charm of the place. It is very much rooted into ‘the now’ and not in its past. Nevertheless I feel compelled to document the changes that are taking place, and I imagine each location on the strip as if a ghost has lived there. La Cienga Boulevard and Sunset, which were always an awkward area to walk around in, due to the steep hill that meets Sunset. I imagine when crossing the street that I will topple over due to the gravity pulling me downwards. 

To be honest the two buildings that were recently torn down, are not of any interest, but throughout my life as I traveled back and forth on Sunset, I would see these buildings and often reflect my thoughts on them. Not once in fifty years have I ever entered those two buildings. One was the house of suede or leather and the other used to house the Petersen’s publishing empire, which consists of Hod Rod Magazine, Motor Trend, Guns & Ammo, and most important to me, Tiger Beat magazine. 

Now that they went missing, I have nothing but regret and a touch of heartache. It will be a matter of time when I won’t even remember these buildings, due to seeing the new structure on an everyday basis. My memory will fade, and therefore an important part of my history will disappear on the vacant lots. My favorite photographer Eugène Atget, obsessively took photographs of Paris at the turn-of-the-century and now we have visual documents of a city that doesn’t exist in a physical sense, yet it’s very much alive in one’s head and heart. 

I got off the Metro line 2 bus at the intersection of La Cienga and Sunset, and I wanted to get ahold of some sort of history before it disappears. It was around 1:00 AM and there were still people milling about the intersection, but I managed to break into the Petersen Building to hopefully locate something of importance to me, or something that will cause a memory of this location, before it changes into a version of ‘now,’ without the context of the past connected to the landscape. With a flashlight, I found the main staircase, which had no identity or design to it at all. Just a part of the building that appears to have no pride or interest in its welfare. If the building was a living thing, it was like it was telling me that I'm not worth living or existing on this world - especially on the intersection La Cienga and Sunset. 

On the highest floor, I found a room that wasn’t locked up. There was a desk, and in its drawer was a single issue of Tiger Beat dated May 1964. It had Mick Jagger on the cover, stating if one “is for them or against them.” The pages were yellowing and the magazine itself smelt damped, but I couldn’t tell if it was caused by water damage or just the aging process of its pages. I took the magazine, and carefully walked down the stairs, and out the front exit of the building. I looked back and gave a deep bow toward the building, thinking “thank you for being here for so many years.” I took a photograph of the building, and then took the Metro bus line 2 back to Silverlake.

Tosh Talks -Joe Meek part3 "Telestar by The Tornados"

February 11, 2014

February 11, 2014

Gene Vincent was reading a book “Monsieur Venus” by Rachilde, that deals with gender issues as well as reversing the role of a female and a male.   He thought the theme of the book was crazy, but at least it kept him from thinking about his left leg, which was hurting like crazy.   He didn’t like to read a lot, but he had a thing for French decadent literature.   He read somewhere that Rachilde was known as ‘Mademoiselle Baudelaire’ and that was a good reason enough to pick up this novel.

Gene likes to lose it, like to be really gone, gone, and reading the Decadents took him to a place where he can escape his surroundings, and his body.  The death of his close friend Eddie Cochran was very much a closure of a life.  He was in the car with Eddie, when it went off that road in England.

He couldn’t remember the details, but being a musician he was more aware of the sounds of the crash as well as the series of what it seems as endless British accents trying to talk to him.  But without a doubt, his friend’s death closed one world, and there was just an entrance in front of him, and surely it wasn’t the gates of heaven.

Reading and performing on a stage is the only two positions that make him feel alive.  Drinking deadens his motor skills, but when he can soar, it is very much a spiritual or metaphysical series of moments.  He couldn’t speak French, but the French surely love him.  He spent a lot of time there, and was introduced to French literature from a fellow rocker Vince Taylor.

The inspiration to one of his biggest hits “Be-Bop-A-Lula” came from the comic strip “Little Lulu.” As a child in Norfork Virginia, Vincent loved a neighbor of his, that looked exactly like Little Lulu.   She had a headful of ringlets and always wore a pretty red coat.   She was poor, so Gene was convinced that she had nothing on under her coat, and therefore when ever Gene felt a chill he thought of his neighbor.

“Be-Bop-A-Lula” is a prayer for the ideal essence of life where Lulu is both an angel and an agent for Satan.  The way things are turning out for Gene Vincent, it is the latter.  Many years later I ended up at Rockaway Records on Glendale Boulevard and in their used record bins, I found five re-issued Capital Records albums by Gene Vincent, all for $6.99.  I purchased them all, and now in my household I have a shrine to Gene, that is surrounded by a ink portrait of Rachilde and an old “Little Lulu” comic.

February 10, 2014

February 10, 2014

I woke up this morning with the thought of adopting Bertolt Brecht as a role model.  Ever since I was a teenager I was drawn to Brecht as a character and I pretty much admired his sense of clothing as well.   For me the appreciation of one’s surface eventually leads to their style, and then after that I really go into their art or writing.  

As an only child I am obsessed with the idea of “Tosh” being a creative factory.  I’ll hire writers to write fiction and essays, but under my name.    That in thought, why not do paintings as well, or even films?    I soon realize that being “Tosh” is already an art form of sorts, and I can extend that talent into something more concrete, than just a writer, who writes stuff on Facebook. 

Saying something about Facebook, why not approach writers or editors that I met through that website?   I contacted Daniel Riccuito, because I admire his interest in Pre-Code Hollywood cinema as well as his website The Chiseler (http://chiseler.org).  I offered Daniel $500 a month, which is all I can afford, if he gives up his identity for one year, and everything he produces, he must do so under my name “Tosh.” Therefore The Chiseler will be credited to me as well.   Oddly enough, he refused!

I then approached Richard Prince with the same proposal.  He was said to be fascinated with the idea.  In fact as a present he sent me his “Catcher In The Rye by Richard Prince” book, but changing it to “Catcher in the Rye by Tosh Berman.”   

With that in mind, through my press TamTam Books, I am about re-publish a classic book of poems “Manual of Piety” by Brecht but giving myself credit for writing the book.  When I wrote my book of poems “The Plum In Mr. Blum’s Pudding, ” I was very much influenced by this book of poems by Brecht.  I found it in a second-hand bookstore in Shibuya Tokyo, and used it as a manual of sorts for my own book.  But now, I guess I can do something even better with it, but just re-claiming the book as my own. 

A few years ago, I published a book by Boris Vian called “Foam of the Daze” (L’écume des jours) where one of the leading characters Chick was a collector of artifacts from a philosopher Jean-Sol Partre.  In reality Partre is based on Jean-Paul Sartre, and Chick is modeled after the great jazz drummer Chick Webb.  The fact that Chick in the book really has nothing to do with the inspiration is a sign of Vian’s creativity.  So the art of it all for me is somehow using real life, but yet still get people to do the creative work under my name “Tosh.”  

Today I feel fantastic because there is a whole new world opening up to me, and I can pick and choose what I want for my world. 

"Malicious Damage" by Ilsa Colsell (The Defaced Library Books of Kenneth Halliwell and Joe Orton)

978-0-9576095-0-1

I found a copy of this book at the always amazing Printed Matter in Chelsea New York City.  "Malicious Damage is a collection of defaced library books belonging to the Islington London Library, but re-imagined by Kenneth Halliwell and Joe Orton.   What they would do is either steal or 'borrow' library books, take them home and alter them in some fashion.  Then return them to the library.  Sort of a Brirish version of situationist activity but through a very 'queer' aesthetic from these two giants of post-war London culture.

We don't only get an amazing reproduction of all the books, but also a detailed image of Orton and Halliwell's flat in Islington.  A famous location due that Orton was killed by Halliwell here, but more positive reason is that Halliwell and Orton made colleges on their walls, from floor to ceiling.  The photograph of the interior is pretty fantastic, and was taken by the police at the time they got arrested for defacing library books.

Included are super essays by Ilsa Colsell and the always excellent Philip Hoare.  The foreword is by Joe's sister Leonie Orton Barnett.  Short, sweet, and fascinating that Orton's habit of taking things that not belong to him, actually runs through his family.  Orton and Halliwell were right between 1950's post-war GB culture and the gates of swinging 60's London culture.  But their lives were lived in the grays, when homosexuality was literally against the law.   A shadowy world that their neighbor Joe Meek shared as well.   This is a superb book, and may be difficult to find.  The only two places where I found copies of this book are Printed Matter and the Strand.  Both in New York.  I strongly recommend anyone who is either an Orton fan (and you should be) or have an interest in 'Queer' London cultural history.  Pretty much an essential book to own and enjoy.

February 9, 2014

February 9, 2014

For my past crimes, I was just sentenced to the poker for 40 days.  The judge said that I should have known better than to participate in Justin’s egg-throwing party.  Ironically there is a 40 year difference between me and Justin.  Who knows how these things work out.  One day you were hired to write some words to a song, and then a short time later I am facing the judge, in a crime that I truly have no memory of.  Due to the arrest I am thrown out of Justin’s social world, which probably is a blessing than anything else.    The judge was kind enough to give me 40 more days to get my affairs in order before reporting to jail time.  Oddly enough I don’t feel guilty about what happened.  Sometimes you just have to experience the lows in life to appreciate the highs.  Alas, there is a great deal of sadness on my part, because deep down I still want to be part of Justin’s world.

A quick turn of events makes one reflect on one's life, and I often wonder what would happen if I didn’t see The Beatles on the Ed Sullivan show when I was 9 years old.  I was for sure attracted to the intense love the whole world was giving the Fab Four.  Yet, I can’t remember what songs they played on the show.  I just remember looking forward to the moment they arrive in front of me, or on my TV screen.  It wasn’t even a music thing, just to become part of that moment when things fell in place so perfectly.

The second thing that hit me right between the eyes that year was “Peyton Place.” I just turned 10 years old and I fell in love with Allison MacKenzie, played by Mia Farrow.   If I had a ‘type’ it would be a girl with long blonde hair.  There was something fairy-tale like about her presence on the little screen that really captured my heart.  I didn’t understand the show, but I got the intensity and passion right away.  Totally emotional, but Farrow struck me as someone I can just talk to, if I knew her.  Or I should say Allison, because that is the part she played in the series.  I believe that she was 19, but her being a teenager, in my mind, was that she was approachable for a ten year old.   Of course this was all fantasy, but when you are a kid you always fall in love with someone older.  I’m sure there were tons of pre-teen girls in love with The Beatles, and on one level you think, these guys are in their early 20’s.  But when you are part of the rush of pre-teenage or teenager, you don’t really pay attention to logic, but more of an inner-fantasy world, that was more important and more lively.

In real life when she went off with Frank Sinatra, it seemed weird to me, and I didn’t totally understand why she didn’t run off with Ryan O'Neal her co-star in “Payton Place.” But then mysteries are mysteries due to the unknown world of emotional attachment.   I think what disturbed me as a kid is that Sinatra wasn’t part of the family or not part of the show.  Around the same time, I also developed another crush on another blonde, Hayley Mills.  She was a great teenage star in the Walt Disney world.  I actually cut out pictures of her from 16 Magazine and put them up on my bedroom wall.   It was shocking to me, that eventually she ended up marrying a British movie director Roy Boulting when she was 20, and he was 53 years old.  Another odd thing about Mia and Hayley is that they were both in productions of “Peter Pan” but not on the same show.  I think Hayley played Wendy, but Mia actually performed as Peter Pan.

So now 50 years later, I am in front of the judge for hanging out with Justin and his crew, and I can sort of see I was trying to capture a moment that I never had.  Only in my head, and I had the chance to live that fantasy or moment, but now find my self soon heading towards jail with only a copy of a novel by Natsume Sōseki.

"3 New York DADAS + The Blind Man" by Marcel Duchamp, Henri-Pierre Roché and Beatrice Wood

Atlas Press (Distributed by D.A.P.) ISBN: 978-1900565-43-1

Atlas Press, out of London (and distributed by D.A.P.) always goes the extra mile.  They've been around for years, yet they are releasing really important books.  Today, I didn't want to be be disturbed or interrupted while reading "3 New Dadas and The Blind Man."  So I took a series of bus trips through out Los Angeles, for the purpose of reading this book from the beginning to the end.  Probably the best Saturday in my life, so far.

The book is both a document, a memoir, as well as fiction regarding three major figures in the early 20th century Arts: Henri-Pierre Roché, Beatrice Wood and of course Marcel Duchamp.  The two Frenchmen came to reside in New York City, where they met Ms. Wood.   At the time, sort of combination of a party girl and hardcore aesthetic person.  In fact, this little volume is a perfect snapshot of bohemian life in New York.

What we are presented with is a piece of fiction by Roché called "Victor," which is basically a memoir with the names changed to protect the guilty.  The book never was completed, and it doesn't really hold up as literature, but it is a fascinating document of a time, a place, and ground zero for one of the greatest things that happen in contemporary art.  Which was in two words: Marcel.  Duchamp.   Roché captures 'Victor' (Duchamp) at the peak of his iconic powers.  He pretty much documents Duchamp's work habits as well as love life of sorts.  The thing about Duchamp is that he is always a man of mystery.  Very visible yet invisible.  He was Warhol-like of his time that he could be in the public's and friend's eyes, but remains on an island that is truly Duchampville.   Before the novel starts the editors gave a glossary of who is who in the novel.  Which of course is fascinating.

The mighty trio at this time started up a zine style magazine called "The Blind Man," which focused on poetry, but a lot of it deals with the R. Mutt sculpture by Duchamp that was turned down by the festival that they helped put together.  Each artist can contribute a piece to the exhibition, but they must pay $6.  Duchamp did so under another name, but there was controversy over the urinal, because of all practices it was just that - a piece of plumbing.  Yet Duchamp chose this everyday instrument of release as an art object.  Bingo, an early, if not the first, conceptual piece in art.  There were two issues of "The Blind Man" and they are here in all of its glory.   Wonderful stuff.

What makes this book so unique is that I don't get the feeling that I am reading or seeing something from the past.  Even those this time period is almost 100 years ago, it seems like now.   Especially coming out of the Printed Matter Book Festival last week - the spirit of doing a magazine or a zine is still very much part of our psyche.   It's a beautiful thing and this book is a real wonder.   Also included is an excerpt from Beatrice's memoir "I Shock Myself" dealing with the period of time when they put together "The Blind Man" as well as her dealing with contemporary art, which to Beatrice Wood at the time, was really weird.  

Highly recommended title if you are a Duchamp fan, but beyond that, the spirit of the book is a complete turn-on.  Oh, and the production, and printing is superb.  Excellent work Atlas!

February 8, 2014

February 8, 2014


James Dean and Dennis Hopper came to visit my father’s studio that he shared with Bob Alexander on Sawtelle Boulevard.  Dennis and Jim were shooting “Rebel Without a Cause” and became tight buddies at the time.  Mostly due to their mutual love for the writings by English aesthetic John Ruskin.  Their director Nick Ray, suggested that to get into their ‘roles’ in the film they should read Ruskin’s “Selected Writings, ” which is sort of the Sees Candy Sampler of his numerous essays regarding poetry, architecture and of course painting.  Nicholas Ray had a deep interest in architecture as well as painting. Some have commented that the famous outfit James Dean wore in “Rebel,” was the colors of the American flag.

Bob had some connection with Dennis, which led his introduction to Wallace, my dad.   At the time, Hopper was a great deal into the arts and was just starting to get his collection together.  He didn’t have that much money at the time, but he would buy art from the artist, and pay them a weekly payment.   Dennis and Wallace had an immediate understanding of each other.  It got to the point that if Wallace started a sentence, then Dennis would finish it.  James Dean caught the flow of their conversation, and it has been stated that he brought this to the film set, specially his scenes with Sal Mineo.  Articulation in language is important, but Dean and Ray also know that what is not being said is equally significant as well.

At this meeting, Dean was quiet, but was totally soaking the experience in.   Wallace’s first words to him were “Do you want a beer?” Dean said “yeah’ and Wallace went over to his work table and took a can that was attached to a six-pack, which was not cold and threw it over to Dean.  He caught it in his right hand.  The moment brought to bear in mind my dad and Dean’s love for baseball.   As a kid, Jimmy was a fine player, and before the acting bug got to him, he was daydreaming of being in a professional team.  Wallace, on the other hand, even though good at playing baseball, never ever thought of being a professional athlete.   The thought of working under someone was unbearable to him.  On the other hand, he did admire the sport of playing pool or cards.  Here one can master their own destiny of sorts.


Jimmy and Dennis came to the studio by driving their matching Triumph motorcycles.  Wallace and Bob were both impressed with the machines.  Never trained as an engineer, or the skills of being a mechanic, but nevertheless Wallace had a profound appreciation for machinery and what it can add to one’s life.   Jimmy asked Wallace if he was willing to take a ride with him.   He said “sure. ”
Wallace got on the back of the bike, with Jimmy in the front.  He held Jimmy’s waist, and off they went.  Dean drove up to Sunset Boulevard and was going pretty fast around the sharp curves.  What surprised Dean was Wallace yelling in the air, like it was an amusement ride on Coney Island.  This made Jimmy happy, because he always wanted to be in a position or with someone who appreciates the moment.   Not its past or future, but now.

They eventually wound up at the Griffith Observatory.  Jimmy and Wallace looked over the distance and both were quiet.  Dean mentioned to my dad that tomorrow they will be filming up here, and Dennis will be in the scene as well.   Jimmy never told anybody this, but before shooting a scene at a location, he liked to visit that specific place before work starts.  A day or two days before the shoot is ideal for him.  It is not only the script and the other actors or director that’s vital to him, but also place.  He took into account the fact that a location can change, or have its meaning changed when sharing it with other people.

Some months ago, he invited a photographer friend of his to go with him back home.   In Dean’s mind, they would do a photo shoot of all his hang-out places when he was a kid or student at high school.  What surprised him was the fact that just bringing a photographer with him, regardless of the fact that he was a great friend, it somehow changes the place into something new.  Dean can look like he’s in the past, but the fact is he’s very much into the ‘now. ' Going back to the past, was just an illusion.  Film can make the big lie that one is going back to a specific time, but the fact is the audience is watching the film ‘now. ’

Dean didn’t have to explain any of this to my father.  In fact, they said basically nothing up there at the Observation and looked at the vast landscape in front of them in total silence.

"THE AMAZING MRS SHUFFLEWICK: The Life of Rex Jameson" by Patrick Newley

978-1-898576-21-1

The book as literature is not that hot, but the subject matter is interesting as well as the world around Mrs. Shufflewick.   This is a biography of Rex Jameson, a British comedian whose only major role is a drunken old cockney women by the name of Mrs. Shufflewick.   The author Patrick Newley was Jameson's manager in his late life.  What I like about the book is that you get information regarding London music hall life.  More likely if it wasn't for "The Amazing Mrs. Shufflewick" we would probably not know a thing about this fascinating artist.

Jameson wrote his own material, and actually not that different from his character.  Consistently drunk, a show with him was either a great hit or a terrible miss.  Nevertheless he kept a very private life, that is a combination of a kitchen sink drama with music hall overtures.   On the fringes of culture, Mrs. Shufflewick comments on the sexual mores of a cockney drunk.  Reading his work on paper, it comes off beautifully, and even though with the power of the Internet we have very little information on Jameson and his character Mrs. Shufflewick.

The bad thing about the book is that it is very much like a long magazine article.  Which is not bad, but this is a subject matter that needs a more detailed history of the drag artist as well as life working in various pubs and theaters of London circa. 50's and 60's.

Down below is a rare footage of Mrs. Shufflewick

"Don't Tell Sybil" by George Melly - a Memoir

Atlas Press, Distributed by D.A.P.  ISBN: 978-1-900565-65-3

Fascinating memoir by the always interesting George Melly on his life with E.L.T. Mesens, a surrealist from Belgium, who ended up as a gallery owner as well as a poet and artist in 1950s London.  In the50's, Melly became Mesens' assistant in his gallery, as well as being a jazz singer of some note.  One of the eminent London-center eccentrics, Melly dishes out the information regarding Surrealism, as it was dying out as a social scene.  

A very affectionate, yet pointed, portrait of Mesens and his world.  The reader gets the flavor of those times, and this is especially cool, because there is not that much literature on surrealism during the 50's/60's and especially from the London scene at the time.  

February 7, 2014

February 7, 2014

I used to play a weekly game of Monopoly with Juilette, which almost like clockwork, I would lose to her on a regular basis.  We would meet up at the Café de Flore, where I arranged with the manager to have a table for us in the middle of the afternoon.  I think one of the reasons why I am such a lousy player is that I don’t like the game at all.  But Juilette has a passion for it, that to be honest I don’t fully understand. 

Everyone presumes that we are a couple, due to our common love for clothing that is all black, and our shared passion for jazz.  The fact is Juilette has been having an affair with an American Jazz trumpet player for the past three months.  The funny thing is her english is terrible, and he can’t speak a word of French.  I can only imagine what they share, and I’m just lucky that Juliette meets me on a weekly basis to play a shitty game of Monopoly.  

After a few hours of losing miserably to her, I asked her if we can cut the game out, and go see a film.   She agreed to this, and we went to Le Cinema de Grand Action on Rue des Ecoles.  They were showing the complete “Flash Gordon” movie serial from 1936, starring Buster Crabbe as Flash.   Over the years, they mostly showed an edited version of the serial, and made it into a feature.   But here, they are showing the complete series which is 13 episodes.   The episode tonight is Chapter 8 “Tournament of Death.” I have read that Andre Breton would go to movie theaters without knowing what was playing or their time schedule.  It could be in the beginning, middle or end. It didn’t matter to him.  Once he felt a tinge of boredom he would leave and go to another screening.  Rarely would he see a whole film by itself, and me watching a movie serial is very much like that, because I don’t see every episode.  For instance, I missed out on Episode 7.  

Nevertheless I like sitting with Juliette in a dark theater.  When I look at her, by my side, she virtually disappears into the blackness, perhaps due to the clothing as well as dyed black hair.  The only thing that is highlighted is her red lips and white skin.  Watching Flash battle a masked opponent, I begin to regret that I may lose Juliette to her new American lover.  What was taking place in front of me, on the screen, was all of a sudden not important to me. 

The film, or episode was only 20 minutes long.  But within that time frame I came to the conclusion that I love Juliette, and yet as the theater lights got turned on, I realized something has changed.  As we walked out of the theater, I asked her if she wanted to go have a drink, either cafe or wine.  She told me that she can’t because she has to meet her boyfriend at another cafe, but thanked me for the film, and the game, mostly thanked me for the game.  I don’t know why she enjoys playing with me, since I lose every game. 

February 6, 2014

February 6, 2014

Today I just finished reading Audrey Wollen’s 'Erotics 2’ and was totally charmed by the book. I bought it at the Los Angeles Book Fair, an event put together by Printer Matter. For me, the only purpose for going was to get Audrey’s book. I was wishing I would see her at the fair, and have her sign my copy of the book, but alas, I missed her.

I think I first met Audrey when she was five or six years old. Lun*na and I were invited numerous times over to Peter Wollen and Lesile Dick’s home in Beverly Glen for dinner, and often we were entertained by Audrey. At the time, she was a very smart child, who appeared to be curious about the world. Now I believe Audrey is somewhere in her very early 20’s and she still appears to carry the same curiosity that made her such a remarkable child. Reading her first book I was struck with its sexuality, yet I was totally intrigued by how she wrote about her life. Or is it her life? I really don’t know the connection between reality and fiction. Nor do I really care, I am more interested in how the tale is told than anything else. And she can tell a tale quite well. 

After reading her book, I took a walk around Silver Lake, where eventually I ended up at the Silver Lake reservoir. There was a small crowd of people there, honoring Ronald Reagan due that today is his official holiday in California and Wisconsin. It seemed appropriate to me that the weather is so chilly, and when I think of Ron, a cold chill comes upon me quite violently, that I find myself shaking. Through out my life I made an effort to ignore Reagan, in fact, I was in Japan when he made his famous speech to demolish the Berlin Wall.

As soon as I got back from the walking trip, I had a meeting with Pierre Brice, a French actor who is going to act as Apache chief Winnetou in a German co-production based on a novel by Karl May. I was contracted to write a script, and immediately I started to research Tom Mix, who used to live in the Silver Lake area. In fact, he had a ranch, down the hill from me, which is now Ralphs supermarket. I was thinking of taking an older Tom Mix film “The Son of the Golden West” and using its plot for the Winnetou film. So far Pierre played this character seven times, so right now, everyone involved in this production feels like this will be the final film in the series. 

Writing an adventure tale or a Western is not all that difficult for me. I think what gives me a hand is that I don’t know a thing about the real West. The West to me is very much the TV shows like “Rawhide, ” “Walt Disney’s Zorro, ” and my personal fave “Wild Wild West.” In my mind I often think that the British TV series “The Avengers” is very much a Western. I don’t see a huge difference between James West and John Steed. Both characters are dandies, and they never seem to get dirty, even though they have numerous fighting scenes throughout their shows, they come off quite clean and hair in place. I dare to hope that life works out that way as well.

The one thing I am very proud of is that while writing the script I somehow added the fact that Winnetou is reading Audrey’s little book. Only the fans will pick up on this. Later tonight I will go over to a local bar to watch the Manchester United Football team. I believe they play a match with the Red Star Belgrade.

February 5, 2014

February 5, 2014

I never told anybody this, but I was related to Daisy and Violet Hilton, the Siamese twins who were born joined by their hips and buttocks.   My great aunt gave them birth but eventually sold them to her boss, who right away saw them as showbiz potential for big bucks.  The girls were taught at a young age to be musicians.  Violet played saxophone, and Daisy played the violin.

They pretty much toured non-stop in various vaudeville houses throughout the United States.  One of the places they played in, the United Artists building located on 937 South Broadway, was a very important venue for them.  It was at this point they discovered sex, which I might add must have been very awkward.  They were 15 at the time, and Daisy had her first sexual experience with a stage-hand.  Violet would close her eyes, and basically this is how they would operate when the other needs privacy.   Of course they are always there, including bathroom duties, sex, and other private moments, but they worked out a system, even though it is not real, but to them they could project privacy by one of them by just closing her eyes.

As much as possible they tried to stay away from the pervs who were just totally turned-on by the fact that these identical twins were physically joined together.   What people have commented on about them is their, of course, closeness.   One would believe that there would be arguments, but they learned from an early age that they must compromise, and not think as an individual but them as being really one being.  They weren’t of course, but like many in life, one doesn’t always have a choice.

Not surprisingly the girls were exploited by their owner, who was a queen bitch, and I don’t like to use that term, but I can’t think of another word for her.  She pretty much kept all their money they earned and just gave them the basics with respect to food and comfort.  But luckily nature won out as being teenagers they were obviously rebellious against their slave owner.  Since they were in the public, they knew that she couldn’t really hurt them physically, because in reality the twins belonged to the paying public, and the public if they knew or seen evidence of abuse, they may not pay for this type of entertainment.

Violet fell in love with the general manager of the United Artist theater by the name of Joris-Karl Huysmans, a French man who is now better known as a novelist.  His famous book “À rebours” set literary standards, but alas, didn’t sell.  He relocated to America, after a successful career as a stage manager at various Parisian music halls.   Although much older he fell in love with Violet.  With a certain amount of time, he eventually arranged for the twins to leave their ‘owner’ and pretty much took care of them for the rest of his life.

Joris-Karl introduced the twins to the sounds of Louis Armstrong and New Orleans jazz. Violet and Daisy eventually focused on this new music and became obsessed in proceeding with an American version of French Hot Jazz music.  They toured heavily throughout the years and became well-known in Europe.  It was during this time that people forgot about them being conjoined twins, and started to admire their musical skills, and eventually they became jazz composers as well.

Things went downhill when a friend of their's. Peg Entwistle, jumped to her death from the Hollywood sign, located in the Hollywood hills.  Peg, a stage actress, friended them while they were on the road as adolescent girls.  She was the only nice person at that time, often smuggling food to them right under that bitch’s nose.   Through Peg, the twins learned the importance of discipline, and that only hard work will somehow get them out of this horror show of a life.   When some years later, Peg gave in to her depression about her life and world, leaving only a brief note saying “"I am afraid, I am a coward. I am sorry for everything. If I had done this a long time ago, it would have saved a lot of pain. P.E.” The disappointment that was always in these two girls, who till then, kept it under wraps, finally feel the tug of the depression within their souls.

Joris-Karl, died, leaving the girls without a moral support.  Eventually they lost interest in making music, and eventually became hermits. Living in the home they paid for, but made comfortable with Joris-Karl’s taste and natural elegance, the twins lead a life with the world outside totally closed to them.

In 1969, both twins were found dead in their home.  Death it seems was caused by the Hong Kong flu, and Daisy died first, and it seemed that Violet died two or four days later.

I always regretted the fact that I never met the twins.  A family can be blood, but also a significant distance from each other.

February 4, 2014

February 4, 2014

I got a message from Mark Zuckerberg of Facebook fame, that I should come up north to meet him to discuss the possibility of using me as a writer for a new Facebook concept called “Paper.” I immediately arranged a flight, and went to his campus like office.  What surprised me the most is that his office is small, and it seems he didn’t have a table to work on.  

When I walked in he was watching Ferand Léger’s film “Ballet Méchanique, ” on a giant screen TV which I found odd and slightly off-putting.   He got up to shake my hand, and told me that he has a hard time following straight narratives, so he prefers experimental or artistic films.   We took a place on his couch and we both watched the silent film together.   While the images were in front of me, he told me that he really admired my series of journals that I have been posting on Facebook.  He wanted to know if I would be interested in working with him on his new project “Paper.” Since I was basically unemployed, and going slowly broke, I said sure.   It was at that point he turned around to face me directly.  He told me that Facebook is basically a landscape where things can happen, but now with “Paper” he wants programming and written out narratives for the site. 

For instance, he was fascinated how people on Facebook were reacting to the Woody Allen case.  Most probably consider this to be an old case and who cares at this point and time.  Alas, this is wrong, because a typical citizen of Facebook is very much concerned with the world around them, but they need that ‘world’ to be defined, or package in a way for people to address that specific narrative.  Or if it doesn’t have a narrative, then it must have one attached to the piece.   Another example is the unfortunate death of Philip Seymour Hoffman.  Here’s a tragic incident where a very talented actor dies before his time, but alas, there is a narrative in the works here as well.  People are under a strong opinion that he should have done something besides being a junkie.   Even though the story is not finalized, individuals are already putting their own narrative to his death.  So many issues involved here.  The never-ending process to sobriety, which is odd enough, because the very word ‘sober’ has a meaning of being serious, sensible, and solemn.  Which is nothing wrong with that, but shouldn’t there be a much better term to express fun, adventure, and enlightenment without getting smashed?

Mark and I looked back at the screen.  It’s funny thinking back that both of us while talking we were mostly looking at the movie instead of each other.   In a nutshell, Mark asked me to go through the stories of the day, and re-write them in a more entertaining style or a narrative where there is a beginning, a middle, and the end.  Mark told me “Shit happens, but not on Facebook Tosh.”  

I told him I’ll take the job.  He said cool and then called his secretary in.  She entered the office and introduced herself to me, without waiting for Mark to make the actual introductions.  “My name is Joan Vollmer, and I will be assisting you while you work on this project.” I said goodbye to Mark, and then Joan led me to my office, which like Mark’s office didn’t have a work table.  What I did have was a giant screen TV, with a DVD package near it.  It was Marcel L’Herbier’s “I’Inhumaine, ” another silent film.  

Joan said that she has been with Facebook for 10 years, and before that she was married to a writer in Mexico.  When she left the office, I put on the L’Herbier film and wondered what my life is going to be like now. 

February 3, 2014

February 3, 2014

I was at home listening to Felix Mendelssohn’s “Midsummer Night’s Dream.” when I got a phone call from Violet Shenton, who owns the building that Joe’s studio is in. It seems she was upset, and if she’s upset about anything, then it is pretty serious. I got here as soon as possible, and one can feel the mood of the place just by walking in. Violet met me at the door, and asked me to have a few words with Joe who seemed to be in one of his moods again.


Joe is probably the most intelligent man I know. He was the first guy to really introduce me to the writings of Gertrude Stein and had a crazy love for Carl Theodor Dreyer films. For a guy who looked just like he walked off the canvas of a Norman Rockwell painting, he had a lot of deep inner demons.

I went upstairs to his apartment, I knocked, and found myself facing a rifle barrow. I saw him and said “Joe, I presume!” He laughed and faced the rifle down, and invited me into the apartment. He said to take a seat on the couch, which was covered with empty reel-to-reel tape boxes. I removed a pile of the boxes to sit down, meanwhile he took his seat which was a rocking chair. He placed the rifle on his lap, and asked me what I was reading. I told him that I have been obsessing over Paul Auster’s work in general. Both of us were early fans, but lately we been having trouble getting into his new work. The drag for us, was that there were no major changes and one gets the impression that they are reading the same book over and over again. “Ain’t that the truth” he said to me. I just nodded my head yes, while thinking about that rifle on his lap.

“Joe when we get into our arguments about writers and painters, it would be great if you can place the rifle somewhere else besides your lap.” He stared at me for like 30 seconds and his face broke into a smile. “Well it can finalize our disagreements Tosh.” 

I didn’t like how this conversation was turning into an alley with no exit. “Joe, have you heard the rumors of Kenneth Anger working with Melanie Safka? Many evenings ago, I remembered Joe setting up a really funky old 16mm projector to screen Anger’s “Scorpio Rising.” He was obsessing about the soundtrack and he felt at the time that Anger was using music in a new way to tell a narrative or bringing out a mood. It always struck me odd that Joe and Anger never got together to work on a project. They both had an interest in the Magik world, and I can’t speak for Anger, but Joe had an obsession with the after-life. Often he would force me to take part in a seance and have a discussion with Buddy Holly. I rather talk to Arthur Kane, but never brought up that subject with him because of his utter devotion to Buddy. I brought up Anger’s name due to the rumors that he was about do do a film-bio on the gangster Pretty Boy Floyd, and he either wanted Melanie to do the soundtrack or star in it.

As we were chatting back and forth, he suddenly put the rifle down, got up from his chair, and asked me if I wanted some tea. “Actually Joe, I have to split.” 

He said “are you sure? I can ask Violet to put the kettle on.”

“Nah, but thanks Joe. ”

I got up and walked over to him, and gave him a hug, and as I was hugging him I whispered in his ear “A rose is a rose is a rose.” He laughed and kissed me on both cheeks. That was the last time I saw him.

February 2, 2014

February 2, 2014

When I was a book buyer for Book Soup, my favorite buying session was to purchase remainders for the store.   A remainder is a book that is either going out-of-print, or has been returned to the publisher due that it got damaged or weak sales.  These books became a source of passion for me, because I saw them as objects that were mistreated, ignored, and unloved, when clearly it deserved a certain amount of attention from customers as well as the sales force in a bookstore.  So I feel that I’m the last man standing with respect to these books.  If I turned down a title it would be sudden death for that book, and every meeting I have with a salesperson from a remainder company, I bear that in mind.   If I say “yes” to a title, then it can live a little bit longer.

Through out my buyer occupation I came upon the greatest people in the book business, which for me was the reps or salesperson for a publishing house or distributor.  I first met Hella Haasse, when she called my office out of the blue to see if she can get an appointment with me.  The other interesting thing about remainder reps that they are consistently traveling, and most travel from the West to East coast and from the North to the South.  Consistently moving with the largest suitcase possibly made to hold the book samples.   My first impression of reps is that they were another version of Mr. Haney from “Green Acres, ” owing to their encyclopedic knowledge and the amount of books they have to carry with them.

Hella impressed me, because she was tiny, and had to load and unload this huge package of books by herself, but one can see she treat it as a second part of her skin. I felt I came up in the presence of someone who was selling something extremely personal.  Bookselling in general is an act of intimacy between buyer and seller, and eventually bookseller to customer.  It has a unique bond, a relationship that is based on one’s personality or character.  You really can’t learn the trade, you need to be yourself, which naturally takes you into the world of books.

 A remainder rep has to take a book apart before their journey due that it is impossible to move so many titles across the continent.   The horrible thing is that my office is upstairs, so she has to lift the luggage of books as she walks up.  I volunteered to help, but it seems she takes great pride in doing the work herself.

Hella had a series of folders, mostly book covers and its few pages.  They are divided by subject matter.   Right away I avoid the cooking and children books.  I called upon to see fiction.   The first book she showed me was a British edition of “Ulysses” by James Joyce.  For our bookstore, 20th century classics seem to sell the best.  So the wholesale price for this title will be $2.98, but we can sell it for $4.98.   Other then that, Hella is beautiful.  When she hands me the folder to look at the covers, she never takes her eyes off me.  I find myself as a cocktail, where the literature soothes me, but her eyes stings.  After we finished our buying session, I ask her if she wants to get coffee before she jets out to her next sales meeting.  She said yes.

I took her to Dialog Cafe on the corner of Holloway Drive and Palm Avenue off Sunset Blvd.   I do a lot of my buying meetings here due that it's quiet and the owners here are wonderful people.  Remainder reps are an interesting occupation, because they have to be knowledgeable about many subjects, and physically strong to carry the load of books.  I can’t imagine a person doing this for a long time, because it must cause havoc on their social or family life, but alas, all of them like the life on the road.  To consistently travel, it is like they are chasing the sun around the country.  Hella’s work clothes strike me as simple but feminine.  It had an odd combination to think of, because on one level bookselling is a performance, and a salesperson has to think of her or his appearance in front of a buyer or customer.  Which makes me feel a tad ashamed because I find myself attracted to her, but I try not to make it obvious.  But I have a hunch that people in her position know right away.

She bought me the coffee, and we sat down to talk about Joyce, who weird enough I have never read.  She, it seems, is an enormous fan of his writings, but finds “Ulysses” a minor work compared to “Finnegans Wake.” It wasn’t till after she left, that I realized that the only personal information she gave out about herself was her devotion to Joyce, for whom she thinks a lot about.  What does that tell me about Hella?

Talking about a writer or books is very intimate. Yet it can disguise or mask our feelings.  Perhaps it was a sales technique on her part, but I doubt that.  Booksellers, on both sides of the fence, are pretty much devoted to the printed page.
After our coffee I had the greatest urge to kiss her on the lips, but we hugged instead.  I offered to help her with the luggage of books, but she said she can manage it.   I walked her to her car, and we hugged again, and then she left.

February 1, 2014

Photo by Relah Eckstein from her film "The Room"

February 1, 2014

Checking my bank accounts, I can see clearly that I am going broke.  Not working for the past year and a half has been a fantastic time spent writing and thinking, but now it is high time to think about going back to the work force.  Checking my skills, the most logical occupation for me would be an actor in films.   Never mind the fact that the last film I was in “French Toast” hasn’t been finished yet.  Nevertheless my filmography is very impressive, being a child actor in Andy Warhol’s “Tarzan and Jane Regained... Sort Of” and turning down a role in Dennis Hopper’s “Easy Rider.” Plus being the star in Relah Eckstein’s films. I felt I had a better chance to get maybe a role in a situational TV show or even probably a commercial.  

I chose to avoid the middle-man, and I approached a movie studio, The Black Maria, to see if they were doing any hiring for film work.  I was realistic in knowing my chances to be a star in a film was pretty glum, but for sure I could get a second or third billing role in some film.  The only photograph of myself in a film was in Relah’s “The Room” which was made in the 80s, but I sent it with a resume.  Within a week, I received a letter from a producer at the studio by the name of William Taylor.  He asked if I could fly out to New Jersey (where the studio was located) for screen tests.  I said sure, and I was on my way.

When I showed up two days later at Mr. Taylor’s office, bright and early in the morning, he looked over the one image he has of me from “The Room.” he told me that I didn’t look anything like the photograph.   Which I replied “Well I’m an actor sir, and I really don’t have an identity.  I can melt into any character or role. That is my speciality.”  

He then commented that as far as he could tell, I have only worked on four Relah Eckstein films, plus an early Warhol, and a cameo in Anna Biller’s “Viva.” I told him that I was very choosey.

He looked at me and then laugh, and he said “you got the spirit man, and I like that in a male.” He asked me to take off my shirt.  I thought that was odd, since I was 59 years old, but on the other hand I have been known to make women swoon to this very day.   He did a series of photographs of me without the shirt on his I-Phone, which I thought to myself. “Wow technology is so fantastic. ”

After he finished taking the photos, he came to me, and put his hand on my knee and said “I think you got something.” He went back to his desk and threw me a script.  I was trying to catch it, but it landed in a gold fish bowl.    He just glanced at me with his eyes and made a movement with his hands that I should get it out of the fish bowl.  It was just a little script. In fact it was only five pages long.  I asked him “Is this the entire script?” He shook his head up and down.  

“It was written by the great S.J. Perelman for a Marx Brothers film, but Groucho didn’t want to play it.” He told me that the script was in his drawer for numerous years, till Takashi Murakami came to visit the studio and told him he just wanted to make his first American film.  By chance, Taylor showed Murakami the script, which he also threw at him, and he missed catching it, and again, it landed in the fish bowl.  Murakami loved the idea that the script was only five pages long, and basically silent, except for some sound effects.  

As an actor I was turned on to the fact that this was a silent film, and in reality I specialized in silent movie work.  Relah refused me to speak in her films because of my squeaky voice.  I told Taylor that I loved Murakami’s paintings, and was ready to work in this film.   Taylor just starred at me for a minute or so without saying a word then he said “we got a deal! ”