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Breaking My Addiction

I wanted to move to Downtown LA so I could utilize public transit more often, but the day I moved to my apartment the city announced it would shut down for COVID the next day. And just like that, we were shut down. Although everything has gone back to normal, I continued to drive drive drive mostly because it took less time than public transit. So I’d drive to the various markets I go to.

One of the things I noticed while I was in Berlin was the myth that public transit there was faster than it is here in LA. While that marginally might be the case, it’s not necessarily significant. It would regularly take me 40 minutes to get to anywhere not including the walking that had to be done. I resolved to take more public transport here in LA despite its imperfections.

Yesterday I needed to go to Hannam Chain Market in Koreatown on Olympic and Berendo, so I took the 28 that picks up near my apartment on 6th and Spring. I had music in my ears and a book to read, so I really tuned out my surroundings. I looked up and realized oh shit, we’re already there. In just 15 minutes we were there!

There has been a lot of talk about how unsafe Metro is, but on a Saturday late morning, a bus from Downtown through the Pico-Union district to Koreatown was uneventful. The worst thing about it were the fucking dots on the window:

Is there anything worse than dots on a transit window? Fucking ads.

There were two other annoying things that I noted:

  • People who don’t use headphones – I don’t want to hear your shitty music, your shitty video, your shitty phone conversations. I really hope you lose your hearing.
  • People who smoke pot in public – I get it. Pot is legal in California. Hooray. But that doesn’t mean you must smoke your shitty ass skunk weed wherever you damn well please. I still have PTSD from the time this really stoned motherfucker came over, and I had the worst sex ever. Just one whiff of pot makes me relive this experience.

This is probably why I hate leaving the house. But, to be honest, the dots were the worst.

Regardless of these quibbles, it was a completely pleasant experience. I didn’t have to stress about dumb ass motherfuckers who don’t know how to drive in Downtown. I didn’t have to worry about drivers who for whatever reason refuse to even come close to driving the speed limit. I just sat my ass in a seat, wait 15 minutes, and voila!

Total Solar Eclipse 2024

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This Was 2024

When thinking back on this year, I totally forgot about the eclipse back in April. It’s amazing how even though time seems to accelerate as we get older, April seems like a lifetime ago. Then again, time is an illusion.

But I remember driving out to Poplar Bluff, MO to see the eclipse and luxuriating in the four minutes of totality. Seeing the eclipse in 2017 in Newport, OR was a bit of an appetizer in comparison since totality was less than a minute where we were at. As great as it was to see the eclipse again, planning was such a bitch because of forecasted storms and cloud cover. I originally was going to go to Dallas, but the threat of storms forced me to be very flexible.

I also got my rental car stuck in the mud when I parked for the eclipse. But that was such a minor thing compared to the thrill of seeing the eclipse.

I am also grateful to work at a place that not only pays me properly but also has a good vacation policy since I was able to take this trip and a nearly-three-week vacation to Berlin recently. Fuck Disney.

I didn’t read as many books as I wanted to, only nine this year. But I did finish Roberto Bolaño’s 2666. Hopefully I improve on that next year.

Here are some songs I liked this year. I really don’t understand the appeal of pop music, so while everyone gagged over Charli XCX, Taylor Swift, Chappell Roan or whatever pop thing came out, I just ignored it. To be honest, I probably listened more to NIN more than anything else.

But all in all it was an okay year. Dull, sure. But hopefully I make changes to that in 25.

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XXXMas

Today is Christmas. It’s weird because my family doesn’t gather for Christmas — we do Thanksgiving and New Years. And as an atheist, the day doesn’t hold anything significant for me. It’s a day off where most everything is closed, a more dull Saturday. And since I’m not a child, there are no presents. So yeah. Happy Christmas? Sure. Whatever.

So to close out my adventures in Berlin, one thing I am awful at is buying tchotchkes during my travels. I don’t really frequent touristy areas, and if I do it’s a quick hit-and-run just to say that I’ve been there. I have to make a very conscious decision to buy that refrigerator magnet or coffee mug or other useless space vulture. I guess my tattoos were one way I could get a memento of this Berlin trip. But I did want something more tangible, something I could use.

XXXMas indeed.

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Is It Gay Bashing If They Were Right?

“Every fag needs to have a ‘fag’ tattoo,” my tattoo artist Hannes told me during our consultation. Truer words were never spoken.

Growing up I never really experienced overt gay bashing. During junior high school, I do remember people telling me that people were murmuring behind my back. But no one ever confronted me. It wasn’t until college in UCSB where one drunk asshole came up to me and called me a faggot. I kneed him in the chest and left him reeling on the ground. I never was a victim. I never appreciated the gay narrative out there that we were all victims, and I never appreciated it when the gay community embraced this narrative.

So that gives some insight as to why I wanted to get a “fag” tattoo.

Actually what ha-happened was…

Once I settled on coming to Berlin for my vacation, I knew I wanted to get a tattoo while I was there. As I looked for tattoo artists, I had a difficult time connecting to one whose art I would want on my body permanently. They were nice, but I wanted something with edge. And then I found Hannes on the studio’s website. Which, AKA Studios, was founded by a performance artist (RIP JJ). How fucking hot.

Then looking at Hanne’s Insta and website, I knew I found him. Seriously, scrolling through his flash sheet on his site, major fucking hardon.

While I originally intended for just one tattoo, I couldn’t make up my mind. So two tattoos it was.

We had a consultation two days after I landed in Berlin, still jetlagged as hell, but I knew I made the right decision when I saw his bookshelf:

Fuck me.

I decided for a black sun (Coil version) on my left forearm below my Z? tattoo and “fag” on right bicep. While yes, I do want to want to be confrontational, I still have to be a bit professional being an office worker. Although I did flirt with tattooing it on my hand, a rare bout of common sense prevailed. The next week after three hours, here are the final products:

And yes, I’m pinned on Hannes’s Insta page! (I would have just embedded that image, but it wouldn’t center and looked awful when I tried.)

So there it is. As you can tell, it’s still in the process of healing — moisturize, moisturize, moisturize. And my apologies to the Stayery Aparthotel in Friedrichschain where some of the black-inked plasma seeped out from the second skin onto the bedding. But I’m happy as all hell with it.

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17 Days in Berlin

With this Berlin trip coming at the end of the year, it really came at a good time for self-reflection. Having made 45 revolutions around the sun, I’ve noticed the last ten or so have been really stagnant. Wake up, go to work, come back home, eat dinner, watch television, sleep, repeat. There might be some moments of disruption from this routine, but otherwise it’s the same mind-numbing thing.

One thing that I’ve known for a while but was made really clear while in Berlin was that I hate leaving the house. I’m not afraid of being outside and running into people – I would just rather not. Just let me sit and stare at the wall, I’m perfectly content to be empty.

Although I do like to think of myself of having been wild and fun in my 20s, I do remember moments of utter boredom and ennui. Instead of doing something about it, I just wallowed in it. Now it’s not about boredom or ennui – it just is a state of being.

It’s no wonder that one of my regrets was not moving to Berlin in my 20s – I’ve always been this way.

So this is something to work on.

I’m not saying that I just stayed indoors during the 2 ½ weeks in Berlin.

  • The first week I rented an apartment in Yorckstraße in Schöneberg and an aparthotel in Friedrichshain in the second week. While both places and neighborhoods were lovely, I really preferred being in Friedrichshain. Maybe because I was close to Lab.oratory and Berghain?
  • I went to a performance of programmed pipe organs at the Kaiser Wilhem Memorial Church. The first performer sampled organs and other sounds which ended up sounding like something Coil or Whitehouse would make. The second performer was up at the pipe organ that was programmed which ended up sounding as if JS Bach made techno. It was very interesting.
The pipe organ at Kaiser-Wilhelm-Gedächtniskirche
  • To satisfy my Michelin-starred restaurant itch, I ate at Tim Raue, a two-star restaurant right near Checkpoint Charlie. I spent way too much, but I was there for 3 ½ hours.
The tasting menu at Tim Raue.
  • I went to Warsaw for a night for one reason alone: to see the works of Frederic Chopin performed live. As a pianist I fucking love Chopin, but because most of his works were only for piano they don’t get performed in these grand philharmonic halls and palaces. It’s basically salon music. So I went to a salon and saw a performance. I intentionally went and saw one that included the Ballade No. 1 in G minor. Just to prove what a simpering faggot I am, there I was crying like a fool right before the coda. Well, I also cried during the Heroic Polonaise. Who am I kidding? I was basically crying the whole hour.
The piano at the Fryderyk Concert Hall in Warsaw.
  • This was the most cashless I have seen Berlin. The only time I needed cash was for my tattoo artist. I was shocked since Berlin has historically been paranoid about privacy for obvious reasons, so they stuck with cash all these years. But man, the pandemic sure did a number on the city.
  • People really like their furniture close to the ground here in Berlin. I don’t know if this is a worldwide trend, but I really felt my knees were too close to my face when sitting on the couches. And they don’t like arms on couches so reclining to the side was just a fucking pain.
  • If anything says Christmas in Berlin, it’s this outdoor display at the Dark Matter museum.

I had a great time. After a week of being back in Los Angeles and going through my normal routine, I do miss Berlin. Perhaps next time I should go when it’s actually warm out?

Berlin Brandenburg Airport

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Off to Berlin. Again.

Yes, Berlin has a hold on me. I’m going to be spending 2 1/2 weeks in the city. Why so long, and why only Berlin?

One of my biggest regrets is I never moved there in my 20s. I feel like I’m past my so-called prime becoming an immigrant in my mid-40s. I’m a lot more inflexible in my needs and wants now than I was a couple of decades ago, so the thought of picking up and leaving where uncertainty teems doesn’t quite have the appeal now. But to give myself a taste of what could have been, I decided to rent an apartment for a couple of weeks to give me a sort of immersive experience. (Actually because of my indecision, I decided to rent a different apartment for each week and cap the last few days with a hotel stay.)

The less said about the flights in, the better. One of the irritating things about Berlin (of which there are many) is that there are no direct flights from the west coast of the US to this capital city. I opted again for Aer Lingus because it’s cheaper, their long-haul flights have 2-4-2 seating and it connects in Dublin which is one of the few airports that has US immigration in its airport. But unless you’re flying in business class or better, discomfort is the name of the game no matter which carrier you choose.

In the nine hours from LA to Dublin, I got almost no sleep. However, I did watch The Craft, Horrible Bosses and 2001: A Space Odyssey. On the flight to Berlin, I was blessed with no one in the middle seat – a free Euro-style business class for two hours! I knocked out for most of the flight, feeling more comfortable here than in the prior 9 hours.

When I landed in Berlin, the immigration agent asked me how many times I had been in Berlin. “Around three times,” I responded. She smiled. “Oh?” “I really do love Berlin.” I don’t know if I really love Berlin, but there is a magnetism I feel to this city. Maybe it’s knowing about everything created in this city from Christopher Isherwood to David Bowie to Iggy Pop, the mythology of a city that resurrects itself over and over again. Or knowing that a lot of artists from the late 90s to early 00s fled NY and LA for the cheaper living here in Berlin.

Sitting in the S9 going to my first apartment, I realized that being in Berlin allows me to be a different version of myself. I’m not in the familiar rut of life at home were I to have just taken 2 1/2 weeks of staycation. I’m interacting more with the world and trying to discover things. Whereas in LA, I’ve been there done that. New things might pop up in the city, but there are no real mysteries to the city. So I just stay in a constant state of dazed apathy hardly able to do anything above subsisting.

On the S-Bahn from the airport.

One thing that did greet me upon stepping inside the S-bahn train: a homeless guy passed out in the seats and the car reeking of stale alcohol. I’m glad to know that I can never fully escape the problems of LA. But I was never under the impression that Berlin was a pristine, glitzy nirvana, and I sure as hell to hope that I don’t give off that impression to people when I describe the city.

So here’s to the next two weeks and change.

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Just Horrible – Dweeb Edition

One of the most agonizing things happened last week. I ended up going home from work early last Wednesday with a sinus headache. I thought I was starting to get sick, but it turned out a nap was enough for it to take to get rid of it. That’s not the agonizing part. 

This is:

Yes, I broke my 210-day streak for the NY Times Crossword. I had completed most of it in the morning at work, but I forgot that I didn’t finish it. So I completed Thursday’s and Friday’s puzzle before I realized I didn’t finish Wednesday’s! Now here is what my stats look like: 

It’s quite appalling. Fuck.

trumpler

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Of Course Trump Was Going to Win

A demonstrator holds a placard showing a picture of US President-elect Donald Trump modified to add a swastika and an Adolf Hitler-style moustache during a protest outside the US Embassy in London November 9, 2016 against Trump after he was declared the winner of the US presidential election. Political novice and former reality TV star Donald Trump has defeated Hillary Clinton to take the US presidency, stunning America and the world in an explosive upset fueled by a wave of grassroots anger. / AFP / BEN STANSALL (Photo credit should read BEN STANSALL/AFP via Getty Images)
A very “effective” protest picket taken back in November 2016 in front of the US embassy in London. (BEN STANSALL/AFP via Getty Images)

If you couldn’t see that he was going to win 2024, then you don’t pay attention very well.

I just finished reading England’s Hidden Reverse by David Keenan, a look into the English occult and how bands like Nurse with Wound, Current 93 and Coil figured in. Well, it was more of just a history of those three projects. When it talks about David Tibet’s creation of Current 93’s song “Hitler as Kalki” released on their 1992 album Thunder Perfect Mind, it really struck me:

‘Hitler As Kalki’ explores the terrifying idea, first put forward by the Hindu social Darwinist, Holocaust denier and Hitler worshipper Svitri Devi Mukherji, that Hitler was in fact the final avatar of the Hindu God Vishnu, and the initiator of apocalypse. Devi interpreted the rise of the Nazis according to the cyclic understanding of history implicit in Hinduism, believing that the world is born in perfection before degenerating to destruction and initiating the cycle all over again… Just as Salvador Dali had dreamt of Hitler as Maldoror, Devi saw in Hitler echoes of Rama and Krishna, a warrior mystic who would free the world from the decadence of the Kali Yuga in a great cosmic battle and thus return the world to the perfection of its birth. For Devi, Judaism, capitalism and liberalism were signs of the endtimes. (p.295)

I always find the destruction mythologies interesting, the Sumerian (which the Jews and Christians stole) flood that destroyed the earth and wiped the slate clean. The thought that we are beyond saving and the only option is for complete annihilation in order to return to something perfect. It’s comforting to think of something like this, but mythology and reality rarely intersect.

I don’t think Trump is Hitler. I don’t think Trump’s second term will mean the end is nigh.

I think that a lot of Americans hate the Democrats so much that they don’t give a shit if they’re voting for a [insert group here]-hating nitwit who is obviously out for himself. Americans historically don’t give a shit about consequences as long as their own personal lives are bettered. Your sister will die because she can’t get medical care? Fuck it. I want a tax break. (I won’t get the tax break because I’m going to lose my job, but man does it feel good to be a part of this movement.)

I honestly don’t know where these Pollyannas come up with nonsense like Americans-are-decent-people-and-will-never-vote-for-someone-like-this. They’ve fucking done it 3 times now dumbasses. And if you’re butthurt about it, you’re just fucking stupid.

So cry, celebrate, do whatever. Remember that these are politicians. POLITICIANS. When the fuck are they ever to be trusted?

As trite as it sounds, all we can do is put one foot in front of the other. I am not privileged enough to worry too much about this. I’ve got bills to pay and a life to lead.

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Everyday is Halloween

I figured I should do something for Halloween for work, but I’m really fucking lazy, you see? I bought some SFX makeup online, and thanks to my gothy past, it took me about 20 minutes to do this makeup. I have no idea what the fuck it is supposed to be. I wanted a bloody scar, and just look undead. Well here it is.

Chevengur

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‘Chevengur’ and the Silly Soviets

I don’t know why I like Russian literature. Maybe it’s the difficulty? Maybe I like the challenge of their length?

I have no idea how I found out about Andrey Platanov’s Chevengur. I think it was said in passing by a “Booktuber,” but I really can’t find the reference. All I know is that when I heard about it I added it to my wishlist on Bookshop.org.

This is a romp through the steppes of Russia just post-revolution after the Red Army defeated the White Army. It starts with a look at the lives of the most destitute before we go on a Don Quixote-esque journey through Russia and a scathing satire on early-Soviet era communism, or a scathing satire on capitalism, or a scathing satire on peasants. I really couldn’t decide.

The first half of the novel was a lot easier to read than the second half, where we meet Alexander Dvanov as a child and all of his struggles which he overcomes before being given the directive to look for communism among the steppes. As he’s going from town to town, the narrative is brisk. But Platanov still finds room for some commentary. In one town “as for their duties, these had been retitled so as to demonstrate greater respect for labor (p. 155).” Although, to be fair to the communists, it really is something stupid that our capitalist culture continues to do. In one of these towns, Dvanov and his wandering knight of communism friend Stepan Kopionkin tells the commune to complicate things. “’When everything is confined, complicated, and incomprehensible,’ he went on, ‘then there will be work aplenty for the honest mind, while miscellaneous elements will be unable to squeeze through the narrow bottlenecks of complexity.’ (p. 157.)” Complication for complication’s sake. How fucking stupid. Perhaps this is why the novel was banned in the Soviet Union until the late 1980s.

Once we get to Chevengur, that’s when the narrative grinds to a halt. Characters get reintroduced, such as Alexander’s half-brother Prokofiy. We stay in the city where they violently expelled and eradicated the bourgeoise, where they moved buildings to be closer to one another, where they gave up work and allowed the sun to do all the work for them, where any work that was done had no practical purpose. It’s all just really odd.

So in the final pages when the Cossacks come, annihilate the city leaving Alexander as one of the few survivors to travel back to the lake his father killed himself in to reunite with his father. In a snap, this whole seeming absurd utopia was destroyed.

This was probably the most difficult of the Russians I’ve read so far, but it was interesting to read about the early Soviet era from the late 1910s to early 1920s. Not as many hardons as with Tim and Pete, but still intriguing nonetheless.

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