#04. WHERE DO I GET OFF?
or "What kind of train *is* this?"
Birdos and wormettes!~*
Down from tree perches and up through the mycorrhizal network I find you! Fresh off the press and the fold, and coming to you falling in, have I told you how good it feels to be greeting you with another e n v e l o p e? ONLY ~*HERE*~ from your favorite waif-y brainiac can you find: NO celebrity interviews, NO holiday gift guides, and NO tacky third-party advertisements!
Only the best, infringy, self-referential kind to keep your memories sharp and attuned to the all-time opening.
And now to completely informally *~w e l c o m e~* you dust mites under the couch. . . to another edition of this breakfast club special where everything is sweet and simple, served nice and easy straight up, just the way it should be, clowncake!
If you’re looking to get real flowery nostalgic, light that fireplace you’re paying for (it’s free-er than the thermostat)! Chimney didn’t come with the bag? Well kick on that old phonograph you got suckered into buying on social media. I returned the videotapes so let’s fire up the ol’ lantern and get reading to each other.
While I’m here holding this intimate moment for you, let me just say I’m still very hung up on this whole idea that we’re all just these little particle pieces– hums and buzzes happening about– trying to find our light and way in this world.
As this little blue blubbering basketball spins away against a vast backdrop of spaceness we can’t really conceive only go with, we somehow find ourselves situated mostly on a little bit of land we barely own, and certainly that we can’t measure. This could all come as a *significant shock* but it doesn’t really matter because the coastlines are always receding anyways. . .
Pushing all you coastal-living folk in toward my neck of the woods! Greetings beachlings~*. . .
As we tap this world’s trunk to make syrup, the real squeal about clubs (no seal) is that it’s the exclusiveness that makes them all the more exciting. . . I swear when I say it all comes down to the L*I*G*H*T*S, the F~L~A~S~H, and all the honey creeping around those sticky c^o^r^n^e^r^s. . . come to find out it’s the happening of it all, what gets everyone worked up in a fuss. Standing around, smoking cigarettes, dancing, doing *this.* TO CORE TO HANDLE. MY YOUTH!
The fact is the hautiest clubs nowadays are built on a new kind of origin– one that replaces fine dining and dirty dancing with something a little bit different– yet still scouts a way to pay similar attention to the depth we all aspire to zone out to.
Out of the hat, all cults start out as clubs (not all clubs are cults). Clubs that reach *cult status* are the ones touching culture. Once they touch it, they are no longer cults but expositions. And then the internet and the art world takes over blub blub blub. And voila, your club now an underwater house you don’t own.
Here’s your check, go on ca$h it. Seal what? I promise we’ll get you your own pair of scissors so you can cut the velvet rope at the opening.
Yeah sorry, I already sat behind the scenes with the electrician my only time at The Vault, LA so I know what that bank’s all about. (CHAIRS. A MILLION CHAIRS BACK THERE. Turns out his mom was an original G.L.O.W Girl. We had a lovely conversation about the future of light and sound and he took me on a tour of all the trap doors, so many!) Always controlling the narrative is just one of my many hidden talents. Weaving my way out of snaggy situations a close second!
While it’s true I actually aspire to pattern-cutter levels with my show. . . because how GREAT does it feel to free something from the background and give it a new life??. . . With pinking shears to my neck, I am not here to tempt you into lifting silly shit. I am here because I have something to say! (Cut and release yourself! Don’t sell yourself short on someone else’s paper!) V o i l a~* I swear it’s always better written down, because clumsy is our art as it plays out; all verbal touches and fractals. We are the rememberer of our own memories, after all.
It’s not the movement but the memory as it happens.
Putting aside intimate moments of lingering over brunch and whispering under bed sheets for just a sec, it seems that our conversation has reached a critical peek where our cultural algorithm does the gagging for us. There’s no need to intentionally be provocative because today the internet will make you, for you! Not what you meant? Who cares! Just because you dished it first, doesn’t mean it’s not going to be served back to you a time and a half later, just as hot (maybe hotter) and likely UNPAID. Fucking interns.
Sooooo disconnected are we from any dialogue building virtue, that it takes something *sew* subversive as a non-sterile stake on style to precision yank this macro conversation back under the mesoscope and blast it with a new blend from James Turrel (zu light). SHADES ON FOR WARMING TONES.
While watching documentaries on polar bears, we root for the polar bears. When we watch them on penguins, obviously the penguin in question MUST escape. The penguin stays threatened by the polar bear, yet it remains true they need each other all the same. THE SHOW. . . All while we gawk at both from the glass, melting their icebergs behind the scenes. Pico-diversity!
When all we’re looking for is a lite cultural snack to keep us going, what even is the real meaning of the deep dish?
My oh my what entangled webs we weave! Here it is, THE CHANNEL . . . always be on the lookout for the DIVES daaaaaaahling because truly you never know where a dark alley or a little speed boat can take you. Sometimes a bit of wandering train wreck through tunnels is exactly the thing we need to bring us back to the true meaning of travel– the disruption. No trunk even necessary (BUT my oh my the charm of the t*r*i*n*k*e*t*s!)
All these accoutrements. . . the real evergreen accessory, my sea slugs, is actually our ability to hang in situations of uncertainty. Adversity builds character and our big/little world out there could use some more good ones. There’s no curve like ~flexibility~ and it’s probably the best way to learn to dodge bullets. Never been a better time to tug at those back muscles and check out what’s holding you up.
So what do you say space cadets and land rovers? Teamwork studios, no rocket blasts off by itself. Houston, it takes a village. Let’s stop strangling them with big buisness, bigger ag, and the promise of something better, elsewhere why don’t we??? Surprise surprise, we only land once (per takeoff)! Now lick that stamp and STICK IT YOURSELF. Never been a wilder time to pull out those magic hands and start a garden.
All aboard who’s coming aboard!
No walls all corners,
LA
