Time Travel with Andy Warhol: Contact Sheets

Took the time machine to The Factory to see Andy Warhol...

Andy was looking at contact sheets of himself eating a bowl of Corn Flakes when I arrived.

“Moni, do you like them? Corn Flakes?

Shaking my head, before I could answer Andy interjects.

“Of course you don’t, I like boring things. Well since you’re here, help yourself to a glass of champagne while I work. I have to work. I’ve got a lot of mouths to feed. Someone has to bring home the bacon.” 

As I start to sip the champagne, he asks “How do you feel about bacon?”

Stories

Of course you can tell the same story a thousand different ways... but why would you want to tell someone else’s story when you can tell your own? I prefer to hear people’s own stories instead of them replicating anothers tale.

Love yourself enough to write & live your own story. 

Enjoy!

Kisses, m.

When…

(11-4-11)

“When the music used to play…” he tells me in the sweet drawl of a voice that reminds me of being a little girl sitting under the lemon tree listening to his yarn. And just like then my grandpa pauses for a moment so I can ask the question that sets at the front of my mind. Because he knows I have a question. 

“Tell me about the music and how it used to play,” I tell him with a smile. It’s the same bright wide-eyed smile that only the inner child can produce from true sincerity. That inner child is something we never lose, some people simply forget that it’s there waiting to be released. 

“Well then, let me tell you about the music.” he says before telling me the story. 

Now a story from my grandpa was always a surprise to be sure. Sometimes wasn’t what I expected to hear but it ended up being what I needed to hear. There are some men in this world that some might call a prophet for the knowledge they possess and share is true. When these men speak that truth they tell it with the hope that others will soon discover the truth for themselves. I like to believe my granddad was something of a prophet for all those things he used to share with me always made sense in their own way at some later time.  

“And how it played on and on so very long ago.”

When the music played the good old boys in the band always sparked up the same way. It lifted their spirits and took their melodies soaring to new heights. Yet it was the same ol song no matter how they played it. And sadly it was the only thing they could muster the courage to play. It was the only one they knew. The only one he taught them to play. 

Reese De La Beautran was an interesting fellow. He had the gift of music from an early age. Earlier than most folks but later than others. He wasn’t a prodigy by any means. None in the least. But something happened when that boy picked up the violin. Magic and the movement of the soul. Reese couldn’t make heads or tails of it, but the people all around him seemed to come alive when he played. And that made his heart soar. It lifted and grew to new levels of joy within to see others happy. And it was by something so small that he could gift to them. As he could put no price on the value of their joy. 

Joy and happiness followed Reese wherever he went. It wasn’t something that he’d often thought twice about. His luck was something of a gift and whomever he was in league with benefited from that good fortune as well. It was something of a knack, his sweet music and so he went along playing it. Took his song with him to every city and every town. 

Now Reese was a happy type of fellow but like any other man he fell upon bad times once and again. Yet it wasn’t like other men when he did. Something about Reese went directly hand and hand with his music. Some might say that it was a blessing to be able to put your emotions into the work. Other simply called it curse. Mostly on account of what happened. 

And there are many accounts of what happened… it could only happen that way once. 

It was a show out in the middle of a tiny poke of a town, not much bigger than a dot on the map. Something was in the air that night. The folks that were there that night said it was like a hand crawling up your spine. The energy in the crowd was mighty strange. They didn’t know whether to enjoy the show or give into that odd sensation that had come upon them.

See, on that night before the band started up there had been a bit of misfortune. Reese learned about the passing of his mother. It wasn’t what one might call a simple passing. It was one of great pain and suffering. To talk about the pain won’t help you understand only know that what was told to Reese went without question as a nightmare come to life. The man wrestled with his thoughts, his wits and his own personal character before summoning the courage to walk out on that stage. 

But in the end all the wrestling couldn’t stop Reese from giving a performance. A show that some might have called the performance of a lifetime as it was purely driven from his soul. Others say something wicked took hold of that man when he stood out there playing his song that night. For what happened in the crowd was something unforeseen. 

When the band played it wasn’t the same. Reese called upon a new song that he’d been deep in thought about. When he told the boys “play it by ear” they knew it wasn’t the some old song they’d done before. Well the people took it in sweet somber, just like the same melodies they’d known. Starting out slow and crawling up their spines. Nice and slow it went. Richer, deeper and a bit of melancholy for flavor went the new melody. With every beat the crowd grew intoxicated by the rhythm. Some danced. Some cried with joy. Some laughed. Some made no sound at all. 

You see listening to someone’s song is an intimate experience. And on this night people where taking in a part of that man’s soul. Much like a painting captures the soul, a single note music heard carries a piece of that musician’s soul. And when Reese poured his soul into his craft on this occasion it surely changed the way a man takes a hold of another man’s music. For the melody shifted into a faster frenzy just as Reese transformed the sound something about the crowd shift.  

Much to people’s dismay there wasn’t not much anything that could be done.

One by one the silent people began to collapse without rhyme or reason. Tears moved to hysterics. Laughter became screams. Dancing became feverish.  And many stayed on listening without affection other than a foot tap or hand clap. Yet all involved were entranced by the song. A song that kept them facing onward. Reese curiously watched as both joy and pain wrapped into an interesting combination before him. An unusual spectacle to be sure of. Every person in the audience ensnared in the final moments of chaos. 

The band loved every note of it. Like a hungry animal they ate at every inch of direction he led. Nearly exhausted Reese kept the band moving upward and onward with the sound anticipating what would come next. The climax. 

Without a doubt it came. And Reese came down with it when it came. The end of the music and along with it came both applause and screams. It was as though they had awoken from a trance. The man saw his masterpiece equally as a curse. He saw the aftermath. The bodies of the unconscious strewn out among the happy and sad filled his heart with a small sadness. Even as he listened to the band weep behind him, begging for more he knew that this was it. Deep down from the grief he felt inside for his mother, Reese knew that there would be no more like that song. A song that he’d never forget but would tear at his soul. 

“And now when the band plays… they play the same ol song. It just never sounds the same way twice. But it’s sure enough the same.”

“It’s not the same if it’s different?”

“How can you be sure?” 

“I can’t. I guess I will know when I do.”

“And you’ll know when the band plays…”

The Orchid House by Andres Remy Arquitectos

Barbie loves orchids and there’s nothing quite like filling your house up with them or being inspired by them to create... 

The Orchid House by Andres Remy Arquitectos

Located in Argentina, the design of the Orchid House is inspired by the different parts of an orchid: the roots, the stem and the flower. This highly sustainable concept makes efficient and practical use of energy and water, natural ventilation and lighting with environmentally friendly materials.

Would you be enticed by this flowering home?

Barbie would!

Enjoy!

Kisses, m.

Composure

“You’ll lose your mind, trying to understand others”

No matter what you think you see... it’s how you compose yourself that counts. 

How do you deal with things?

Enjoy!

Kisses, m.

Relax

“Relax,” the way he says the words reminds me of my mother because of his smile. 

 

Whenever I’m receiving less than pleasant news from my mother she purses her lips and gives me a smile that is the bearer of a consolation prize. It really isn't a bad face, but I can recognize the look a mile a way. The first time I can remember her making the face, I was five years old. They were sending my cat Giana St. Matthews away. I was allergic to her hair and the medicine made my hands and face break out in hives. I remember how much I cried that day Giana was given to my cousin Dina. I knew she would be happy and taken care of, but it still didn’t make me feel any better. My mother told me to relax with her best smile while my father handed me a puppy. 

 

In this moment he stands before me. I know he’s only trying to calm me and there’s no consolation prize. No puppy or pressing of lips into a smile that will mask my disappointment through placation. There’s only a reassuring calm in his voice that keeps pressing onward. Comforting my mind and reminding me that although nothing can make this feeling improve it can be released. As this moment progresses and expands into an unending din in my mind he continues to be the voice of reason. His voices soothes and reminds  me that I’ve worked myself into a tirade of worry for nothing; that all of my anxiety is unnecessary and I am overreacting to situations and things that are beyond my control. I know that the only chance of releasing my panic is to let it all go. 

 

“Relax,” he says and smiles again. 

 

 

Drive

Drive or no drive? No matter which way you go or how you live your life, someone will have some opinion about it... I like people that just tell me stories about things instead of their opinion. You can capture the same moment but it’ll never be what someone else experienced. Instead of worrying how they experience it, just let them enjoy the moment.

You can enjoy those who are on the same road as you and let the others who aren’t driven by the same impulse do their thing. 

Enjoy!

Kisses, m.

There’s No Dance Music in L.A. 

(5-6-16)

Lost. I’m lost on the highway and there’s nothing but a voice on the line. She’s been talking for a least a half hour. The woman on the line was calling and hanging up when I answered, so I stopped answering and put her on speaker. She hears me breathing and knows that someone is listening so she keeps talking. 

Confessing. Dying. Wallowing.

“Chloe, I’m sorry. I think I’m dying. I love you.”She says it with a conviction that tells me she’s not playing. I can feel you crying for her so I imagine Chloe is a bitch like Felicia to make you disappear. But you don’t. 

I released this beautiful voice to the road and decided to follow the setting sun because there’s nothing on the radio. I turned it off when the girl blowing me at the airport announced that “there’s no dance music in L.A.” and decided she wasn’t hungry anymore. I told her I wasn’t a DJ but she wasn’t amused about my being a musician so she climbed in the backseat for a nap after telling me to find Sunset. 

Somewhere on Sunset the lines on the road start to merge and the buildings around me are taller than I thought they’d be. I need a hit. But I keep driving. 

“There’s nothing like driving in L.A. to teach you patience,” Wayne said to me when we were stuck in traffic on the 405. It’s the only last real memory of Wayne that I can conjure up without thinking of the violence. 

Violence breaks the silence when the girl in the backseat starts screaming. I think she’s hurt or something but she’s just dreaming. This girl is dreaming of the terrible things that will come to take her away from living while the one on the phone is begging for something terrible to make her stop living

Walking into the house is like a dream. Wayne isn’t playing when he says, “time’s up” and goes over to the bar in his study. He’s making a Cognac on the rocks when Gina sits me down with a push of her hands on my shoulders. I’m not sober and you fucking left again. I can see the skull of that man Wayne “handled” last year. It was an “accident” but not the kind where people walk away. It’s something of reminder that Wayne keeps when people piss him off. He leaves it out on the table with all the implications that remain with it. It implies nothing but betrayal between best friends and love for your enemies. Somehow I can’t stop staring at the skull while I take a hit my brain starts to wander...

“Alas, Poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio: a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy: he hath borne me on his back a thousand times; and now, how abhorred…” 

The dialogue of Shakespeare snaps into my brain bringing with it the sharp and quick sting of a dagger being shoved through my skin. I can feel the memory of words crawl backwards within and there’s nothing I can do because I’m losing my mind without you. It’s nothing like I thought it would be like. You’re not here and I’m all alone. Just like that girl on the phone was when she was dying with her tears looking for her lover, Chloe and all this is happening. Happening. Happening when I look at the skull on the table. I can’t help but feel the pain of knowing that I didn’t know anyone. Not truly the way that man knew Yorick. He knew him and there’s nothing and no one that I can speak the same for. It’s like watching my body leave me behind and I no longer want another hit. I just wanted you gone. And now I’m alone.

I think of getting up and leaving the room and maybe I do because I feel like everyone is gone and I just wanted you gone because all you think about is her. I finally move because that fucking skull won’t stop reminding me of dying or losing you. 

“Where are you going?” Gina sings into my ear and I keep thinking I said something or that she’s reading my mind when the thought of finding you comes back into my head. 

“Fucking Adrian, where are you? Look at me! Come back!” Gina’s pissed but you’ve taken off waiting for me to find you again and it’s always like this when things become less than clear. 

Clear. The water in the bathtub is clear when I get in. Jemma watches me as I get into the water. I’m naked and I wonder as she’s still looking if she’s thinking that we’re sleeping together. I don’t want to sleep with Jemma. But I don’t stop her from getting into the tub with me. 

“Adrian…”

“Don’t talk Jemma,” I kiss her and tell her I miss her. It’s not a lie because I know you miss her. This means I miss her too. But I can’t feel that pain of loss. I’m just in the moment holding her. She’s trembling. I wish she wasn’t living this life. It’s hard to watch her stop being herself but it doesn’t matter. She’s in my arms and she’s my Jemina again. 

“I love you.” She looks in my eyes and says it before putting her head on my chest. I can feel her warm tears on my skin as she sobs. Between her tears and breathes I want to feel like I’m home but I can’t. I’m lost. 

I’m lost.

And I’m at the beginning of the one place I can’t remember being before I decided it didn’t matter if I found you. 

The Hollywood sign. 

It’s bigger and smaller than it looks and there’s a good chance you’re somewhere dancing with the reds while the bottle of pills stays empty in my pocket. I must have said something out loud because before I can look for another color of candy a voice reaches out into the night. 

“That’s not the Hollywood sign,” the stupid spoiled whore in the backseat who won’t blow me or get the fuck out of the rental car says. “You’re parked next to the billboard on Sunset that lights up for the tourists. It’s a fucking eyesore.” The little bitch shuts up and starts snoring again. It’s then I decide I need another car.