Thursday, March 17, 2016

Toledo (again)

When I lived in LA from 2007 to 2009 I went religiously to hear Toledo and to watch his cabaret dancers. It happened Sundays-two shows on 4th avenue in a jazz
club in Santa Monica. I went away and I heard he was tasting the sm scene in LA but I had no idea what i would see on my last visit to LA. I was staying in Durmel's casita in his backyard and he brought me to the Petite Heritmage ( a bouquet hotel in west Hollywood. A small room next to a bar, next to an outdoor pool on the 3rd floor. Very tight seating with his musicians scattered behind him. An exquisite beauty sang from a corner sitting, several unfamiliar musicians played mid eastern instruments and Toledo pounded out the rhythm on a small tiled table. He got up and began to move and sing and then reached into the fringes and yanked out a dancer by her hair. Toledo is all about sex...all about dark sex and he had the dancer and every other woman in the room WET.
Afterwards I walked up to him and admitted I was humbled by the changes he had made in his routine (a misnomer since he is forever changing...growing). He had incorporated elements of domination into his numbers and it was buena. He is deserving of a MacArthur Foundation grant.

cool cat and a fine dresser. may he receive all good things

ps there is not a woman in the LA area that dances that hasnt learned from Toledo. Toledo is a rite of passage.

more of that nite.

The Toledo `look'

the beginning of the second set 

plenty of flesh

a beautiful singer accompanying Toledo on some numbers

some of the Toledo backup band at the Petit

the `master' never loses contact with the `submissive' aka dancer

note the audience reaction

Sunday, March 13, 2016

Friday, March 11, 2016

Eco Growth

eyeing the stalk, she felt coimpelled to pull on it

squinting slightly she was able to fit the condom on the stalk


she smiled through the bitter taste that coated the condom

looking like an angelic Jane Fonda in Hurry Sundown where she plays the saxophone, she began to suck the stalk.

Tuesday, March 8, 2016

Al Foul and Felice Arroyo

There is absolutely no connection between these two people except Al is the real thing. Not a spec of bullshiit. You hear him and you have heard from deep down inside him. All the grit that breaks every adult's shield is in his face, in his words, in his voice and from his powder blue guitar (which he hand painted himself).
My friend Naim brought him to me and I will b forever grateful because seeing Al Foul reaffirms my belief that there is good on earth.

Al Foul and his full band at Che's. Eric is hidden in the back, Lucas is on drums and Naim is playing lead guitar.

Felice and I were together in San Francisco over 10 years ago. She was here to help me find the David Bowie negs, the Yoko Ono negs but she was really here to remind me of her extra ordinairy beauty.

Sunday, March 6, 2016

You did not sell this item

My friend from years together in San Francisco came to help me find my David Bowir negatives, my Warhol negs, my Yoko Ono negs and more. It was productive and we found the material. Early this morning she flew back to Santa Rosa and after dropping her off at the Tucson airport I slept in my car for two hours in the cell phone waiting area.
Since it was only 7 am by the time I woke I went over to the Mission and half attended mass and bought some native cracker spread. Then over to Tonhul Chul swap meet nearby for El Salvador breakfast of beans, fried bananas, some tasty cut up greens and two tortias. As I was leaving I noticed one of the four giant saquaros in front of the santuary church across from the parking lot for the swap meet had fallen over and lay there like a broken giant. I left with a piece of the giant saguaro that reminds me of Samson's head and I intend to put it on a platter and see how it looks.

Still b4 noon I went to see evidence of the Yaqui Indian easter ceremony and hit three villages. There had been some all- niters at the village off Grant and the village off 10 th avenue but all was quiet Sunday day. I was exhausted and slept for two hours in Himmel Park on my quilt I keep in my trunk. Lovely even with the Jules Feifer like cartoon characters beating their drums and dancing their interpretation of Spring.
I went to deliver a photo of my friend B to Bob who is going through a stability crisis. I found his door unlocked and went in to see if all was ok. His place was a mess (not like mine) and there were pills and cigarettes (I didnt think he smoked). He came in with some soft drinks and stuffed them unsuccessfully in a small refrigerator. He asked me not to tell anyone the state of his apartment. I asked him about the three pills I found on his desk and he said they were  mild speed and then the pills miraculously disappeared from his desk. He said he had been sleeping all week. I told him he had to get off drugs and he said he wasnt on drugs and pointed to the three or more red and white Walgreen prescription bags unopened on his turbulent livingroom table. I immediately called T and T said he had come that morning from a very good breakfast with B and he thought B's condition was improving. I told him he was full of shit. I feel/felt B's adjustment problem needed radical intervention. I felt that things were not going to get better gradually. ( My daughter Leah had a crystal meth problem that took many years to do away with). B not being younger than 18, had to check himself into an institution that included daily therapy I felt. He needed to be in a drug free safe environment to get centered. To get back his coping skills. I asked T to come over. T came over angry at me. I wanted him to see the condition of B's apartment. Two days earlier B had txted me asking me to help him make sense out of the world. "I don't understand anything going on here...I just don't get my life here or not going or on, can I be so far out of everything that I cant even understand discussions about myself..."
To me it was a plea to help him find sanity and calm.  But I dont live with him. No one does and I dont think he can do it alone. Then G returned my call for help with B and, in the excitement, spoke to T and I could hear her say "get him out of there!"
So I left.

Driving up Craycroft at Ft. Lowell park I noticed, off to my left, a sign about a swap meet. I wanted to read the sign so went a little ways north to turn around in the St. Gregory parking lot. I made an immediate left to exit the school entrance and in the parking lot I had to traverse, there was one car and one woman drinking standing near her car with a large coke or I dont know what, which she proceeded to throw hard against my car making coke splatter all over the inside of my car and screamed at me. Pissed. Very pissed, I stopped. She seemed drunk. "What? I asked. What are you screaming". 
"Get away from the kids you pervert!" she screamed.
I know you're here to watch the kids!" (The activity on this Subnday was two football fields distance away ...nowhere near where I was turning around in my car! I took her photo as she ran around to the back of my car to memorize my license plate number in her drunken state. There was a guy at the wheel of their SUV but he did nothing. I backed up and shot a photo of his Arizona license plate number: BNE 3012 and left

To top off this angry turbulent day, my vintage photos I had put up on ebay at a fraction of what i had tried to sell them at b4 did not sell.

Biancha Jagger and woman  at Biancha Jagger's birthday party at Studio 54 (vintage print 1977). vintage print $150. YOU DID NOT SELL THIS ITEM


Debbie Harry in rubber 1991 for Demonia magazine $150

Mick Jagger and Mikhail Maryshnikov at Mick's wife's party

Stiv Bators in the CBGB's dressing room. vintage print $150

Cheetah and Stiv from the Dead Boys at CBGB's

Debbie Harry shot for Demonia mag cover

I'm going to keep them and just sell digitals of the images at the same low price.
Last week they turned off my water. This week? Who knows. 

And to think I committed over $600 to find the Yoko Ono negatives, the David Bowie negatives and more.

Like a remark from Bonnie and Clyde (1967) "ain't life grand".