Maybe the best thing Jim Carrey ever said (or did?)

“I just got to the point where I realized the only way to look at life is to believe that everything that ever happens to you, is the best thing that’s ever happened to you.”
—James Eugene "Jim" Carrey

via comedienne, Jessi Klein's defunkt blog

Fugaziness

Watch this 'till the very end. 'Tis worth it.

I burn a fire
to stay cool
I burn myself
I am the fuel

Another Jonathan. It's Jonathan Week.

I've known about artist Jonathan Meese for many years now, but never have understood what he's about.
Thanks to this short video on him, now I do. And even if you don't like his work, his point of view is good for anyone's creativity. Super inspiring.

Jonathan!

Last minute, a friend dragged me out to see Jonathan Richman at The Smell. I arrived in a very bad mood. I was expecting nothing short of a miracle that he would not disappoint me in the form of a wash-up performing at half-mast. Well into his third song of the set, I was turned into a monkey's uncle. Richman, easily past age 50, was like the doe-eyed, soulful puppy I knew from his 80s album covers, his brow perpetually furrowed in amorous bliss. He worked the small crowd like a shaman. Kittens and balloons poured out of his guitar. He's a shining beacon of men-children, forever loving the smell of piss in an alleyway as much as the scent of a pretty girl. You can't have one without the other he seemed to say. He was a master showman, stopping to interject jokes and add-ons, only to quickly tip his guitar diagonally, away and up from his body, plucking a solo like he was some kind of Don Juan flamenco player (he plays his guitar strapless). He would occasionally twirl his guitar in his hand and dance what resembled the 'whatootsi' as his drummer batted away. We ate caramel kisses out of his hand and begged for more. He ended his set with a song about Keith Richards, a love letter to a hero, and he left the stage as one too. My mood was improved by 58%. Thanks, Jonathan.

Well now, see the desert
I sit all alone in the desert
And no girl understands me
But I can see through this bleakness and grey and sadness
And well I won't die now
Someday I'll be dignified and old
I say, you, don't die now
Someday we'll be dignified and old together

True dat

A considerable percentage of the people we meet on the street are people who are empty inside, that is, they are actually already dead. It is fortunate for us that we do not see and do not know it. If we knew what a number of people are actually dead and what a number of these dead people govern our lives, we should go mad with horror.

George Gurdjieff (c. 1877-1949)

More Samson De Brier

Again, the central figure in a childhood 'trauma' still fascinates me. To my own surprise, there was a lengthy blog post about him here. It goes into some biographical detail about his early life in film, his role in Anger's "Pleasure Dome", snd as a 'tuft-hunter' (star-fucker) in the queer Hollywood circles.
Clearly his reputation preceded him in many ways.

Kenneth Anger

I found this more recent Kenneth Anger video piece via the video from my previous post. I don't like this as much as his earlier works, but it's still got that creepy goodness.

Incidentally, my mother told me those toys that Samson De Brier brought over for my brother and I were always broken.

Samson De Brier

This interview is with Samson De Brier, who was an old friend of my father. He was a long time resident of Los Angeles and a local hipster. He died sometime in the late 90s. As I was thumbing through Kenneth Anger's "Hollywood Babylon", I noticed a picture of him with Mr. Anger standing over the grave of a dead starlet. It was a shock to instantly recognize him, the same man who visited our house sporadically when I was kid. He always brought some weird antique toy for Alex and I, which at the time, being only 5 years old, usually held little interest for me. In retrospect, I wish I could remember what those toys were! If you look at his intriguing place in the video, when the camera is permitted to wander, you can get a sense of all the amazing stuff this guy collected over the years. He might have been the first 20th century goth hipster.

Within my scattered memories of Samson's visits, and even of my father, the most salient one occurred one evening by the swimming pool. As I was swimming, my father and Samson were chatting only feet away. It was twilight and it had become chilly outside. Perhaps out of laziness or finding the outside chill too daunting, I didn't want to fetch a bath towel on my own. I remember asking my father to get a towel for me and every plead went unanswered. They just kept talking, ignoring me. Just as I had probably transitioned into a whiny overture, Samson yelled "SHUTUP!". In the following seconds I felt confident my father would castigate Samson for yelling at me, and with great urgency fetch a towel for his shivering son, but they simply resumed their conversation. Oh the humiliation! I ended up taking my shivering ass to a towel on my own. Thanks Samson. Cool house, though.