September 04, 2007


There are three Los Angeles blogs (or, as they call them there--blods) that are worth the hang time: Jenna from Mika Miko does Chancla Joose which makes me wish she did a paper fanzine that was phonebook sized. I'm into her nothing somethingness and have a growing fascination with her as a personality. There is also the group-bloggins of the band Abe Vigoda which is like a farsical meta-comment about the "personal" aspects of blog-form. It has inside jokes that I don't get but still laugh at. KIDS. And incase yr not already steady bookmarking it :David Scheid: still waters run deep, I am into the meditative force of this one.

And now, lets talk about some books.
I have just finished, almost against my will, Nikki Sixx's Heroin Diaries. It is exactly what the title says it is: really boring junkie war story and Motley Crue business circa 1987, edited for clarity: unspectacular OD's, the revolting banality of a daily drug habit, goin' to the Cathouse with Riki in between fights with Vanity. Each entry has retrospective comments from people involved, which lifts some of the repetition of "I haven't showered in 12 days. I am in my closet shooting speedballs and want to die. I ran out of toilet paper three weeks ago. I bought 5,000$ worth of coke and then flushed it down the toilet. I hate Vince/my mom/myself/my dealer/our management." The illuminating post-script (and most interesting part of the book) is Nikki the sober daddy living one day at a time, talking about how he hopes the book helps those still in the life. But meanwhile the entries are illustrated with pictures of people doing lines and groupie girls being penetrated with champagne bottles, which doesn't really lend to it's being a cautionary tale.

The real deal tell-all thats laying waste to my mind and I'm only half way through: Tolstoy's Confession. You should be on this asap. It's a trim volume, not an epic, though not ness. a quick read because there is a lot to process. It's Tolstoy at the end of his life calling bullshit on everything he's ever taken as gospel--religion, writing, art, his privilege right as a rich white dude. He talks about being re-enforced and encouraged by other for every shitty thing he's done: killed people in the Crimean War, been a drunk, a willfull, bougie prick, a vain slut, written just for the money and fame--and any time he tried to go spiritually straight, he couldn't and no one wanted to see him succeed down that path. So basically, it's like the Russian Heroin Diairies, but set in 1902 and with serfs instead of groupies. J/k!

PS. I AM 31 TOMORROW AND THE ONLY THING I NEED IS A DVD PLAYER. And a curious hat. And a new towel.

Posted by Jessica at September 4, 2007 01:08 PM | TrackBack