I was about to write something about art or some shit about love but the 20 year-old’s DJ boyfriend’s friend just spent the past 10 minutes laughing so hard I lost my train of thought. It was one of those forced kind of laughs that you only suffer from when you’re young and not fully aware of how shitty the world is but kind of just aware of it enough that you still have to force a good tear-jerking laughter every now and then? It was loud. It made me angry. Or not even angry, just irritable enough to make me want to process why I found it irritating. I found nothing in the processing except more irritability because I am a terrible person.
A few months ago I wrote something on here about my first impressions of Los Angeles. I think I wrote something to the tune of “ask me again in a few months and I’ll tell you how I really feel.” How I feel now is thus:
I love Los Angeles and I never want to leave. I love it’s fucked up sidewalks. I love the distance between neighborhoods that would feel like an eternity in any other city. I love how much this city doesn’t give a fuck about anyone without having to go through a deep cold winter, fireside introspective soul-searching bullshit.
This is the correct way to feel about LA.
Regarding her views on gender equality, [Lana Del Rey] told Fader, “For me, the issue of feminism is just not an interesting concept… Whenever people bring up feminism, I’m like, god. I’m just not really that interested.” She went on to say, “I’m more interested in, you know, SpaceX and Tesla, what’s going to happen with our intergalactic possibilities.” Lana Del Rey Prefers SpaceX To Feminism
i never met an idiom i couldnt funnel a self-referential and barely funny joke into
Henry Cyril Paget, the 5th Marquess of Anglesey, circa 1900
Regarded as the “black sheep” of the family, he was dubbed “the dancing marquess” for his habit of performing “sinuous, sexy, snake-like dances”.
The Complete Peerage says that he “seems only to have existed for the purpose of giving a melancholy and unneeded illustration of the truth that a man with the finest prospects, may, by the wildest folly and extravagance, as Sir Thomas Browne says, ‘foully miscarry in the advantage of humanity, play away an uniterable life, and have lived in vain.’”
I CAN’T FIGHT THIS FEELING. I FEEL FOR YOU. THE BOYS OF SUMMER, THE WILD BOYS, LOVERBOY, LOVER GIRL. BORN IN THE USA, FRESH, YOU’RE THE INSPIRATION. DO WHAT YOU DO. BE NEAR ME. LAY YOUR HANDS ON ME. THE SEARCH IS OVER. YOU GIVE GOOD LOVE.
WHAT ABOUT LOVE? THE POWER OF LOVE. FREEWAY OF LOVE. METHOD OF MODERN LOVE.
SENTIMENTAL STREET: ONE NIGHT IN BANGKOK, SUMMER OF ‘69. RHYTHM OF THE NIGHT, MIAMI VICE THEME. NEUTRON DANCE. LIKE A VIRGIN, HEAD OVER HEELS, OUT OF TOUCH, I WANT TO KNOW WHAT LOVE IS. OH SHEILA, RASPBERRY BERET, MATERIAL GIRL. DRESS YOU UP, ANGEL, PART TIME LOVER, EASY LOVER. CRAZY FOR YOU. SAVING ALL MY LOVE FOR YOU. BETTER BE GOOD TO ME.
JUNGLE LOVE. HEAVEN. THE HEAT IS ON. SOME LIKE IT HOT. I’M ON FIRE. ST. ELMO’S FIRE. WALKING ON SUNSHINE. RUN TO YOU. ALL I NEED, IN MY HOUSE, PRIVATE DANCER, ALL THROUGH THE NIGHT. OBSESSION. I CAN’T HOLD BACK. ONE MORE NIGHT. NO MORE LONELY NIGHTS.
PENNY LOVER, ALL SHE WANTS TO DO IS DANCE. WAKE ME UP BEFORE YOU GO-GO.
IF YOU LOVE SOMEBODY SET THEM FREE. FREEDOM, FORTRESS AROUND YOUR HEART, SUGAR WALLS, SOLID, A VIEW TO A KILL. SEPARATE LIVES, LONELY OL’ NIGHT. WHO’S HOLDING DONNA NOW? MISSING YOU.
SUDDENLY, EVERYBODY WANTS TO RULE THE WORLD. STRUT. MONEY FOR NOTHING. MISLED. CARELESS WHISPER, VOICES CARRY. WHO’S ZOOMIN’ WHO? SHOUT: COOL IT NOW, WE DON’T NEED ANOTHER HERO.
WOULD I LIE TO YOU? WE ARE THE WORLD. WE BUILT THIS CITY. WE BELONG. YOU BELONG TO THE CITY. NEVER SURRENDER.
EVERYTIME YOU GO AWAY, CHERISH GLORY DAYS. TOO LATE FOR GOODBYES. DON’T YOU FORGET ABOUT ME. DON’T LOSE MY NUMBER. THINGS CAN ONLY GET BETTER.
Oh, one last thing. I did not mention AXEL F, VALOTTE or SUSSUIDO because those songs suck. Never listen to them and you will go far. Good luck.
Christian and I had talked about me doing some illustrations for his piece on the Hairpin. I never really got around to it as the language in the piece is already powerfully illustrative on its own. But I did do this sketch of a bunch of tired dudes trying to avoid male gazing anybody while at the rosé bar. Since I don’t really know what to do with it now, here it is.
DON’T MALE GAZE
I am writing about blue whales right now and I keep typoing “the largest animal that ever loved" and this is all I can think about.
A hatch slams shut above you, and you find yourself in a pitch black chamber that smells of old soap and fine spirits. You haven’t smelled whiskey since… “The Before Times,” a voice rumbles. Its baritone is fine and smooth, like the feeling of an old boat’s oars. A face floats out of the shadows, lit by the ruddy glow of an e-cigarette. It’s the face of a man who shaves just often enough to remind you he has to, and his eyes are blocked from your gaze by the lowered brim of his fedora. “Yes! That smell reminds me of… of my father, and of his transactional relationships with all the women around him, and of the freedom to say whatever I want without consequence!” (via A Beta Male Journeys Through the Femireich | The Hairpin)
I wrote this very non-fictional piece about the dangers of life in the Femireich. Strap on your Male Gaze Averting Goggles and delve in.