They call it the June Gloom.

Hollywood Blvd.

The worst kind of Internet writing is Internet writing in which the writer explains or otherwise Philosophises Poetick about why he or she ain’t been writing for the Internet. So, okay, sorry, okay? This blog has been dead, but give a man his due– I went on a six week trip, met family, went to Iraq, saw the Yezidi, went to Konya, returned to New England and scummed around literary sites with my best pal Arafat Kazi, the Bengali, before returning to Our Adopted Home of Los Angeles. At which point occurred a culture shock that Dorian Gray’s uncle might call, “damn’bly unpleasant, that blighted rotter.” Things went crazy– things are still going crazy. People lost, people gained, people staying the same.

Anyway. I think we’re near back on track. Developments are occurring.

Returned to the Nazi Fortress, saw new things, saw familiar things, took some pictures:

Then we went to the House of the Seven Gables…

…and did you like it?

–

P.S. Yeah, I know. Don’t worry.

Service Alert: avoid close contact with people who are sick. Welcome to Los Angeles.

Infidel Izmir.

The Family Seat & The Place of Blood.

From the Abyss comes Chorozon.

And I said to her, in November, walking out of the Asian Art museum, “You know what? Fuck these people in America who think they understand Rumi, who view him as the Accepting House Muslim of Peace & Love! I sure as hell don’t understand the Sufi relationship to Islam, and if I don’t, then how can they?”

And I still don’t.

…Mahluk, please.

All right, I’m out– gone to the Middle East.

Assuming I won’t have a chance to update, but could be wrong.

Back in May.

Several days’ worth.

Having received a cache of Psychedelic Romance Comics, a sub-genre that I appear to be inventing, I thought I’d post the best of the new acquisitions– Teen-Age Love #61:

I don’t have a lot to say about this story; its continent is self-evident. The publication date on the issue is November 1968, a fascinating fact to keep in mind as one reads the story and encounters the two major motifs of the Sixties Gone Bad– a bearded weirdo looking like Alan Moore reading from The Birth Caul and Evil Bikers denoted by their cross pattées– over a year before the Free Concert at Altamont and the Tate-LaBianca Murders. Furthermore, there’s an amazing cross-country motorcycle sequence that screams Easy Rider– once again, about a year early.

This story traces the general apprehension of America towards its children; that it is completely forgotten speaks to the unique positioning of Romance Comics within the cultural shifts & fluctuations of Vietnam/Psychedelic-era America, and that the books have become a tool, should anyone care to employ them, of genuine cultural history– it’s a narrative of the counterculture written by the losers, rather than the victors.

A note about the comic itself: you can get a sense of Charlton putting some weight behind this story, and perhaps the idea that Jonnie L♥ve might become a lucrative character by the fact that the creators– Joe Gill and Tony Williamson– are both credited on the splash page. This almost never, ever happened.

5124 De Longpre Avenue, Los Angeles, California, United States of America, North American Continent, Planet Earth, System Sol: one-time residence of Charles Bukowski. Now an Historic Landmark and now occupied after a long vacancy.

Incidentally, this is located about 5 blocks away from my apartment.