#kemble shop

[lisarealtor64]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: The Kemble Shop tunic.

[black-paper-history]

Rare book for Sale ~ E W Kemble 1888 Thompson Street Poker Club from Life * Gullah * Paris Brentano's ~

Find it here: https://ebay.us/NdcBGi

Paris, Brentano's, 1884 Mitchell and Miller, 1888 White and Allen

Hardback : hard cover edition, no dust cover jacket, illustrated exterior covers show age and some staining, interior in good clean condition, a typical used book with some slight wear to edges and spine. Firmly readable. As to be expected with used books, especially those over 133 years old, there may be some minor bumping, creases, chips, wear and/or scuffs.

Overall a great copy.

Subject, Features: Fabulous Kemble illustrations of AfricanAmerican gentlemen playing cards and telling stories. True to life, whimsical and dialog in the typical Gullah language of the day. All or most of the illustrations are signed by "Kemble" or "K" as part of the drawings.

[rushingheadlong]

Huge thanks to a very dear friend who bought this article out from underneath me from an ebay auction, and then sent to me as a surprise!

Originally published in Melody Maker in late 1974 (exact date unknown). Full article text below the read more.

The MERLIN File

EVOLUTION: Merlin's manager, Derek Chick, and Allan Love decided in May 1973 to form a new London-based group that would incorporate three basic essentials: musicianship, image and stage presentation. After extensive auditions and rehearsals the band was gigging by July under the name Madrigal, which was changed in February 1974 to Merlin.

PERSONNEL CHANGES: Jacob Magmusson (keyboards) left in October 1973 and Paul Taylor (bass) in September 1974.

ORIGIN OF NAME: Scully Wagon-Lit's idea in the van going to a gig.

FIRST PUBLIC APPEARANCE: Zero 6, Southend, 17/July/1973.

FIRST BROADCAST: BBC Radio One David Hamilton Show and Radio Luxembourg Power Play consecutively in March 1974.

FIRST TELEVISION: Scottish TV's Showcase in November 1973.

MANAGEMENT: Derek Chick, Chic's Own Music and Management Ltd, 246/248 Great Portland Street, London W1 (01-381 6192/3).

AGENT: Barry Collings Agency Ltd, 15 Claremont Road, Westcliff-on-Sea, Essex (0702-47343/43464).

RECORDING COMPANY: CBS Records Ltd, 28-30 Theobalds Road, London WC1 (01-242 9000).

RECORD PRODUCER: Roger Greenaway.

MUSIC PUBLISHING COMPANY: Shapiro, Bernstein and Co Ltd, 246/248 Great Portland Street, London W1 (01-387 6192) and Grenyoco Music Ltd, 108 Park Street, London W1 (01-493 6439).

FAN CLUB: Ling, 17 Gladstone Park Gardens, Cricklewood, London NW2.

BRITISH TOURS: 47 dates 1/March-28/April/1974 Top Rank ballrooms, clubs and colleges. Solo tour.

AMERICAN TOURS: None.

TRANSPORT: Ford DO607 3-ton truck for the equipment and Audi 100 for the group.

STAGE MANAGERS: Iain Ward (Sound Engineer), Chris Taylor (Lighting Engineer), "Speedy" (Stage Roadie), "Crystal" (Assistant Lighting Engineer).

SINGLES: "(Let Me) Put My Spell On You" c/w "Just ANother Fish On My Hook (CBS, 1/March/1974), "Alright" c/w "Pictures In My Mind" (CBS, 28/June/1974), "Wild Cat" c/w "Half A Man" (CBS, 1/Nov/1974).

ALBUMS: "Merlin" (CBS, 25/Oct/1974).

P.A.: 1400-watt JBL system comprising Kelsey 16-channel stereo custom mixer, 4 x DC3000 Crown amps, 4 x bass bins with 2 x 15 inch JBL speakers in each, 2 x mid range JBL horns, 2 x high-frequency JBL boxes with lens horns, two bullets. Microphones are 8 Sure Unidyne III 545, 2 AKG 190C, one AKG D12, 4 Calrec condensers, 4 Sims Watts condensers, 3 Sure Unisphere B. Binson Echorec and Mavis 3-way active stereo crossover with stage boxes, cables, etc. Lighting comprises 6 x 100 watt Strand Floods on stage, 30 x 200 watt Strand Floods on stage scaffolding, 3 x Strand 1,000-watt follow spots and stands, 2 x Strobes and a Strand dimmer board.

ALAN LOVE: Vocalist

BORN: Hampsted, North West London. 13/Dec./1952.

EDUCATED: Challoner School, Finchley, North London.

MUSICAL TRAINING: None.

MUSICAL CAREER: Has been professional for seven years, playing in Opal Butterfly from 1967 to 1969 with Simon King (Hawkwing) and Tom Doherty (Sting). Referendum from 1969 to 1973 and Madrigal/Merlin from 1973.

OTHER OCCUPATIONS: None.

MUSICAL INFLUENCES: Mick Jagger, Joe Cocker, Little Richard.

COMPOSITIONS: "Half A Man," "Space Raider" and co-wrote with Gary Hardwick "Getting Involved" all recorded by Merlin.

FAVOURITE SINGLES: "Something In The Air" (Thunderclap Newman), "McArthur Park" (Richard Harris).

FAVOURITE ALBUMS: "Tapestry" (Carol King), "Court Of The Crimson King" (King Crimson), "Bridge Over Troubled Waters" (Simon and Garfunkel).

FAVOURITE MUSICIANS: Paul McCartney, Steve Howe, Tom Doherty.

FAVOURITE SONGWRITERS: Lennon and McCartney, Cat Stevens, Carol King.

FAVOURITE SINGERS: Joe Cocker, Neil Diamond.

RESIDENCE: Bachelor flat in Wandsworth, South West London.

INSTRUMENTS: None.

GARY ALICE STRANGE: Bass, vocals and guitar.

BORN: Hampsted, London. 26/Oct./1952.

EDUCATED: Whitefield School, Barnet.

MUSICAL TRAINING: Three classical guitar lessons and then self taught.

MUSICAL CAREER: Various semi-pro bands and wrote first song aged 16 featured on ATV programme "Come Here Often." Former band with Dave Martin called March Hare and recorded LP for MAM. Group then changed to newly-formed Kinks Production Company, but after few months of touring with Kinks and recording, split up. Joined Merlin.

OTHER OCCUPATIONS: Director of La Starza Palace Studio.

MUSICAL INFLUENCES: Beatles, Stones, Free, Average White Band.

COMPOSITIONS: "Gipsy Rose Lee" and "Lay Me Down" for March Hare both issued as singles by MAM.

FAVOURITE SINGLES: "I Am A Walrus" (Beatles), "Need Your Love So Bad" (Fleetwood Mac), "Little Bit Of Love" (Free), "Amoureuse" (Kiki Dee).

FAVOURITE ALBUMS: "Elf" (Elf), "Sgt Pepper" (Beatles), "Talking Book" (Stevie Wonder).

FAVOURITE MUSICIANS: Andy Fraser, David Martin, Peter Green, Liberace.

FAVOURITE SONGWRITERS: Lennon and McCartney, Holland, Dozier and Holland, Lional Bart and Paul Simon.

FAVOURITE SINGERS: Paul Rodgers, Elvis Presley, Tina Turner, Rod Stewart.

RESIDENCE: Single and lives in Hampstead, North West London.

INSTRUMENTS: Fender Precision Bass with thin maple neck. Hagstrom six-string guitar with pick-up. Kemble baby grand piano. Rotosound Roundwound strings. Orange 120-watt amp with 2 x 15 inch reflex cabinets.

JAMIE MOSES: Lead guitar and vocals.

BORN: Ipswich, Suffolk, 30/Aug/1955.

EDUCATED: Schools in America and Japan. Shirley High School and Redhill Technical College in Surrey.

MUSICAL TRAINING: Self-taught.

MUSICAL CAREER: Given first guitar when ten, formed first band at 11. Formed the Inferno, 1969-71, in Japan, doing gigs, radio, TV. Came to England in 1971, worked with semi-pro bands and at a music shop in Croydon. Formed Angel with Scully 1972 and recorded LP of original material. Joined Madrigal July 1973.

MUSICAL INFLUENCES: Jimmy Page, Paul Kossoff, Beatles.

COMPOSITIONS: "Just Another Fish On My Hook", "Gypsy", and "He Thinks About You All The Time" all recorded by Merlin. Co-wrote "Angel" LP with Scully.

FAVOURITE SINGLES: "Livin' For The City" (Stevie Wonder), "Can't Get Enough" (Bad Company), "Joybringer" (Manfred Mann's Earthband).

FAVOURITE ALBUMS: "Foxtrot" by Genesis.

FAVOURITE MUSICIANS: Genesis, Steve Howe, Free, Scully Wagon-Lits.

FAVOURITE SONGWRITERS: Paul McCartney, Genesis, Stevie Wonder.

FAVOURITE SINGERS: Paul Rodgers, Peter Gabriel, Mario Lanza and David Coverdale.

RESIDENCE: Is single and lives with his parents at Sanderstead, Surrey.

INSTRUMENTS: White Les Paul Deluxe (1973) and black Les Paul Custom (1974), both with Rotosound ultra-light strings and Gibson plectrums. EKO 6-string acoustic guitar with La Bella strings. Hiwatt 100-watt amp fitted with half power switch for distortion and sustain at almost any volume. Two 2 x 15 Fender Dual Showman JBL Cabinets. A cheap Japanese fuzz box with a three-tone fuzz switch.

SCULLY WAGON-LITS: Keyboards, guitar and vocals.

BORN: Balham, South West London, 20/Dec./1953.

EDUCATED: Henry Cavendish (Balham), Bec School (Tooting) and Archbishop Tennison (South Croydon).

MUSICAL TRAINING: Guitar lessons at night school for one year aged eight, cello at school for three years and double bass for two months, but is self-taught on keyboards.

MUSICAL CAREER: Played guitar in band in Balham (1964-65), joined Angel with Jamie (1972-1973) as semi-pros and recorded an album. Turned pro June 1973 with Big Wheel in South France. Joined Madrigal October 1973.

OTHER OCCUPATIONS: Organ salesman at Western Music and Selmer.

MUSICAL INFLUENCES: Harry Stoneham, Miller Anderson, Keith Emerson, Christian Vander.

COMPOSITIONS: "Marina," "Takin' Part," "Pictures In My Mind," etc.

FAVOURITE SINGLES: "Rock Man" (Elton John), "Space Oddity" (David Bowie).

FAVOURITE ALBUMS: "Tarkis" (ELP), "Fire And Water" (Free), "Dark Side Of The Moon (Pink Floyd).

FAVOURITE MUSICIANS: Keith Emerson, Tony Banks, Steve Howe.

FAVOURITE SONGWRITERS: Paul McCartney.

FAVOURITE SINGERS: Paul Rodgers, Stevie Wonder, Peter Gabriel, Greg Lake

RESIDENCE: Single and lives in Surrey.

INSTRUMENTS: Hamond RT3 with additional height plynth and customised guts driven through Hiwatt amps and put out through one Leslie 145 and two RSE 1 x 15 inch JBL bins and three custom-made Werlin Bat rotating horn units. Muri-Moog (modified) through Hiwatt 100-watt amp with JBL Showman Cabinet. Hagspiel grand piano, with scaffolding, miked through PA. Black Gibson SB Les Paul Junior (1960) plugged into Moog.

DAVID WIGHTWICK: Drums and vocals.

BORN: Dunstable, Bedfordshire, 25/August/1950.

EDUCATED: Priory Secondary School, Dunstable.

MUSICAL TRAINING: Self-taught.

MUSICAL CAREER: Former member of Madrigal from 1967 to 1973. The band split and was reformed with new members and retitled Merlin.

OTHER OCCUPATIONS: Varied from soldier to postman.

MUSICAL INFLUENCES: Beatles, The Move, Genesis.

COMPOSITIONS: None.

FAVOURITE SINGLES: "Say You Don't Mind" (Colin Blunstone), "Motet Overture" (Abors), "Eleanor Rigby" (Beatles)

FAVOURITE ALBUMS: "Dark Side Of The Moon (Pink Floyd), "Erismore" (Colin Blunstone), "Tubular Bells" (Mike Oldfield), "Moving Waves" (Focus).

FAVOURITE MUSICIANS: Carl Palmer, Jon Bonham, Simon Kirke.

FAVOURITE SONGWRITERS: Lennon and McCartney, Colin Blunstone, Genesis.

FAVOURITE SINGERS: Ian Billan, Colin Blunstone, Karen Carpenter.

RESIDENCE: Flat in London.

INSTRUMENTS: Hayman see-through drumkit comprising 1 x 22 inch bass drum, 1 x 12 inch and 1 x 13 inch mounted tom-toms, 1 x 16 inch and 1 x 18 inch floor tom toms, 1 x 14 inch snare drum, Ludwig/Paiste 22 inch cymbal, 1 x 22 inch and 1 x 20 inch Zildjian ride cymbals, 1 x 18 inch Zildjian crash cymbal, 1 x 14 inch Zildjian hi-hat, Ludwig and Hayman accessories and Premier C and Selmer sticks.

[living-fabliau-blog]

California Print Shops - a History

Right around - oh let’s say - 3100 B.C. Cuneiform, aka one of the earliest known writing systems, was developed in what is now known as our modern day Iraq. 

The writing and said print work wasn’t Michelangelo of old exactly, as the  wedge-shaped clay interruptions were smushed onto tablets by a blunt tool - more than likely a portion cut from a reed.

Solid start, human race.

Now fast forward to some future past moments in our printing history and you’ll find that paper was first used (in England, at least) to print on around 1310 (a decade after China).

A short skip another century down the road, England begins to and successfully manages to develop - the infamous Paper Mill.

From then on, with words dripping wet in ink, letters scribbled and twisted about with hasty ideas and dying ambitions, printing shaped the very foundation of modern society. 

One letter at a time.

The Sun Never Sets on a Printing Press

Now what might interest you movie buffs and those of you from the west coast might also appreciate the fact that our Screen-printing takes its origins from a stencil inspiration!

The modern screen-printing process actually took birth from Samuel Simon in 1907′s England. This idea was then adopted in San Francisco by a gentleman known as John Pilsworth in 1914. He actually used screen-printing to form multicolor prints.

More History! More !

Ok, Ok...so moving with the California Printing History theme of today - did you know, in 1964, a California History Society President known to be an avid printing historian, and collector?

This president was so big in the printing business that he was named in the honor of pioneer California printer and publisher, Edward Cleveland Kemble. 

With undying dedication completely to the history of printing and publishing in the West, this renown gentleman began his contributions with three major presents to our society

-Harding's printing and publishing library, 

-William E. Loy's typographical library, and 

the business archives of San Francisco printing firm Taylor & Taylor!

It comes as no surprise that the printing services have deeply impacted our society on a monumental scale. 

So, the next time you’re running around a bit late on your deadlines needing to print out a snazzy scientific poster for the symposium...salute those who came before us like Harding’s and Samuel Simon!

For it would not be possible to enjoy the luxury of writing, nor the sweet escape it’s counterpart, reading, provides to us!

[fallweddingwjf]

Top 3 Techniques To Be Used In Nail Art For 2021!

Finally, had a chance to take some photograph for this unique Tamashii Web boutiques release for the RD Wing Gundam EW. This figure is a nice addition to my Wing figures assortment ever since I started amassing them from the MSIA era. Took home one of each for my very own collection. Every recreation is exclusive and equally the accessories are even superb as a consequence of which one should only pick one of the best and the fabulous add ons. My mother and i walked in there randomly at some point to kick off costume purchasing. Online shops not solely provide footwear but also another gadgets as properly like fashion accessories, clothes, handbags and so on. in the present day, women are procuring extra in on-line shops. There will be more upcoming releases added to this section soon, please check again with us. Each garment that you see is a work of thought by our designers and it is there for a reason. There have been severe collaborations with worldwide designers in addition to a number of new abilities from across the globe. International prime brands from Italy, France, Germany, USA, and Spain are available in our stores and on-line.

Selecting modern beds may be easy when such elements are used to buy for the mattress. Hi guys! Thanks for visiting my store page, where I’m delighted to be offering unique signed copies of my new guide, 7 Ways. Bandai Hobby Online shop will offer the exclusive HGUC 1/144 Unicorn Gundam NT-D Mode Clear Ver. To keep away from such judgments, it is best to buy apparel and lingerie for greater sized women, online. We stand for luxurious and high quality footwear for women and men, vogue and accessories. They've a 14,000 sq. ft showroom positioned in Kemble, Gloucestershire, proving prospects with the possibility to see the quality of furniture offered at their net store. Proud to serve our shoppers with 100% handmade goods, we do our greatest to satisfy the needs of in the present day's quality and trend acutely aware society. Set shopping in the present day to get residence the very best ones and get hold of a glamorous and fascinating look day-after-day in the true sense!

While choosing a gift for her strive to maintain her preferences in thoughts, and at all times buy a present that may reflect the truth that you are the man who understands her best on this world. The companies are nicely coordinated with the supply division which is able to ensure that the gift reaches the meant recipient bang on time. Normally I’d be out and about signing copies left, right and centre, but though that’s not possible at the moment, I still needed to give you the chance to get your arms on a signed version to reward to beloved ones. Ceramic Nail Art Canes are tiny canes made out of ceramic formed in the form of various natural wonders. People tend to suppose round tables are waste of area reasonably it's always a good idea to go for a spherical table dining set as a result of you'll be able to at all times pull more chair and take part.

GG INFINITE: More new Pre-Order Items had been updated at our on-line store's Pre-Order Section. Plus I’m ensuring they’re additional particular this 12 months, with an unique Christmas card from me, ready to move on to a fortunate recipient. Alison Clegg, Director, Asset Management, Grosvenor Europe commented: “Following the success of The Chavasse Project set up earlier this 12 months, we are delighted to once again work with Bitter Twisted to host a singular and regionally-centered experience for guests. Ceremonial Celebrations is a small impartial boutique, our staff are friendly and skilled and will help mother and father, grandparents to find that good Communion gown for their little woman. The Robot Damashii Byarlant Custom had already been bought out on pre-orders, but the rest can be made avaliable at our GG INFINITE on-line retailer shortly. Note: Tamashii Web shop Exclusive: Robot Damashii (Side MS) Seravee GNHW/3G - Seravee & Seraphim is offered seperately. Note: Tamashii Web shop Exclusive: Robot Damashii (Side MS) Seravee GNHW/3G - SEM Set is offered seperately. The properly famend company additionally puts their whole efforts to be able to ship individuals awesome jewellery store design that may appeal to lots of potential customers.

[lillie-bay-island]

FINALLY started on the area where I want to move the Able Sisters shop (not like it’s been in my pocket for a good week or so 👀)

Side note, people are SO creative with these custom paths! I really liked this one and managed to get it to Kemble a path of sorts after a trial and error of how it worked 😂

[max-rainet]

E W Kemble * ABC Alphabet Book (1898) whimsical Gullah dialect, African American ~ A whimsical book of cheeky illustrations. #blackamerica #culture #Afropunk #ebony #americana #collectors #gullah #comedy Buy Browse Collect at MaxRainet.com New in my shop today, American literary history, Black culture, humor. A unique book to share with kids so they understand the beauty of being African-American⠀ ⠀ #shop #find #buy #win #today #MaxRainet #ThankYou⠀ Find and buy at #ebay | eBay https://buff.ly/3kYB1fk https://www.instagram.com/p/CD9uMklgHbl/?igshid=iswzy16lkmp6

[davidblaska]

City won’t defend you and won’t reimburse you

Day 53 of the smashing and burning of downtown Portland by urban terrorists and the progressives who run America’s chaotic cities are criticizing … the President for protecting federal assets. 

(Chicago mayor Lauri Lightfoot is also telling Trump to stay out of her city, which is one big crime scene — 414 homicides so far compared to 275 at this point last year. She can handle it.) 

If self-assured Progressives in Madison WI ask one question it is “how do they do it in Portland?” so deep is their envy of the slightly larger city in Oregon.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

Time to board up city government

It’s also been 53 days since 75 retail shops and restaurants were smashed and looted on Madison’s State Street. (You don’t really think that is a coincidence!) A de facto Capitol Hill Occupied Protest zone like the original in Seattle, another progressive fiefdom. Boarded up windows? The murals claiming racial victimhood? Indictments of institutional white perfidy? Get used to them. They’re not coming down any time soon.

The soup nazis on the Common Council Tuesday night declared “No recovery money for you, boarded-up businesses.” Why? You’re too white.

After first proposing $500,000 for business recovery,  $250,000 was carved out for Black business “equity” development. Not enough “equity” harrumphed Ald. Rebecca Kemble (Progressive Dane) and too much for the Downtown, which she called “the whitest neighborhood in the city.”

“This is quite literally institutional racism,” Kemble said of the focus on Downtown businesses. [Speak for yourself, Kemble.]

Ald. Max Prestigiacomo (Progressive Dane) said a vote for the recovery program would be valuing “property over human lives.” [The distressed retailers aren’t alive?]

“You guys are burying us,” cried the Syrian immigrant who is trying to make a living running an ethnic restaurant on State Street, according to the account in the Wisconsin State Journal.

⇒ Of the 20 alders, only these 6 voted to help businesses that the City failed to protect. They are: Alds. Paul Skidmore, Michael Tierney, Mike Verveer, Samba Baldeh, Sheri Carter, and Barbara Harrington-McKinney. Irony? The last three are Black.

Your money and service are no good

Military service veterans dug into their own pockets to restore the  Veterans Museum at the corner of State and Mifflin Streets, also defaced by BLM/Antifa/socialists with “inflammatory graffiti,” according to a Marine veteran who organized the raising of $20,000 for the clean-up.

But the Wisconsin Veterans Museum Foundation Board voted 6-3 against it. Veteran Affairs Secretary Mary Kolar, a Tony Evers appointee and former Dane County supervisor, won’t talk to the veterans who want to repair the damage, the WI State Journal reports.

Now the building’s private-sector owner won’t support an independent clean-up for fear that removing the mural and graffiti would invite retaliation and more damage.

Blaska’s Bottom Line: When will Zach Brandon and the Chamber of Commerce speak out? Will former Mayor Dave Cieslewicz summon the nerve to end the intimidation? Recall Mayor Satya Rhodes Conway!

Is it time to board over City Government?

Madison: Your business will wear progressive plywood and like it! City won't defend you and won't reimburse you Day 53 of the smashing and burning of downtown Portland…

[opticien2-0]

… with shoppers staying up late to bag midnight bargains when Black Friday starts

Undercover of the night: Shoppers were poised at midnight for a Black Friday bargain

Daily deals website, Wowcher, broke its own Black Friday and Cyber Monday sales records, with sales revenue was up 14% on the previous year, while Cyber Monday sales were up 9%, with shoppers staying up late to snap up an early bargain.

  Sales volume was significantly higher this year compared to last year; at the peak of Black Friday at 8-9pm, Wowcher customers were purchasing 128 units per minute, up from 48 units per minute at peak in 2018.

  Notably, Wowcher also saw a jump in sales just after midnight between 00.01am and 1am at the very start of Black Friday, with sales of units up 94% on the previous hour and almost double those of the same period in 2018.

  “In the past when there were significant seasonal sales, there’d be queues on the street waiting for shops to open. This year, we’ve seen a marked increase in savvy shoppers staying up late on the eve of Black Friday to take advantage of Black Friday offers the minute that the clock strikes midnight,” explains Karen Kemble-Diaz, chief operating officer at Wowcher.

  The biggest selling categories this year were electronics, beauty and travel, with the Wowcher Black Friday Mystery Deal being the most popular selling item by volume, followed by a kids drawing and colour pad.

from InternetRetailing https://ift.tt/2LYzI07 via IFTTT

[arplis]

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[throwinggrapesoffthebalcony]

preface to PARIS GUILT

Most of my works were written to escape the realities that exist in life, realities that always hurt more than the abstraction of those realities. Literature’s a craft, nautical in nature, a method of escape. It’s easy not to shed a tear writing novels, creating distance between myself and the work. Not so easy when writing about the dry lucid heat of life and what had me wanting to write the novel in the first place, a task that engulfs so many hours of life. This preface concerns the writing of Paris Guilt, written in D.C. and placed in Paris, where it felt easier to express it. It was years before and the outer shell of the matryoshka doll was her son. I remember meeting Ivan in Texas. A tall good looking boy. My best friend growing up had met him in D.C. and Ivan came to visit. I’m pretty sure it was during the summertime. Strangely he was quickly one of the closest friends in my life. He liked Texas a lot, so he decided to move there. I was living with my girlfriend in Austin at the time and was keeping an extra room with Ann and David, two that I’d known from high school in Corpus. I’d agreed to rent a room in the house they’d been renting in Hyde Park because Kelly and I weren’t getting along and the fights were agonizing. Kelly and I’d been together so long I think we were more friends than lovers at that point. Then we were getting along again, so because I was rarely there at the house Ivan took the room, on the condition that when and if I wanted the room back he would find another place. It was a wonderful time, a wonderful summer. Jake was bartending at some place that had opened up called Cedar Street. It was a martini bar and being someone who grew up with all the run of the mill beer, whiskey, cheap wine, etc. it was like walking down into a garden of spirits. And when you’re poor, having a best friend bartending isn’t the worst thing that can happen. I had no real job, I was working for Greenpeace at the time. But going down into that martini bar was a chance to feel sophisticated, and the live music there was a blast. When the time came and I wanted my room back Ivan refused to vacate. We had a huge fight over it. We could fight like dogs and just as fast have a drink and be friends again. My favor had somehow become a democracy, and he won the consensus. I think he’d been romancing Ann, not sure, but that’s what it seemed like. What the hell, it was a mixed blessing, I wanted to get out of Austin anyway, and the weather’s always nice in California. I loved it there, so when I was sure that Kelly and I were through, it wasn’t hard for me to leave. Ellis was there, another close friend growing up, and was telling me over the phone to hurry up and get the hell out there. I sold my 70’ dodge dart swinger to a guy that lived down the street who couldn’t believe how cheaply I was selling it, and he still talked me down a hundred dollars. I was anxious to leave, just another chapter in Black Holes and Revelations; my child, ink, between the pages of spiral notebooks. And I hid my indiscretions, like a child myself. There was a lot I couldn’t tell Kelly about. I think she would have understood, but at the time I didn’t think so.

Some years later, at another point of disenchantment, I think 1997 or so, I decided to head to D.C. Jake was there at the time and I thought it would be nice to run around with someone I could trust for a while. LA’s always a metaphysical deathtrap and I hadn’t become numb to it yet. Every weird happening was still like a shock to my system, and D.C. felt as faraway as I could get from it. Jake was at his family’s house in the Palisades right along Battery Kemble Park that’s like a forest. What a beautiful place, definitely a breather from a Los Angeles apartment, but of course there would be weather, real weather, but I’d arrived in time for the cherry blossoms. A high screened-in patio, great coffee, and gin and tonics. It was one of those moments when you set your work out and the birds are twittering and it’s all peace and quiet and you think to yourself, if I can’t write here I can’t write anywhere. At the time I was pounding away on a little grey plastic apple laptop that I’d bought in Los Angeles, that had felt so futuristic compared to a typewriter or handwriting. It was my first laptop and I’d already spent a lot of hours on it and it felt like as great an instrument as the pen itself. I disappeared into that first afternoon clicking away. Some days later I met Deborah, a beautiful redhead that worked at a flower shop close by and I thought I was in heaven. She had this mentality that had me kicking myself for not being as spontaneous as I could have been. I’d told her that I’d wanted to lock the door of that flower shop and make love to her that afternoon that I’d wandered in and found her there arranging flowers by herself. She asked why I didn’t, as if she were disappointed. And it’s like a cold sweat in the middle of a warm afternoon. And amongst the smell of cut roses, would have been memorable. And it wouldn’t be the same if we planned it. So I was just getting settled in and the regrets were already piling up. That was one kind of love; natural, youth on youth. Ivan’s mother was a different story, in fact a kind of love, a variety of love that I would experience for the very first time, one of companionship and intellect. I hadn’t met Alona yet. But Ivan was coming for a visit and a dinner was already planned. His grandparents and mother lived just outside of D.C. in Virginia. I’d already heard the names of all the Russian dishes. I thought I was headed for just another life experience, but the Russians know how to do two things very well, love, and suffer.

I was curious to meet Ivan’s grandfather who was a famous Novelist, Vasily. He’d written a novel called The Burn. I thought it would be a privilege to have a talk with him about the craft and the works he’d accomplished and what I was hoping for myself, already referring to myself as a novelist. He spoke nothing of the craft to me. He already had that look on his face, that I’ve since had on my face. Disgusted by the weight of all the hours. And I don’t think there’s a novelist alive that actually takes another human being seriously as a novelist. It veers so far from the surface that I think there’s very little to speak about. Every novel is unique and so personal that it just leads to the silence of someone reading it. Alona, for me was the main attraction. I’d had borscht before, but not like that. And vodka had always agreed with my blood, so that was nice. Right away I knew we were going to be friends. That it wasn’t going to be dinner and then back into the beltway. We were all there, but I felt like I’d spent that evening with her. I didn’t dare say how I left the house feeling that night. I didn’t want to hear what Ivan would have to say about me being attracted to his mother, regardless of the reasons why. And I’m sure he would have cursed me in that mix of Russian and English and laughed. Vanya. I don’t know if he and Jake even knew that I was capable of loving an older woman. I was a strange boy just beneath the skin, and she knew it. She knew I wasn’t out of my element and only a few people I’ve met in my life had ever understood that so quickly. I lived in the filth and squalor of preconceived ideas, misperceptions, and underestimations. Maybe I didn’t mind it. Low exceptions can sometimes be freedom. To know her was more than what I wanted, it was what I needed, to evolve in this craft that I loved. Our conversations put my thoughts into perspective. You don’t know if what you’re thinking about literature and how it pertains to life is even valid until you speak to someone who has experience and a love of those same interests. It’s like speaking a language and you can’t speak it until you’re with someone else who speaks that same language. And then it’s just like an open window. Then it’s just like a glass of vodka. Then it’s just like wanting someone who you need.

And because of her experience I was nervous about her seeing my work. I wasn’t just shopping it around, throwing it to the breeze. I’d be putting myself beneath the eyes of a woman who read professionally. Not only for enjoyment, but also as a reader for Vasily and other authors, authors on the world stage. So I knew her comments and criticisms would be the most constructive criticisms that I’d ever had. I was anxious for that, but at the same time afraid of it. Of what she might say. Our phone calls would stretch into hours sometimes. Jake was like a brother to me, so it was nice to have Alona as a friend, someone I could talk to. I was living this vital life. D.C.’s a beautiful place full of fun spots, but I couldn’t wait to see her again. And just meeting her had already caused me to pay closer attention to my work, now there being a deadline a reason and goal. Meeting her caused me to slow down, to refine, to polish, to try and get her something that could be bound and printed. And it was amazing how when trying to polish one of my pieces, how easy it was to overlook mistakes. And that’s the most tedious stage of writing for me, the last few passes, when having to look at it closely, while considering what I’m trying to say more carefully and clearly. And in my opinion, a novel is never finished. It’s never like finishing a song or placing a period at the end of a sentence. I can never say, okay, this is perfect. And that’s possibly due to the enormity of the process, or that every one of my novels or novellas is my life. I could never call Paris Guilt, finished, because I don’t even know if she’s still living, and afraid to know. So my life lives in me, unfinished, until I’m dead. 

Deborah lived in Georgetown, but had met some woman at the flower shop and was house sitting for her, or maybe it was the woman who owned the flower shop, I can’t remember. The house was in the Palisades on the other side of the park close to the river, not far from the flower shop. She impressed me one night with candles and a bath. And I was really amazed that she’d taken the time to do that. She was creative, she arranged flowers after all, so she was that type of girl. And she expected the same. I remember her being upset one evening when after spending time with her on the patio I didn’t walk her to her car that was parked a little further down the street. She’d parked there just to make sure Jake’s grandmother wasn’t waken up. I thought it was ridiculous how upset she’d become, but I loved it at the same time, it was a measure of love to me, as well as an indication of what a gentleman I wasn’t at times. She had this friend Kat, that she lived with, and a little friend, Frannie, Francesca, this young hairstylist from Italy, who I ended up playing tennis with. Deborah had a get together at that house she was sitting. We sat outside to eat and drink wine, talking about music and life that evening. Frannie liked that I liked Laura Pausini, but mentioned that it was sad that I didn’t understand all of her lyrics, because I wasn’t fluent in Italian. I didn’t say anything, just watched her go back into the house. Girls can try to make you want them, even with a slight.

Alona and I finally arranged a time for her to pick me up at the train station in Virginia. If I was super early I could always call her from one of the pay phones there. She said she was pleasantly surprised when she saw my work. They had connections in New York and I was on my way and we even talked about going to France, where they had another house on the Atlantic in a little seaside town called Biarritz, and we could stay there and I could write. The pictures of the place were beautiful. I’d grown up on the water and it would have been perfect, and I thought from there, I could explore Europe. We had these conversations that were vital, horrible, lovely, but always conversations. In-depth, meaningful conversations. She’d read most of the authors that I loved and turned me on to others that she thought I should read. I remember her giving me a few books by Iris Murdoch, I hadn’t read her books yet. She was pulling them from the literature that they had there at the house. The conversations about novels with her were as wonderful as the novels themselves. The way she’d describe the styles of writing helped me understand my own way of writing, understand what I was doing. She said these things to me that made sense of what I only had a vague sense of before, unable to define what I was trying to do with certain techniques and methods, finding my way naturally. And because of my temperament, I wouldn’t be able to show her works that I’d spent the most time on. How to Grow Roses, was this hateful book at the time, about not being allowed, regardless of talent. The knife is not like a kind hand slowly closing off the air supply. You can’t cut through paper with the strokes of a ball point pen and expect it to be published that way, with the way that you really feel. Reality is unpublishable. So instead I found myself reading her something from Head Amongst the Flowers, this piece that I’d kept trying to turn into an epic novel but that had kept falling apart on me, into a novella or just a short story. And there was something that she said to me that made perfect sense of that. And that was there being the necessity or the importance to hold the thread. And when she said that, it was so clear, so perfect. That’s the feeling I was having with that work, there being this delicate thread that couldn’t survive the entire novel. It was a metaphor that suggested patience and that a novel could never be forced. Maybe it was my trying to write about a wealthy world in a place I’d read about as a kid. It was romantic and then I wanted to tear it apart with the human condition, psychology, love, the flesh, the abstraction that I’m prone to at times.

Eventually when speaking more freely and openly about our feelings, Alona was polite when she understood what my mentality was like concerning this world. She was disappointed but polite, especially concerning what I had to say about Los Angeles. We’d drink together and being lubricated, I’d say these hateful, terrible things. She was from another world, a serious, heavy, historical world, bestrewn with immense human tragedy. She attributed my way of seeing to youth, to a lack of experience, etc. etc. The word fascism to her was a bitter pill. I loved that she wasn’t the type to just turn to aversion. She grabbed me and wanted to shake my way of thinking out of me. She didn’t want me to be a Nazi, she would say, in her Russian accent. She wanted to confront me, she wanted to save me. But like every young man my way of thinking was hard and true. I’d already seen how the world worked in certain respects that had given rise and validation to my acidic way of thinking. I think she still loved me, even while I wasn’t of the same mindset as her son. He had a more beautiful take on the world. We enjoyed this life just as much, but Ivan and I had such a different perspective on poetry. He believed in poetry. And so did I really, only I called it language or the distillation of something, not as pretty. I shied away from that word poetry. In my opinion, when you called it poetry it was an attempt to elevate, to artificially heighten the sense of what was written. Calling something poetry to me was like wanting some line of words to take flight. Get that word poetry out of my fucking face. Ivan’s hand reaching and playfully messing with me, knocking it away while trying to take a drink. What happened to make you not want to live so much? Was that poetry to you?

If we were there at the house, Jake’s grandmother would expect us on the patio at a certain hour in the early evening for gin and tonics and cheese and cracker plates. The patio was spacious, the size of a living room with couches and all. Jake would whine about it but I would actually look forward to it. He’d become tired of the routine over the years, while it was new and exciting to me. Gin has its own unique buzz and the early evenings, before dark, were breezy and warm. It was the kind of routine that I could easily get used to. So for an hour or two Jake, Jakes dad J.R., and his grandmother and I would sit out on the patio and talk about life and politics. She’d lived a traditional and prominent life and wanted to keep that going, even in modern times, and I had a lot of respect for that.

Deborah was a free spirit and I could never pin her down on a moment when I could call her my girlfriend. She was at Georgetown and college is college. I don’t know if every beautiful girl knows she’s beautiful. But she was the kind of girl you could say, was beautiful and knew it.

Ivan came back into town during that summer. I made a point of not telling him that I was giving one of my novels to his mother to try to move myself up in the world. I could predict the comment. If she’d already told him about her helping me along with my aspirations, he never mentioned it. We drank for a while and then went to the mall to watch the fourth of July fireworks, just in time. The whole scene, the trees, the park, the monuments, the people, were already lit with the array of the fireworks. I could tell he seemed different that entire evening. He wan’t himself. He was never the type to cut the evening short, ever. I don’t think the three of us had ever gotten home before two o’clock in the morning when going out. After the fireworks display we were walking amongst the departing crowds. Ivan was yelling something about no tax without representation. But when we started talking about what bar we were heading to, he let Jake and I know that he was getting on the subway and heading back out to Virginia. What the hell are you talking about? He didn’t even want to argue with us or explain himself.

I cut through the woods to get to the flower shop on this bright afternoon. I got close and I saw they had customers and didn’t want to disturb her while she was busy at work. I would never find her there again alone. I was always hoping I could have that afternoon back. But real life isn’t literature where we can correct mistakes or missed opportunities. I knew there was something she wasn’t telling me that was holding her back. I would have liked her as a steady girlfriend.

I remember getting back to the house one afternoon, when Jake’s grandmother had received the call and she informed us of the accident. Ivan had fallen from the roof of his apartment building in San Francisco the night before. We couldn’t believe it. During our first drink over the matter, we debated whether he could have actually jumped or if it had been an accident of some kind. Maybe he was balancing along the edge of the wall, like a young man in a drunken mood might do. We went over the possible scenarios, including foul play. You never know. It doesn’t matter why, he’s gone, was the conclusion. But the look on his face and the way he was acting the last time we saw him, made me think it was suicide. Supposedly, a couple of girls he knew were over him while he was still breathing his last breaths while trying to speak to them. Jake had spoken to a few people on the phone, some friends of his there, and it was said that what he was saying to the girls was, to let him die.

For Alona it wasn’t a turning point, it was her own death, a before and after who she was, what she looked like, what she sounded like, what she felt like. I was hesitant to see her. I knew she’d be different. I’d already heard her voice on the phone and I knew we wouldn’t converse in the same way ever again. She wanted me to write something for the wake. I knew he always held a secret contempt for me. And I’d thought his suicide was such a selfish act, that now I held a secret contempt for him.

I think a year had already passed since I’d arrived and Jake’s grandmother had given subtle hints as to her wanting us out of the house. The hours we kept were erratic and she’d always wake up when we’d come home late, and insisted on getting up herself and going about the house. Jake agreed to share a place with me that I found on Connecticut Avenue in Van Ness, and so we found ourselves in that neighborhood, which I thought was wonderful. It was right near Politics and Prose, and spending time in bookstores was high on my list of things to do. I would miss the house of course. It’s a gift to live like that. I’d have to find a new writing place. That expansive patio, high up in nature was nice, and had spoiled me.

And of course Alona was going to be obsessed with her son’s death. That was to be expected. She wanted me to tell her everything about every moment I knew him. She just wanted to hear as much about him as she could. Funny moments, furious moments, everything, anything he might have said. Please, you have to remember, she begged me, what did he say, exactly. I couldn’t tell her what he would have thought about anything or what he would have become if he’d lived. She was still in shock, asking me things I couldn’t possibly answer, at times forgetting that I wasn’t Ivan. She would laugh but they were absentminded laughs. Just skin deep over what was really turning in her head, ceaselessly turning in her heart and head. Every moment for her became a challenge to find some way to escape the suffering. The Russian water of life wasn’t enough to cure the pain she was experiencing. It was sinking in and she was every bit connected to a boy who’d passed away. Sometimes she seemed dissolved into that afterlife looking for him and at other times like she’d hit a wall, completely forbidden, curled up against a gravestone. I didn’t even mention my writing again. And anyway, I was already filling my journals with the life I was currently living, not forgetting that I needed to leave room for the reader. That advice really freed me up. I remember spending so much time on description before. And after she’d said that to me, I felt like I had permission never to have to describe anything ever again. The reader falling between the lines doesn’t necessarily mean that all is lost. A story can mean something different to a million different people, and that can be even more beautiful, than a story perfectly conveyed, and that was beautiful to me. I’d written for so many years before, but sitting with her I finally felt like I was part of the literary world. It was so sad to watch what was happening to her. She’d lost her zeal for just about anything she spoke about, unless it was about Ivan.  

You couldn’t watch Alona suffer. You couldn’t stay removed from it, her suffering was so potent. I could feel it radiating from her body, with the sun in her eyes. If she was drowning in the unseen then so was I. Our screaming voices, turning into something beautiful. Conversations in a trance, speaking so calmly all of a sudden, about something from our past that we remembered in finite detail. We took turns dwelling in those moments. Like the sex of words and memory. The smell of some girls sweater. The shape of her beneath. My lost love was petty to hers. I knew that. But she allowed me to suffer with her, to acclimate to her suffering, to live in the weather of her world. The advice she was giving me was as if to save her very own son. Move on, if the girl didn’t love you then she’ll never love you. She’d say Vanya, and I wouldn’t say anything. And even while she was trying to save me, her suffering was exacerbating my own misery. I felt this immediacy after one of our conversations to call Jill, trying to convince her to move to D.C. I felt at the time I could make a move into a more professional life and live properly with her and our son. It’s much more accessible in D.C. or at least it seemed like it was, compared to the counterfeit place like Los Angeles, where a straight man has no chance. The misfortune of living in this ephemeral era, with their spandex safety net and pastel tribal mentalities. She wouldn’t interrupt me. She wanted to understand me. I’d had the patience to try to understand her. But it was very easy to understand, that she’d lost her son and was dying of it, surely dying of it. She loved and hated me. Why couldn’t I have been like Ivan, or one of his sweet little friends. I didn’t want to say it, but I was thinking about how afraid they’d be of a woman suffering like this. Her suffering was the most beautiful, horrible, dirty experience I’d ever had. Not dirty in the typical sense, dirty in a mental sense, in a disturbing truthful sense, that caused me to think more deeply about the human being. It wasn’t poetry, or for anyone with the love of poetry. It wasn’t an experience with a neat bow wrapped around it that would leave you unaffected. The sound of her voice, her strong hot hands grabbing onto me, not wanting to fall completely into hell, wanting to hold herself in life, not seeing anything in life to stay for. Her reading chair seemed like the only safe place that she had, not the flesh of an imperfect world. She was reading as much as she could to rest her mind in those passages. Fantasy to keep from thinking about her own circumstance. Reading as a means of escape, a way to stay alive. Alona was a beautiful woman and I couldn’t believe how fast and how drastically what had happened was changing her. Sick of me, or human of me, to consider how desirable a woman is while she’s suffering like that, wanting her to keep her figure. Suffering from the inside out, from the outside in, I don’t know where that pain truly laid in her, whether in the spirit or in the body itself. Just as I couldn’t tell at a certain point, whether all the vodka she was drinking was killing her or keeping her alive.

I’d waited on a woman one night, who lived right down the block from the restaurant I was working at. She had this apartment, something larger than an apartment, you couldn’t call it an apartment, with large paintings resting against the wall. I was laying there in the morning as the sun was just rising in the french doors open to the balustrade. It felt like another place. She was laying on the bed falling to sleep. Who was this woman, maybe in her late thirties to early forties, and how did she end up living like this. She asked if I would want to see her again. I wasn’t sure. I started my walk, down the street, over the bridge into Woodley Park and then down Connecticut avenue.

There was this girl on my mind and as I got into Van Ness I was hoping to see her walking along the sidewalk like I would at times, maybe heading to work. I’d already told Alona about her, Anna was Russian too. She was young and smart, worked for the IMF, and was blessed with an exquisite beauty. I remember when I first saw her, it was in Giants grocery store, when after I’d done all my shopping I walked along the isles looking for her. I’d asked her if I could walk with her and found she lived in the building right next to mine. I wanted to believe that it was some kind of a sign. So close but so far, I knew the feeling. There were times when I’d see her walking blocks up in the heat of the summer and I’d sprint to catch up to her, in hopes of just saying hello. Oh no, here he comes again, she must have thought as I caught up with her, wiping the sweat from my forehead and upper lip. She was always very cautious, but would still talk to me. And I suppose a man like myself had every bell and whistle and red flag going off in her head. As the months went on I’d run into her on several occasions, and felt like I’d already fallen in love with her pretty much. She was that pretty. There was an evening when heading back to my apartment one late afternoon when I passed a schoolyard playground. I saw her there and went over to talk to her, and that’s when I found out why she’d been so careful about me. She was looking out for someone besides herself. The glamorous life that I’d previously imagined her having, dinner with diplomats, champagne corporate parties, did indeed evaporate, opening up numerous more profound dimensions. She pointed her daughter out to me. She was up on the deck of a slide. She’d stopped what she was doing and was looking over at us. She was blessed with the same natural beauty that her mother possessed. We spoke and I watched as she bolted off occasionally to run after Barbara, tying to keep the active little girl contained, as she went this way and that with the energy of a firecracker. At one point, she was teetering dangerously at the top of the slide, where she’d dragged her scooter up and was going to attempt to ride it down the slide. It would have been an impossible feat. Anna and I ran over to catch her before the little girl plummeted to what would have been numerous scrapes and bruises. At another moment, when Barbara had abandoned her scooter further away on the blacktop, Anna went over and retrieved it, riding it back. Those two were a joy for me to spend time with that evening. Barbara stood just at the tips of my shoes, looking up at me, her face full of sweat, her hair slicked back. I did everything I could to keep from crying, over real life, real beauty, a mother and her daughter. And as the sun was going down, my own life began to settle on me. Come on, leave him alone honey, Anna said to her after she didn’t want to leave me, as they prepared to walk across the side street to their building. All the joys that I've missed in my life, while chasing plastic butterflies. I smoothed my hand over her hair. She stared up at me and smiled, the sweetest little smile, and asked if I could come home with them. I laughed about it, as did Anna. I would have in a second. Little Barbara even picked flowers for me. She held in the palm of her hand these tiny flowers and these tiny micro strawberries that she’d picked from among the blades of grass. When getting back up to the apartment I put them in a book to keep them as a memento and as a reminder of what true beauty really is. I pressed it closed, then I pressed my face into the pillow so my moans couldn’t be heard. I wept for the life that I couldn’t have, that I maybe would never have, while I fell off to sleep.

Alona thought that my love for Anna was ridiculous, that it was a convenient situation, one that I could just step into, to all of a sudden have two Russian dolls. Her second child could always be mine. Alona laughed at me. It was only the second time in my life that I had the feeling of wanting to propose with no questions asked, without knowing any more about the girl other than what I saw or felt, so quickly upon meeting. She told me to invite Anna to dinner so she could meet her and tell me what she thought. Maybe Anna would be impressed that I already had a love for Russia.

I think most writers probably one time or another have had a romantic notion about the process of writing. There’s nothing glamorous about it. The fakes, usually make an effort to look like Hemingway or to look like a writer. My obsession was never with the aesthetic, but with the location, places where I could disappear and write. The apartment on Connecticut avenue wasn’t such a place, and sometimes the why is mystifying. So the Library of Congress had become a nice routine. Not the typical place anyone goes to write novels, but it worked for me. The other place that I loved, that I’d get to once in a while was a bit of a journey away.    

It was called Le Refuge, a little French bread and breakfast way up, removed from the world. I’d board the Chinatown bus from D.C. to New York, then get on the six train, then on another bus from Pelham station, the headlights of the bus illuminating the small rusty bridge that crossed over a short span of water onto City Island. The bread and breakfast had the smell of an old place with a lot of history. I climbed up the wooden stairs inside the house, wondering if I should find the girl that stayed in the room downstairs and took care of the place, but I just found one of the rooms with the door slightly open. I opened the door and turned on the lights and there was no one there. It was nice that it overlooked the water. The bathroom was separate from the rooms, the kind of place that made me feel like I was living in the Tropic of Cancer, in better times of course. I walked to the end of the hall with the boards creaking under my feet and I sat in the bathtub. I ran the bath so hot it was nearly burning my feet. But I needed it that way, if the tub was going to stay hot for any length of time, and I just wanted to set my head back for a little while. I swirled the water around with my hands. It felt sinful every time I even had a thought about not being able to go and stay in France, or the literary career that had failed to materialize. The high expectations, diluted. I’d refused that path anyway, after she’d described the process of giving up the rights to my work, like signing my life away, and their being able to do whatever they wanted with my material after, even in bad taste.

I went to my room and stood before the mirror on the large black lacquer wardrobe. I was suffering emotionally at the time myself. Alona was a bad influence, it’s like two alcoholics together, twin flames, the room already heavy with the smell of Grand Marnier while looking out over the river through the tapestry of curtains. I looked over at my small grey apple laptop that was plugged in with blinking cursor ready to go, that grey brick that I'd already grown to love and hate so much. Like a tool, already worn down, used at trying to get to the middle of the meaning of life, of love, of death. A tool in the search for happiness, contentedness, peace. Another title, Paris Guilt, and the way I start every new novel, with the essence, in a stream of consciousness.

Breasts, mouth, skin, hair, eyes, ass, vagina, sweat, tears, disinfected from the inside out, pure, the smell of vodka

Fumes from the womb, the taste of the skin like the perfect taste of the skin

The spirit washing over, disconnecting from the body, then trying to disconnect from that

So difficult to keep the energy from becoming a mutual hell when in her presence

Suffering, a selfish indifferent erection, not wanting to penetrate a woman suffering so much, but wanting to cum into her so badly

The electricity of suffering, of still being desirable, in descent

Animals fallen from civilization, due to a tragedy, a real tragedy

A cut rose in vodka, life or death? Watching carefully for the wilting of the petals or some new vibrant color

From what point of view, from what perspective

Dropping an entire experience into water, crystalline, or a dream

Alona didn’t want to live anymore. She’d already tried it. I felt like it was just a matter of time. I went to the cemetery with her. She didn’t get out of the car. We just sat there. What does it matter. What does everything mean? Everything means everything. I’d never seen anyone dying that way while still fairly young from emotional pain. It was excruciating to even watch. Her mother and Vasily were also suffering over Ivan’s death, but her mother sounded as if she was staying strong in order to keep her daughter alive. Ivan was so pivotal in their lives. Expectations befallen. He was kind of what held them together. Their future was placed on him.

A German girl who’d known Ivan, who’d been his girlfriend, contacted Alona, and was also trying to help Alona survive. She was living in New York at the time and came down to stay in D.C. with Jake and I. She was an artist, we got along and began seeing each other. I’ve always detested when people get together over the death of someone else, and I always had that taste in my mouth when seeing her. Someone dies and it brings people together, it just seems so disingenuous of nature to work that way. The excuse of people to reach out to one another. Like life born from death, fresh flowers on the grave. But she was great for Alona. Alona needed a girl like that to spend some time with, who could possibly help her more with the healing process. Perhaps a woman knows more intrinsically what to say to another woman, I couldn’t reach her. I went and stayed with her for a few days up in Washington Heights. I was becoming more entertained with the idea of moving to New York at the time. We talked Alona into coming up for a visit during those days. She agreed, found a hotel, and her even feeling like taking that excursion gave us hope that she could someone how pull out of it. There was some miscommunication about where to meet her. I remember we took the train down and couldn’t find her and had to take the train all the way back up to Washington Heights to play the message she’d left on the answering machine. We left again, this time with clear instructions to meet her at the Russian Tea Room. She was waiting for us outside, she’d had her fill there and we ended up going to Greenwich Village. We walked a lot and she seemed better than I’d seen her since Ivan had passed away. She looked like she was finding some happiness recalling past moments there in New York. We finally ended up at a pastry shop having coffee somewhere along Houston. I saw her laugh and I actually thought that it had passed, the moment at least gave the impression that she was fine. Was it possible, like some new scene and that’s it, it’s over, she’s okay and off to the next stretch of life. It’s amazing how deceptive a moment, a new setting can be. She even looked happy, a woman who still had a girlish side to her, like when I met her. Alona was no longer Ivan’s mother to me. She was Alona, this woman that I knew and loved. In my opinion she should have stayed in New York. The energy there was so much better for her. But there was the house there in Virginia with her mother and Vasily that she had to return to.

There was this snowstorm that shut the city down for days, everything was closed in silence. I walked along the snowdrifts and the only place that was open was this Chinese restaurant across the street from Politics and Prose. They were staying there and serving anyone who might have made their way through the blizzard. I was the only one at the moment, sitting down to have my usual. I was thinking how much more enjoyable it would have been with Anna and Barbara there. They’re what I was dwelling on at the time. I’d always laughed when thinking about Barbara and her having that name. I’d always thought it was so purely a woman’s name. She’d have to grow into her name, though meanwhile it was so cute. If this was a novel, I would have made love to her and helped her raise her little girl. But this is the preface for a novel. I started seeing a girl who lived with her parents in Chevy Chase, and they had a first edition copy of Perfume on the bookshelf that I wanted. We took her father’s luxury car out one afternoon losing traction in the winter thaw. 

I don’t know what the cherry blossoms meant to Alona that springtime. The love of literature and the playfulness of words and the desire to paint a picture no longer existed. She was left with this denuded necessary language. The child in her, no longer there to run to those clichés. I wanted Alona back, the woman I’d first met, not these conversations that took our lives. Cherry blossoms. There’s nothing magical about this world.

 -Alan Augustine

Every pass I make on this preface sucks me deeper into the emotional circumstances of those years. Emotion leads to memory. I could go on, but I won’t, if only because I’m getting close to wanting to stay there with her.

[rarebookman]

First British Edition Decorated red cloth. Preceding the American edition by four months. With 174 illustrations by E.W. Kemble. BAL 3414: Sequence B with the gatherings saddle-stitched with wire staples as opposed to sewn. BAL assigns no priority to the sequences. With the publisher's catalogue insert at rear dated October 1884, per BAL. Typical sunning to spine with mild fraying to head and neat cloth repair to heel. Minor spotting to covers. Near Fine

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[gladysnmccary]

New lingerie line is Haute Hot hot!

Haute Hot lingerie celebrated their debut to the marketplace with a sexy celebration at The Joule Hotel on Tuesday, December 3. Haute Hot lingerie offers unique pieces to wear out on a date night or to a party, as well as lingerie that can be contoured to fit a woman’s exact body-type and worn discreetly under clothing. Haute Hot Creator, Alisa Culp, built the company out of her own frustrations with not being able to find beautiful lingerie to fit her “non-standard” body type. After years of having to simply settle for whatever would fit, Alisa decided to create a better solution for women with fuller busts or smaller waists. Anything but standard, the Haute Hot brand is all about creating chic, edgy and (above all) sexy pieces that celebrate and flatter the female form.

Upon arriving, guests ascended to the Joule’s Terrace overlooking the Eyeball sculpture on Main St. to enjoy cocktails by BABE, Frankly Organic Vodka, and other Ben E. Keith brands. Event planner, Steve Kemble, had created several Instagrammable moments around the space for guests to enjoy, like a cut out where you could insert your face to become a lingerie model and a beautiful balloon step and repeat in various shades of pink. Gorgeous floral arrangements by Kristen Wolchik of Haute Floral also added a delightful splash of color throughout the venue and DJ Marshall Leak had everyone’s toes tapping. Guests were treated to an exciting runway presentation of Haute Hot’s designs featuring models from Kim Dawson Agency, styled by Elizabeth Secrest. After the show, things got sweeter with an awesome dessert presentation incorporating showmanship and the hottest dessert trend sweeping the country - Cold Chemistry Liquid Nitrogen Ice Cream. Among those in attendance were Sybil Summers, Alanna Sarabia, Joyce Morrison, Leah Fisher, Heidi Dillion, Nancy Gopez, Bo Dorton, Yana Greenstein, and Gina Ginsberg Farmer.

Steve Kemble, Alisa Culp, James Hallam

“I got inspired to start this company from watching my Grandmother – the most fabulous and fashionable woman that I have ever known. She was the Russian version of Elizabeth Taylor,” said Alisa Culp, “She always had her makeup and hair done and was dressed in fabulous outfits she made herself. She was an “influencer” in her circles [before we had a name for it] and seeing her transform other women around her, made me want to do the same. I am excited to offer women curve-hugging, envelope-pushing and rule-breaking lingerie for the unapologetically seductive modern woman.”

Haute Hot Lingerie uses Ourglass technology that allows women to fit each piece to their unique measurements using sliders on each garment in key areas to create an exact fit. No more buying the same size top and bottom, no more settling for almost good enough. Feel confident and sexy in Haute Hot’s uniquely designed lingerie that hugs every curve and highlights every feature. Shop online at www.HauteHotLingerie.com

Images by Danny Campbell Photography

The post New lingerie line is Haute Hot hot! appeared first on I Live In Dallas.

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How to Choose the Right Rug

For a living room to feel pulled together, most designers will tell you, it needs a rug.

But rugs can be expensive. And because a large-scale item like that is going to have a big effect on the way a room looks and feels, choosing one can be intimidating. The right rug may live in your home for decades. The wrong rug will serve as a daily reminder of the money you wasted — and the money you’ll have to spend if you want to replace it.

And getting it wrong is all too easy, given the range of materials, colors, patterns and sizes available. Finding the ideal rug, observed the New York-based interior designer Celerie Kemble, is a “complicated puzzle.”

To help you solve that puzzle, we asked Ms. Kemble and other designers and rug manufacturers for advice.

Use One or a Few

There is no rule that says you have to limit yourself to a single rug in the living room. Designers often use multiple rugs in larger rooms to define different areas. So how do you know whether one or a few is best?

Smaller spaces, and living rooms enclosed by walls and doorways, usually benefit from a single large rug.

“I’m often dealing with apartments where the goal is to expand the sense of usable space in a living room,” Ms. Kemble said. In those cases, “I usually want to use one rug, and make it as big as I possibly can.”

Sprawling, open-concept spaces, like lofts, are more likely to benefit from multiple rugs, which help ground disparate groupings of furniture and can be used to separate a living area from a dining or media area, in the absence of walls.

Can’t Decide? Then Layer Them

Another option is to layer rugs on top of each other, with a single large, plain rug on the bottom to cover most of the floor, and smaller decorative rugs on top to anchor different seating areas.

“One of my favorite tricks is to use a very big sisal rug, which is relatively inexpensive, and then layer softer, plusher kilims or dhurries on top at the seating areas,” Ms. Kemble said. “It tells everybody, by the enormity of the sisal, that you’re all at the same party.”

Determine the Size

It is important to work around a room’s obstructions when planning a rug purchase.

“We always start with the practical and then get to the decorative, while considering the architecture and mechanics” of a home, said Jesse Carrier, a principal of Carrier and Company, a New York interior design firm. “Are there doorways and door swings to consider? Is there any floor grille for HVAC that you don’t want to cover? Is there a fireplace where you have to deal with a hearth?”

After taking these details into account, consider circulation around the seating areas.

“There’s nothing worse than being forced to walk on the perimeter of a rug,” Ms. Kemble said, with one foot on and one foot off.

Choose a size that either completely covers the walkway or leaves the floor exposed where people need to pass by. Then decide how far beyond the furniture the rug should extend. A common way to size a rug is to ensure that it reaches underneath all four feet of all the furniture.

Or you could use a smaller rug that runs under the front feet of the sofas and chairs, and stops there. Just make sure that smaller objects at the rug’s edges, like end tables and floor lamps, are completely on or off the rug, Mr. Carrier said: “You don’t want unbalanced, rocking end tables every time you put something down.”

What about small rugs that float in the center of a room, untethered by sofa and chair legs? Many experts advise against them.

“Small rugs look a little bit lost and unfinished,” said Susanna Joicey-Cecil, the marketing director for the Rug Company, in London. “It can feel like a postage stamp, which is not so pleasing for the eye.”

Choose Patterned or Plain

A boldly patterned rug can serve as the defining feature of a living area, but because it has so much impact, it’s a choice that requires courage. Deciding whether to go with a graphic statement rug or something more understated comes down to personal preference, as well as your overall design vision and where your home is.

“In the city, oftentimes clients will want to invest in an antique carpet from an auction or one of the great rug vendors as a showpiece,” Mr. Carrier said. But in country homes and beach houses, “we’ll often do some sort of sisal, sea-grass or coir carpet, because it’s a little more informal and rustic.”

If you decide to shop for a patterned rug, there are endless choices available, from free-form contemporary designs to more traditional ones. But if you’d rather keep it simple, there are plenty of opportunities to introduce pattern at a smaller scale.

“For more laid-back, Zen environments, there are fantastically beautiful sisals with patterns in them, like herringbones and subtle stripes,” said Richard Mishaan, a New York-based interior designer. “To dress them up a bit, add a fabulous binding in leather or suede. It doesn’t increase the price enormously, but it’s very chic and beautiful.”

Pick a Material

Rugs come in many materials, including plant-based fibers like cotton, linen, sisal, jute and allo; downy, natural fibers like wool, silk and mohair; and synthetic materials like nylon and solution-dyed acrylic. There are also nonwoven rugs made from stitched-together materials like cowhide.

Each offers a different look and feel, with varying characteristics related to how well the materials wear and how easy they are to clean. They also range widely in price.

Rugs made from plant-based materials are often among the most affordable and offer an easy, casual look. But different fibers have different durability: Cotton and linen, for instance, age fairly quickly, while sisal and allo can take more abuse.

“We’ve had some disasters with linen,” Mr. Carrier said, “which is very, very beautiful” — at least when it’s new. But because it is easily damaged by wear and spills, he added, “we’ve had to replace a lot of linen rugs in our time, and now avoid them like the plague.”

Allo, on the other hand, is “very cleanable and doesn’t retain stains,” he said.

One of the most popular materials is wool, which can offer a range of looks depending on how it’s handled, from thin, flat weaves to hairy, hand-knotted shags. Wool tends to be more expensive than most plant-based materials, but it is stain resistant, softer underfoot and durable enough to last for centuries.

“Wool has lanolin in it, which makes it a very cleanable, stain-resistant fiber,” said Bethany Hopf, a sales manager at the House of Tai Ping carpet company, in New York. “When you spill, it sits on top for a little while before it will actually absorb,” which gives you time for cleanup.

Even when a spill soaks in, she said, “we have a lot of success getting stains out.”

The same cannot be said for silk, which is generally more expensive and delicate, but has a softer feel and a lustrous sheen. Some upscale rugs are made entirely from silk, while others combine wool and silk to create various effects.

In patterned rugs, “very often we have a wool background and then highlight the motif with silk, because it helps it pop,” said Ms. Joicey-Cecil, of the Rug Company. “You can have lots of fun playing with those two textures, because the silk has a lot of sheen to it.”

But Ms. Kemble cautioned that mixed-fiber rugs can be difficult to clean: “Silk can’t take water, but wool needs water to be cleaned. So when you have silk-and-wool mixes, it creates hard-to-sort problems once there’s a spill.”

Consider Indoor-Outdoor Options

If spills and stains from children and pets are a concern, it may be a good idea to choose an indoor-outdoor rug made from a synthetic material like solution-dyed acrylic, polypropylene or PET (polyethylene terephthalate), which are now often so soft and appealing that they can be hard to distinguish from indoor-only materials.

“They’re impenetrable: You can’t stain them; you can’t ruin them,” said Mr. Carrier, who replaced a wool rug with a nylon one in his own home when his children were younger, then switched to sisal when they grew up. “In certain applications, that’s the way to go.”

Don’t Forget the Rug Pad

It’s tempting to bring a rug home and put it down immediately, but there’s a step you shouldn’t skip: putting a nonslip rug pad underneath.

Cut the pad to a size slightly smaller than the carpet. A general rule is that it should be trimmed about an inch shorter than the rug on all sides, to provide maximum grip while preventing a visible change in level where the rug transitions from pad to floor.

Rug pads offer a touch of additional cushioning, Ms. Hopf said. But their real utility is more “about keeping it in place and preserving the life of the carpet,” she said.

In other words, it ensures that your new rug won’t slide like a banana peel.

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