Fever Dream in the Middle of September, November 4th Delirium

I think I found my way around the universe in a fever dream in the middle of September.

I took a pair of scissors to a dress that I once wore as part of my Halloween costume back in October 2021. Costume as in I put a pair of bunny ears on. I stopped wearing it because a section of lace along the edge of the neckline kept folding down the way my bunny ears flopped so that only one section kept up. It was shit quality from some drop-ship shop that Instagram influencers love to put on It's insane how these horrible polyester blend clothes are marketed to people who don't know better or couldn't care less at a fractions of rent's cost. That Halloween two years ago was at the height of one of my notorious Zoloft, Ashwagandha, Something, Something and Something Else Cocktail driven manic bends and now that it's been months since I left myself out to dry, cutting something so useless in half felt somewhat rewarding to me.

The morning after, I took my little scrap of a skirt and escaped with my friend whose name doesn't need to be typed in full to go out and play pretend the way I love to every so often. By the time we finished breakfast at Republique (chia pudding I love you), I began to stomach the shame of having my ass out in broad daylight as I zoomed past the park where all the grade schoolers were spending their weekend in soccer tournaments and went to the Nordstrom at The Grove to buy underwear that could do a better job at concealment over what I had on at the time. The guilt outweighed getting dogged by young white girls in Pinterest outfits who have little to no sense of reality. 

Once fractionally more decent, we saw the Jenny Holzer exhibit at Hauser & Wirth and watched poles swing and jut around with old Donald Trump tweets and then down to The Line, where I was told there were special edition Photomatic booths present. I wasn't, however, informed that the Photomatic booths were in collaboration with KCON and ended up shelling $15 to take pictures with Kim Jiwoong in a murky Blade Runner kind of way. Come dinner and we're at Silverlake standing outside of Bacari because we had no clue it would be shut down for a wedding and now we're down the street at a gay bar eating sad mac and cheese and being poisoned by typical gay portioned martinis (double or triple shots depending on their mood). The Black Cat had the best music I had ever listened to in a public setting that I didn't have control over. Dev Hynes, Lana Del Rey, things only gay people knew would sell a poisonous martini more effectively. 

All of this stupid and choppy recollection is quite similar to how I actually felt at that time. Oftentimes I have these glimmerings that something important is about to occur, but I never know what specifically. It's a fun game I play with the universe. Earlier in the week I was set on absurd signs that I was closer to someone secret and when I had wrote down "a winking fox" onto a random scrap of notebook paper, I didn't know I was going to see five of them painted onto some gentrified wall while walking out of the bar halfway to sedation. Things get more and more ridiculous all of the time.

We went back down the block to see if the 99 Cents could rescue us from getting robbed at The Greek and it did. And so did the beautiful lady in line who called us beautiful and joked about how she wish she could come with us to the concert and how her son would laugh at the situation of us sneaking her in. It's people like her that make me believe that guardian angels are always around me.

Once we found our seats and it neared the end of the opening DJs, I joked with my friends that I had put a curse out into the world that no one would sit in our row for the entirety of the concert, except I actually meant it. Then it happened and we spent the entire night walking back and forth in our emptied row as if we were in private suite. During an interlude, there was a group of people in the row in front of us who kept staring at me and whispering things and I didn't know what took over me but I kept staring back at them and smiling like a psychopath. Ever since that night, I've taken joy in making people feel as important as they think they are to the point of nervousness. We drove back that night and sang in the car with whatever bit of our voices was left to pass the time.

November 4th was Jennie's birthday. It was much more fleeting and weird. I'm getting more and more impulsive? Insane? as the time passes or maybe it's the time passing me, and it's become very empowering to give in to myself. 

Went to Bacari W. 3rd because no matter how riddled with off-putting vibes it is, Jennie and I have been going for years, so at this point we're accustomed to the lack of decorum that many a customer come with. Unnamed friend's boyfriend who I had went to middle and high school with spent his day off fucking with me and dangling a very much old carrot in front of my face (by this I mean the man I briefly, joingly mentioned liking in high school was with him and he wouldn't stop sending his girlfriend photos of them together... I know we live in a small town, but don't people have better things to do?). It feels like I'm more than used to men thinking they're a step ahead of me when I'm light years away, so I let my head play elevator music through breakfast. It's funny because the night before unnamed friend sent me an ominous "I found you a husband" text followed by a photo of some disgraceful-looking man. I didn't know who he was, I just felt impelled to say so. It's funny that I've reached an age where people feel driven to play cupid for me. I already know who my lover is, I've seen him in dreams. I just don't know who it is yet. I think. I don't know.

We didn't find The Rendon Gallery. I'm starting to believe that that place wasn't real. In fact, everywhere in that area of the Arts District didn't feel real at the time. It felt like filming sets surrounded by broken glass and warehouses. Even Maru was a joke. Though it has been for years, it was extra goofy that day. The baristas looked like they were being held at gunpoint to work there when they'd rather be at some other douche café with their douche friends. Everyone has an angle. We passed Kodō and its beautiful billowing curtains back and forth on that same intersection trying to look for Rendon. We'd stopped by the warming (at least to me) Webber to see Alessandra Sanguinetti's "The Sixth Day" works and watched the lovely gallery person pick up Jennie's silver ribbon off the floor in front of the black and white photo of the fawn facing away from her soothsayer features. It reminded me of my tattoo and something else that I can't recall.

Anyways, beyond the beauty, there was a lingering feeling of a miracle on its way. Like, just one turn around the corner and it'd be there to greet me with open arms. It's like the second I appear somewhere, an opportunity is realized. As we gave up on Rendon and said bye-bye to Kodō's curtains, we headed to our scary-if-the-sun-set parking spot by some DHL warehouse when I felt someone walking behind us. I assumed the male voice was calling out to the table of men situated outside a restaurant we were passing, but as he approached with an "Excuse me", I knew the knock was on our door. I couldn't hide the strangeness of the approach on my face, so when he proposed we cross the street to have a bottle of rosé at his cousin's French bar, my friends took it as a no. Ten we turned the corner and wondered why we passed up such a comically stupid free opportunity. It was a special occasion after all. Instead, I sweat my way through playing photographer at Hauser & Wirth for my two doll friends where I ended up with 2 1/2 photos of me walking away, trying to cool down in the still gallery rooms. We stopped for a cup of ice at McDonald's so that unnamed friend could drink her Truly before we headed to Tokki where I settled for suffering and ordering a $20 cocktail. It was called "White Rabbit" and had eggwhite foam, of course I was gonna suffer through it. On a whim, I called to see if he could join us for fittingly rabbit-sized plates in dim lighting (again, my favorite). I should have known better.

I do not like that room lined with disco balls at Normandie Club and would rather just be sedated at home, but their moscow mules are very much worth their price (I snuck in a mini bottle of Grey Goose, if that helps). Some man kept looking at me in a weird way, so I stepped out to chain two herbals and came back the perfect level of ineptness. I wanted to go home. We ran to the parking structure in between Normandie so that unnamed friend could drink another Truly. So much for bragging about beign spoiled by your boyfriend who makes "over six figures a year". It got weirder because the final time we rushed to the parking structure, I had ran into the back of a man who was huddled with his group of friends on a street corner and before I could gather my bearings and realize anything past a quick "Sorry", unnamed friend pulled me to cross and later complained that she wasn't anyone's type in the area. It's so difficult to treat our interactions seriously. When it was finally time to drag the car out of the structure before it closed, unnamed friend wanted McDonald's and you called. I wish it was more real than what I could imagine. We left LA. Her six figure boyfriend offered to book us a hotel, but she declined wanting to be besides him for bedtime. I could understand that, but after she parked in Valencia to rest with my leather coat atop of her in some bright, bare parking lot and then huffed the rest of the way home and had her calls screened four times before giving up, I couldn't help but feel like I was delirious and that this is all some joke or test from the universe.

My dreams aren't making sense anymore. I think I know what I want now. What is it that you want from me?

Photo: mich-bois: QUAND LA MANCHE SE RETIRE. Mont Saint Michel.