Tag: Life

THE MESSAGE COMES TO HOLLYWOOD -ELLIOTT RODGER

~ LouLou ~ 3 Comments

ElliottBUGSY

Rodger is on my mind. Like yours;  if you are able to  make time to think about it.

Events that curdle cocktails at a flaming hot party.  My sorrow, after the relatives of those who were murdered, bubbles in the notion that we still won’t talk, move, or protest, for the ballooning results of mental illness. It’s just beyond what I can handle without rage or tears.

HOW MANY MORE YOUNG MEN HAVE TO SHOOT BEFORE WE FEEL THE BLOOD?

Someone is out there that could push the button, or keyboard, or text, or Instagram, or whatever the newest drug for attention is, and say, LET’S TALK ABOUT MENTAL ILLNESS.

The most uncomfortable conversation for any family.

WRITERS ROOM FOR WORDPRESS BLOGGERS

~ LouLou ~ 1 Comment

20140529_124907DSC02916I cannot believe it took me this long to figure out that  I HAVE A WRITERS ROOM TO RENT and I didn’t post it on lililespen. I am still adapting, reluctantly to understanding IT language, programs, choices, and SOCIAL MARKETING.  Since all of you are writers; let me tell you about GALLERY LOULOU ROCK n ROLL VACATION MANOR.

 

I rent a Historic (1907) culturally significant  Commercial Residence that is brick and stone, hard wood floors, chandeliers, and

sixteen windows!  Two of the rooms have writing desks, my former desks.  There is an extensive library of fiction and non-fiction, vinyl records, and CD’s.  In the Garden Movie theater  you project films on a wall and have a 6 track CD player so you can mix it up. Silent films I don’t leave out  have but I’ve tried them with my music and it’s kool aid~!

My vacation rental is next door to my Casita;sealed off thick and I have my garden and entrance.

The house and porches, driveway, theater etc are exclusively for you the  tenant.  The house is TWO  BLOCKS FROM THE PLAZA DOWNTOWN, AND Palace Avenue is peppered with bistros, galleries, jewelry shops, gift shops, and antiques.

La Posada Resort and Spa, a Luxury Collection of Starwood Hotels, is across the street.  My guests are welcome to use the Spa at no cost, pending the managers rules that particular day, so you can indulge in spa, pool, and gym.  La Po is my other home; because I can walk across the street and make the staff laugh,  have a drink at the Staab House with Raul and Stephanie;  the best bartenders in town. There’s an outdoor patio and two indoor restaurants serving New Mexican cuisine and luscious cocktails.

As you are all writers; I’ve decided to make an exception and rent out one of the writing rooms. Some of my readers are from India,

Australia, Venezuela, Russia, Mexico and the USA. It would be a thrill to meet anyone of you!  As you see, I go by a saying from the film???

” If you want to know if you can trust someone, trust them.”  I will remember it; I’m sure it was a  gangster flick.

My websites rates are based on the four bedroom house.   The rate for the writers room would be $100.00 night. You would have use of the downstairs kitchen if the house was not occupied.

http://www.vrbo.com/345671,    http://www.galleryloulouvacationsantafenm.com/wordpress,  http://www.historicstay.com 

LOOK FORWARD TO EXPLORING THIS IDEA MORE!

IMG_049120140422_120618DSC02898

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SOCIAL MEDIA SPARKS MY EMOTIONS

~ LouLou ~ 2 Comments

real socializing
real socializing

Our society has led us to the path of non-involvement. FB did that,
Email did that, cell phones did that. Yea, I love em’  for the
thing they knew we’d love them for; a delete button.

We, I mean most of us that don’t control millions of political decisions, cannot handle much more. But we could save ourselves from a real famine, a civil war , or  war on our country.   Who  would come to our aid? I really wonder.  I bet on us; the ones who’ve always struggled.
We are not involved with each other anymore; it’s like having a manicure to break out of a relationship, and if you lose your job you won’t have enough money for a manicure. So you don’t lose your job; you work  eighteen hours a day and get paid less than your staff.   But nobody cares; not unless you go viral or if you have a million   Blog stats. Social media. Then you will go somewhere; you will have a job. Artists, are  digital: writers, photographers;  musicians. Who knows whose who anymore.  I think Theater is the only venue left of our physical   involvement.  Theater is life; and no one walks out without having something to say.  I also include: dance, concerts, opera, poetry readings, performance artist, and comedians.  I prefer to see it live!

PUZZLE OF SOLITUDE FOUR

~ LouLou ~ Leave a comment

 

I wrote this short piece by hand in April.

It is snowing today; the first time since February. A collage of scenery rearranges the birth of spring as a brisk snow flurry sweeps through Santa Fe.  Across the street, inside the hotel families are dining, or comparing observations with other guests, drinking apple cider and being in vacation. I see them unload suitcases, and several tote bags, a lot of luggage seems necessary for tourists these days. Teenagers are multi-texting; unaware of the flawless blue sky or architecture. I am looking for artists who’ve come to capture the light, or heal  city bruises with the language of the Indian world. The coterie of artists drawn to Santa Fe are now a minority; and on the horizon are  tour buses, family reunions, and corporate retreats.

I am standing in the center of the garden, studying the entanglement of spindly branches, clinging to the brick wall. The wall looks like an abstraction of a Kandinsky painting.My sense is that I should not pester myself about unfinished desk business-but to just turn off the motor and observe my fortune. To watch clouds so deeply, and see the shapes turn from a penis to a whale, (analyze that) has always been an act of love. Some people stare at rocks, or flowers, or rain; for me it is the clouds.
The sky has just been ticked off by the sun and she is spreading like butter over my face and legs.

Costume design and realization for ‘Seeing’ by Kandinsky. A contemporary dance interpretation.


Hanging on to home for a lot of us has become a business; a renting out rooms, and converting to a vacation rental to avoid foreclosure. I can sit inside the Movie Theater (a converted garage) and launch into a montage of memories. The Michael Jackson tribute party after he died, when friends came and we danced to his videos; and the Jimi Hendrix live DVD night that mixed jubilation, remembrance, and a lot of laughing as I expelling all I knew about Jimi to a man of twenty-seven. We always showed a film coinciding with a new exhibition of photography. Guests lingered past midnight and I had to turn off the lights to demonstrate closure. Couples in the theater necking, young adults roaring with inflammable laughter upon each opportunity, and hungry men and women waltzing around each other for a bite of passion. Gallery receptions were packed back then; a staggering amount of partying and dancing collided on Canyon Road to live music and open bars.
Hanging on to memories in corners of the house. I’ll take them with me. It will be a leap of courage to untangle myself from this home.wassily kandinsky art artist
I can almost hear the birds wind as they fly over me; my eyes close to listen. The lullaby is a bath of nature and would not have occurred unless I was alone. I want to reach through writing,  to the subject of misfits and loners, outcasts and unrecognized that are too ripe to touch, to sensitive and unyielding; annoyed with the outside world. Like me.

Contemporary PaintingKandinsky-my tree

 

 

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A LADY LIKE AUDREY

~ LouLou ~ 1 Comment

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The throw of the dice this week lands on new adventures in selfless livingness.
There is assurance that most of all, above the tasks, aspirations, dreams and commitments; we are dead beats without love. The feeling has to pass through our veins and arteries, as often as possible, from one suitor or another. You can love a moon in a black sky, as much as a man or woman. I believe the feeling it gives us is medicinal. It gives us something no other prescription can. That is why when sickness comes, all the love pours out from friends and family.
This comes at a time when a beautiful woman who is more saintly and then anyone I’ve met, except my mother, is suffering. You wouldn’t recognize the heaviness she is carrying; she remains light and sprite. Her doe birch brown eyes flatter her high forehead, and her silky mane of brown hair that moves like a Clairol commercial, do not interfere with her life. She devotes much of her time to the Good Samaritan manifesto. She regularly offers her time to the various shelters, serves food, and provides loving comfort to the sick with her registered lap poodle. She told me that the residents of the hospice all wait for her to show up.
“It’s amazing; they are all standing there waiting for me to come in. No one visits them. Can you imagine living like that??”
“No.
“You should come with me sometime; it’ll give you a whole new perspective.”
I agreed; and thought about what she said. We all have our way of disposing of selfish acts. Some pray, some donate money, and what I’ve found that works for me is to spread my kookiness and follies without prejudgment. If someone looks sour and glib; that’s the person who needs me. It is a branch of love that will keep on blooming.

 

THE PUZZLE OF SOLITUDE Part One

~ LouLou ~ 2 Comments

Adventures in Livingness

The people who pass my window aren’t snapped into wool and leather collars any longer. Now their heads raise to the sun; but their movement is sluggishly unfamiliar with spring steps. Soon they’ll be jogging and eying the world through sunglasses instead of face-warmers. Street scenery is similar to my garden; fresh green stems courageously pop up while the rose bushes remain embryos.  20140410_183024[1]
Today I read for two hours; the longest stretch since last year. I had to stay in bed with a tray of coffee and closed curtains. I was restored to the first readings of Anais, when people still talked about her being a lesbian; when in fact she was not expressing that kind of love at all. Only the love as deep as two women want to go. Belonging to her group of artists and bohemian so appealed to me then as a teenager-I manifested that camaraderie by finding love in artists and misfits, malcontents, with rare wisdom and foresight. Men that chose not to belong because they had their own opinions.
The farolitos reflect diamonds of light when the sun is out. I can look out the window by my desk all day to catch surprises. The exchanges with staff at the hotel in a hand swipe and face to face muses on hotel complaints. A man in khaki’s and hiking boots taking studied photos of my house, and the same woman, who talks incessant baby talk to her dog as he pranced ahead.
My emotional tail is wagging; curled up in my desk chair I feel almost as if I was born in this chair. It’s cushioned me through a cyclone of adventures in livingness.
This piece of writing was handwritten on a tablet back in late January. I’ve made some minor additions and deletions. The editor I use before submitting to a publisher asked me, “Why do you keep switching between past and present tense?” I told her I don’t control that until I’m in final editing. My control over my writing is identical to my control over how I live. Acting on impulse, expanding the mundane into a musical, feasting on all the emotions, and fabricating thorny Walter Mitty encounters. I don’t even think of applying proven methods; I make up new ones.
Back to this plateau of solitude. Love what you have and especially yourself; with all your flaws. Integrity is more critical; be proud  not just for yourself, but because someone out there needs you.

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EVERY GENERATION IS TO TURN TURN TURN AND

~ LouLou ~ 1 Comment

are destined to change the generation before. I only know from the fifties. When I grew up, socializing in fours and hundreds was part of life. Gatherings from my generation was Woodstock, concerts in the park without violence, impromptu jams and performance The millijoules want an audience in numbers dice-logo.gif ONLINE=money. It is the WAY THEY HAVE BEEN BROUGHT UP.

PUZZLE OF SOLITUDE PART TWO

~ LouLou ~ 1 Comment

PUZZLE OF SOLITUDE PART TWO.

PUZZLE OF SOLITUDE PART TWO

~ LouLou ~ 1 Comment

DSC01598THE PUZZLE OF SOLITUDE will always be a puzzle because our lives, solo or mated, are puzzled by too much solitude, or not enough.

December and January. I fought what seemed endless solitude with my Irish Russian temper; bashing and short-tempered with customer service, world news, and mindless tasks. Then in February, it seemed that the fire dulled, and consciousness triumphed. It was a long wait; sometimes I have convinced my basement of survival would sink. It did not. There was an adventure that I did not know was happening until now, three months later.
I learned how to make friends with myself, and find the frolic and follies in the world that I created. I had to laugh alone and so I watched screwball comedies and recognized the humor of my irregularities; wearing a sweater inside out, pouring coffee into a wine glass for a cocktail, and chuckling up and down the staircase, because I kept forgetting where I left my phone. My head was elsewhere-daydreaming.
I learned how to repair house calamities; screw and unscrew doors and windows, seal up cracks, and paint. I rejuvenated every wood board, handle, chair, and table with Old English Oil. As one pal commented on a visit to the house, ‘ It’s a perfect day for Old English! ‘I needed to see a transformation, and at the time, my direction was to convert this house into the museum of cool. Then I would get a swell of vacation rental bookings from Trip advisor, VRBO, and Homeaway, and drive west, north, and south; lifting up the curtain on a new and more exhilarating act.
A surprise from the weather channel, we were basking in the sunlight in March. The winter was milder than I had ever experienced here; and how could I complain when half of the USA was sliding, sinking, or snowbound without a way out. The ease of adaptation was preserved by the horrific scenes in the Midwest and East. In the kitchen; my heart simmered while stirring my weekly slumguillion gumbo, stew, and casseroles, chopping away while listening to Tony Bennett, Nat King Cole, and Frank Sinatra.
Winter has in the past been a funnel that leads to writing. Not this winter; my last column was in November. The activity of pushing forward became important, and the results were compelling. If I was not able to write it was because the material was not dry. TOO

LET A MAN BE A MAN LET A WOMAN BE A WOMAN

~ LouLou ~ 1 Comment

Bob and Baez
Bob and Baez

Dress for them, cook for them, touch for them, and give them a chance to love you.

~ LouLou

London
London (Photo credit: @Doug88888)

 

Snowflakes, and charcoal sketched clouds soufflé the sky. 

 

 

 

“Darling! Please shovel the front porch,” I say to no one as my hand lazily grips
the handle, carelessly moving the shovel.

 

  • I watch the street. There are suits
    and skirts straddling terrorist chic back packs, and tiny children dressed in
    wool coats with tied hats prance behind Mums, on their Saturday shop day.

 

  • SOME musicians are playing on
    one corner on the other side of the street is the Symphony Hall, squared between a paste
    up pattern of colorful ancient theaters, opening doors to restaurant windows  lit with
    candles, perfumed air, and smoky pubs pack and push blokes and chicks.
  • I
    am in London.
  • In my home; in Santa Fe, New
    Mexico a muscle of winter has squeezed the
    noise of street life.
  • I chose between ribbons and bows sipping and sliding down Palace Avenue,
    to eat Chocolate pumpkin cream in zippered toes, on the rug, next to the
    fireplace.

    Huggin and kissin the Prancers and Dancers of my gang

    ITS HOLIDAY SEASON SO  SWING, SING, ROCK, WAVE,
    SMILE, GIVE

  • BAKE, READ, CREATE,
  • KISS CHRISTMAS.

 

SURREALISM OR MOVEMENT

~ LouLou ~ Leave a comment

           I‘ve been stalked by a sensation and image of Loulou, scrambled up in whistles blowing, each one commanding me in a different direction. The annoyance of conflicting orders robs me of my Aladdin ( magic moments), DICE LOGO

sURREALISM 2
sURREALISM 2 (Photo credit: Nesster)

 AS I CLEAR OUT THE FEAR OF NEW FEELINGS .  I feel like time is  belted with interior stop lights, instructions, and preparation for a new passage to go through.  What happens is subtle, but when so much time is placed in introspection,  life looses it’s Aladdin. It is time to polish my gold lamp and follow an  unknown light. Do you know what I mean?