Good news, today. I just heard from Jacquelyn, that Lorazepam and the Valley of Skin is going to be released in Stockholm and the US this winter. I am terribly excited. It will be under a different cover I think, but here is the old one.

The chapbook was put together out of my zinemakers urge, for some sort of post-school expression, and I'm thrilled that it was found interesting by others. Their new website is here.

My roommate and I were manically bouncing around the room this morning, she's writing new material for her thesis. I am trying to get back into that state, of production, of will. The internet can become such a time-suck...I'm trying to spend less time on it and more working, but the Jet Set Desolate manuscript is at a difficult point right now. It is the problem of perspective...when Brady is present, and Lena is not. Some of these moments can be easily fixed by putting Lena in the room in a passive state, but other situations are more difficult.

Wake up - pills
Go to sleep - more pills

Absence and presence. Preiscence. Premonitions.

Seratonin Sangria Santeria.

I go to sleep, and dream of sick rats, dirty, squabbling, dying. I wake up at 8:30 and they are sweet blue furballs, round in their shoebox.

Video killed the radio star
Internet killed the zine.

But what's going to off the internet?

I remember making zines, feeling there was an evil creeping voicelessness of being a teenage girl. Now there are avenues of expression, so many.

My glasses lost, I cannot keep up.

It's time for lists.

Books I am in the middle of reading:

• More, Now, Again, Elizabeth Wurtzel
• The Virgin of Flames, Chris Abani
• Starting from Scratch, Rita Mae Brown
• Bloom, Fall 2005

What is secret and what is exposed, what is kept and what is discarded.

I live in Los Angeles, with its dance between public exposure, dense cult secrecy, and willful exploitation. I like it here.

Here is a collage I made a few years ago.




I tend to look down on this art form, seeing as appropriate for teenage girls, but the power of the zine is still lurking somewhere in the cerebral cortex, and that day I had to let it out. It's interesting to me that zines were the dominant creative form (in some subcultures, definitely mine), but as time passed, easier and more efficient methods dominated. Such as this. Or MySpace. I suppose there were fewer swingers wielding the tape, but it's really oh so much the same.

An old cover.



Ah, youth. Etc...