Joshua A. Triliegi 213 975 0067 Joshua@BUREAUofARTSandCULTURE.com
The Editor and Publisher of BUREAU of ARTS and CULTURE
Announces a New Experimental Serial Novel about Los Angeles.
Mr Triliegi will write a chapter a day for the next few weeks and
post the results in various languages at the three blog spots that
regularly showcase Art, Theater, Music and Community events.
" I thought it would be a good writing exercise to simply write
about what I see and hear everyday on the streets of the city.
To simply create a chapter a day based on the people and things
going on in Los Angeles. Since we all come from so many back-
grounds, styles, cultures and languages, I decided to structure
the multi character novel to represent all of Los Angeles. I simply
write a chapter a day by allowing the characters to unfold & the
story to reveal itself based directly on the things I see and hear."
" Its pure fiction based on generalities. For instance, Chapter Three,
which was inspired by a girl I saw on the bus earlier in the day, she
had a sketch book with some nice artworks and I thought about her."
Or Chapter One, based on a conversation I had with a guy who was
entering back into society from a long stretch in the penitentiary.
I thought about what other people in his life may have been thinking."
" Its a challenge to simply introduce a character and follow the
creative
line as it flows into something structured and complete. I usually know
the beginning and the end of each Chapter, and simply let the middle
fill itself out. I like the daily discipline as well as the audience
being
in on the process. In this particular case, I don't really take notes.
I just start with an idea and let it flow. This is not a normal novel by
any means, but it is a new and interesting challenge for both the
writer and the readers. Were publishing it in three cities and a wide
variety of languages, English, Italian, French, Chinese, Armenian,
Chinese, Hebrew, Japanese & Korean so far. Its been a lot of fun
I hope the people of Los Angeles and the world will follow it out as
it reveals itself. As the writer, in this particular case, I am just as
curious as the reader as to what will happen and how things will go.
The cool thing about this project is how quickly the characters began
to take on a life of their own. "
" Its an interesting way to work. I am putting together several other
writing projects and decided that this would be a good warmer upper.
We get anywhere from a 50 to 400+ views a day on our website for
our Articles, Reviews and especially our Audio Interviews, so this
particular literature project should be good exercise and at the same
time, allow people to see how a novel is actually created day by day."
They Call It The City of Angels
A New Serial Novel by Joshua A. TRILIEGI
Exclusively for Readers of BUREAU of ARTS and CULTURE and
our Three sites in Los Angeles, San Francisco and New York City
All National & International Copy Rights Reserved to the Author
Chapter One: Louis
Los Angeles is a funny place to live, but those laughing were
usually from out of town. Louis was a busboy down at Old Ma
Fritters Cafe & Saloon, the longest running truck stop in the
Harbor. He had been a busboy for almost twenty six years,
before that, he washed dishes, before that, he attended the
parking lot. Directing the truck drivers where to park, making
sure the working mom's could get in and out without missing
a beat, knowing the difference between regulars who ate at the
counter and the new comers who were most likely in town to
visit the Queen Mary or take a cruise Catalina Island for the day.
All in all, Louis was a quiet, hard working man with a simple view
on life. He was happy to have a job, never missed a day of work,
except the day his son was sentenced to seventeen years in the
penitentiary for manslaughter. That was over fifteen years ago
and today was the day that Louis Junior would come home,
this made him nervous.
Since that time, his wife had a stroke, his daughter had married
a local cop and he had three beautiful grandkids. So much had
changed since louis junior had gone away. In 1976, it was a old
world, now it was nineteen-ninety-one. The Dodgers entire team
had been replaced, there were new presidents, everything was
different. But still, he showed up to work on time and already
the word had gotten out that Louis Junior was back in town and
heading this way. He had reservations. He knew that Junior was
a good kid, got caught up with the wrong friends early on, had
been picked on and turned tough gut mostly for his own survival.
The accident had been complicated, it had involved a rival member
of another group of kids as well as one of Junior's ex- girlfriends
and to top it off the first cop on the scene was Louis' s new son-in
-law, Chuck, who happened to be white. They all lived in a big
victorian style house just above the port, which had a guest house
where Louis senior lived and in the big house, his daughter, Celia,
Chuck and the three girls, Cindy, Donna and Francine. It was a
good life, most of the time. Louis wondered exactly what he would
say, where junior would sleep and how all of this would play out.
He figured junior could stay on the couch in the guest house and
later he could break the news that after all was said and done:
Chuck had met Celia after that day in court and one thing led to
another, as things like this often do & well, here we are, a family.
He couldn't know exactly what Junior would think, say or do, but
he knew it wouldn't be a smooth transition. Junior had been saved
in the joint and had found god. He belonged to an outreach program
that was ready to offer him a chance to work and go back to school,
but housing was not provided. So, Louis said, " Yes son, of course
you can stay with us while you get back on your feet. " And so the
day started, as these days often do down in the port. Up at 5 AM,
to work by five thirty, he'd have an early lunch and since everyone
knew junior was coming home, had the choice to go home early,
but had already decide to stay the duration. Work was his way of
dealing with the troubles of life. It steadied his resolve, gave him
roots, kept him calm, kept him centered, even if deep down inside,
he knew that this was not an ordinary day and that things could
go bad.
No one was more aware of the impending problems than Chuck,
who worked at the front desk office directly across from the loading
docks at the longshore pick up and delivery. He hadn't seen Junior
since that day in court and before that the terrible rainy night on the
street with bodies mangled, wind swept asphalt, palm trees bending
to the ground and a fierce full moon reflecting anguish, pain and death,
in his eyes. He couldn't sleep all that morning. For a cop, he was, not
a total square, his own brother had been a pot dealer back in the nine-
teen sixties and since then, he himself had imbibed more than a few
glasses of whiskey a night. He was hip to jazz music, loved the various
cultures in Los Angeles and more than anything, adored his wife and
three girls. His family was his everything. He was thinking about junior
as he pulled into the cafe to get breakfast to go, and three cups of joe
for the boys at the office, who secretly hated the coffee served in the
back room. Ma Fritters Coffee was made with a pinch of cinnamon and
was generally strong compared to the instant regulation joe that the
knuckle heads made. Know one said anything as Chuck pulled into the
cafe, but everyone knew what was on their minds as Louis and Chuck
exchanged words in the parking lot. The waitresses and line cooks
stopped what they were doing and saying for just a second or two
and sure enough a hush drifted through the place. Those who didn't
know the score figured it out pretty quick. The cop and the busboy,
who was actually a fully grown man with grandkids, chatted quietly
about the day. Neither had figured out what was the best way to deal
with it, nor did they fully understand how junior would take it: both
understood it wouldn't be easy. Life in the L.A. Harbor never was.
They Call It The City of Angels
Chapter Two: Mickey
"Look left, then right, then left again." What the hell is so difficult
about that ? Mickey muttered out loud to some mindless quack as
he skidded around the car and cranked his wrist an eighth of an inch,
which meant he was now riding from a basic twenty-five miles per
hour to the preferred forty-five along the coast of Malibu and on
into Venice beach where he kept a shop that tended strictly to Harley-
Davidson's. Mickey was a third generation biker, his Dad had known
some pretty serious guys back in the day. His grandfather had driven
a Harley from Washington State clear down to Southern California
back in the nineteen forties before going off to war, with the rest of
his generation. Back when Mickey was a kid, bikers were hated and
or feared by the general populist. Now, everybody and their grandma
wants to claim some piece of this heritage. His old man fixed bikes for
some of the well known biker gangs throughout California, but he never
actually signed up, if you know what I mean. What they call a civilian.
When his old man left town for a month, which turned into a decade,
Mickey finally took a crow bar to the lock on the old man's wood shed,
found his tools and started a business of his own. It wasn't one of
those
places with a big neon sign or anything like that, he just fixed bikes
for
guys in the neighborhood and eventually had a couple dozen regulars
and that was it. He had been offered partnerships before by local shops,
investors, squares with enough money to set him up well, but simply
didn't want the hassle. " As soon as you take their money, they own
you." That was his usual reply, but lately he'd gotten tired of the
bullshit.
Guys not paying what they owed, insurance companies not releasing
the funds on time, just cause they knew he was an unofficial Harley
repairman, as opposed to the guys with the big signs out front. Part
of him rejected the whole idea of middle America embracing the Harley
phenomenon. The other part of him knew it was good for business and
just might bring the company back into a thriving system, where bikers
could get some respect again. So, when a local rich kid offered him
10,000 dollars to expand the shop, he took it. Reluctantly, accepted a
chance to buy some new tools, get bonded, insured, even had the business
officially certified with a doing business as 'Mickey's Motorcycles'
license.
Some people said Mickey's old man had gone to Mexico, others figured
he got caught up in some kind of deal gone awry. There was talk that he
was overseas, Amsterdam maybe. No one knew for sure. He had stopped
thinking about it a few years back. Mickey made the house payments, took
care of his grandmother and tolerated his Mothers new boyfriends as best
he could. So much had changed since they were kids, growing up in Venice
beach. Back then it was mostly poor folks, now the place was turning
into
something else: well known actors, architects, airline pilots. It was a
good
thing his old man bought the place otherwise Mickey and his girlfriend,
Moon, would have been out of that neighborhood years ago. They lived a
block and a half away from Dennis Hopper's house & when Hopper bought
a Harley, Mickey was the guy he brought it to. Who didn't want to hang
out with Dennis Hopper? Mickey had creds on the street and in the hills,
which was kind of rare. He had clients up and down the coast and didn't
mind much making house calls, even if it took a couple days. He'd crash
out on the couch or garage or guest house until the job was done. Most
guys liked his company and liked to hear him wax poetic about the early
days of Rock and Roll, his mom had been the manager of several bands
up in the bay area and he knew just about everyone from Jerry Garcia's
to The Moby Grape's. People would say that Mickey was made from a
kind of American counter culture royalty. But, he shunned all that talk.
One of those quiet throw backs, except when it came to Moon, his only
truly admittedly obsessive relationship. Whatever she wanted, she got.
Moon was his first and only love. Once they had broken up for a day and
a half during high school graduation. A Friday night and all of
Saturday,
by Sunday morning, they were back together and never looked back.
As he pulled into the driveway, he glanced over to find his mother's new
boyfriend's red convertible, the passenger side windshield was riddled
with
what looked like bullet holes, upon closer inspection, he realized the
holes
were made with stiletto heels kicked from the inside out. "Here we go."
he thought, as he turned off the bike and figured, o.k. this generator
is
fixed. He knew there was something brewing, so he quietly strolled past
the front house and headed straight for Pop's shed. Always a safe
refuge.
But there in the back yard was the boyfriend wearing nothing more than
a pair of Ray-Bans and in a see through nighty, his Mom attending the
barbecue. " For christ sake Mag, what if Calley walks back here ?"
who momentarily turns in his direction, " Oh Mick, grow up will ya ? "
She had been telling him that since the time he was ten years old :
"Your not a kid anymore mick, your ten years old now, grow up."
He did. Got back on the bike, which he hadn't planned on returning
to his client till tomorrow, ripped up Pacific Coast Highway and on
into Zuma Beach, collected his fee and instead of getting a ride from
Jay, simply hopped on the Bus and called it a day. That's when he
noticed a beach comber who sure looked a lot like his dad. "That's
impossible. Must be going nuts. I gotta get out of here." He did.
They Call It The City of Angels
Chapter Three: Josie
Josie was an artist. They had noticed that right away. By the time
she was three, she could sing a tune. By the time she was nine, she
could mimic any dance movement. By the time she was twelve she
could draw realistic pictures that were up to scratch with any adult.
Today is Josie's birthday. Her room is covered in teen beat posters.
Packs of Bubble-Yum chewing gum on the dresser. Photographs of
her girlfriend's at school, at the beach, at the park, award ribbons
from art, dance and singing contests, a letter of recommendation
from an art teacher at the local university, a pair of tennis shoes
in the corner and of course her dozens of sketchbooks filled with
classic portraits of friends, people she observed, objects, places.
Her parents had immigrated in the early nineteen sixties, they gave
her an American name, things were going to be hard enough for her
as it was, they figured, she was born here, she's the first American
in our family, lets go with the flow. Her Dad worked at a local factory,
her Mom was a homemaker of the old world style, she sewed, cooked,
gardened and kept the books. Josie was wide open when it came to
discussing friends, school, dreams and the future, but when it came to
her boyfriends, she never ever told a soul. Not her parents, not her
girlfriends, no one. So when she started dating Louis, who was a few
years older, no one had anything to worry about, because no one knew.
He had that protective quality that some guys have, she felt safe around
him. He was knocked out by her talents, even had her design tattoos for
him and his friends. It was a taboo sort of love, the kind that couldn't
last longer than a summer and it didn't. Louis eventually started dating
girls his age and Josie rebounded with a kid from her own school and
neighborhood. But deep down inside, she still had a love for Louis and
even though he didn't know it, he too was still in love with her.
By the time winter came along, they found themselves in the awkward
situation of having to see one another, sometimes in the company of
each others new playmates. At first this seemed easy, smile, wave, a
simple hello or how ya doing ? But after these moments, Louis found
himself troubled, confused, sometimes even angry. He didn't know who
he was angry with, Josie, the new boyfriend or himself, he just knew
that something wasn't exactly settled and it really confused him to the
point where sometimes he couldn't sleep. So, he started to call her up
just to say hi, then Josie's new boyfriend got word of this and reacted
accordingly. One thing led to another and now the boys were talking
about a showdown. The kind that spreads quickly, the word got out,
after a dance at school, they were going to meet and settled this thing.
Josie freaked when she found out, felt guilty, felt responsible and had
no one to tell because this was a part of her life she had always kept
to herself. So the pressure mounted until the night of the dance.
At first Josie said she wasn't going, then she changed her mind and told
Ryan, her new boyfriend, that she was going with friends and they could
talk after the dance, hoping this would diffuse the pressure and by then
she could help avoid an actual fight. Though, the way things went only
worsened the situation. Instead of avoiding a fist fight the entire
event
became a drag race through the boulevards of Los Angeles and by the
end of the night a car flipped in mid air, up an over the railroad
tracks.
Josie's Dad knocked on her bedroom door, no one answered. He called
her girlfriend's parents, no one knew what happened. Eventually they got
a call from officer Chuck of the county police department explaining
that
there had a been a terrible accident and could they please come down to
the Harbor hospital to help sort something out. They were unsure about
the identity of a person and needed verification. When Josie's parents
arrived, Chuck was standing in the hallway, clipboard in hand, this was
the most difficult part of his job. He could handle the tough guys, the
smart aleck public, the other cops on the squad, but he couldn't hold
his
water when it came to telling parents that we think your child is dead.
Josies's parents were led into a well lit room, two bodies were laying
on
aluminum stretchers with sheets covering each. The bodies had been
washed
of all blood, but there was nothing that could be done about all the
torn and
mangled flesh. Josie was under one of the sheets, Ryan was under the
other.
It was the first time their parents would ever meet. Eventually they
would
meet again in court and again at the arraignments and again upon Louis's
release from prison. Today is Josie's birthday and if she hadn't died
back in
nineteen seventy-six, she would have been thirty years old. Her dad
closed
the bedroom door, which he kept exactly as it had been the day she died,
wiped his eyes and promised himself that someone was gonna pay for this
pain. By then, he'd lost his wife and by now he began to lose is mind.
They Call It The City of Angels
Chapter Four: Jordan
Jordan is a bus driver, it didn't define him, he's also a bass man,
a basketball coach, a bit of a poet too. He is the youngest bus
driver in all of Los Angeles County. Came out here to get away
from a seriously tragic family history. Born in Detroit, the week
of the famous riots, his dad was a serious player and took the fall
for being a member of an elite crew of dudes who actually helped
to start it. His Mom was in and out of town so much, he hardly
knew her. Came out here alone on a one time musical scholarship.
Recently, he ended up hocking his bass, a red fender given to him
by his uncle, still had the pawn ticket in his wallet, been meaning
to get over there to extend the loan voucher another ninety days so
he could get it back after paying up in full. Wanted to buy his girl
a pair of earrings and figured he could always get the bass back,
but with his car payment, rent and all the rest, he just let it drift.
He was two weeks away from getting off probation from
the transit authority. Six weeks of training and almost a
year driving and finally he would be able to exhale. His first
route started near LAX Airport, up La Brea, over to Crenshaw,
past Leimert Park & around Rodeo, down Martin Luther King
to The Sports Arena and back around again. He liked it.
reminded him of his parents, his heritage, his people.
But now, they had him driving from Venice Boulevard onto
the 405 freeway, up through Santa Monica onto Pacific Coast
Highway, past Pepperdine University and all the way up to
Malibu Pier and back again. Most people would have loved
that route but Jordan always said the drivers were snobs, the
kids crossed the street without looking, carrying surfboards,
lawn chairs, tourists from all corners of the world, asking
directions to places he never heard of, in languages he never
knew. He was hoping to get his old route back, but as the odd
man at transit authority, the chances were mighty slim. Most
of the drivers, managers, supervisors and radio dispatch persons
were steeped in the Jesus thing: Baptist, Christian, Catholic,
Protestant, you name it. Jordan was a third generation Muslim.
His Daddy, his Granddad, his Uncles, some of his Aunts and him.
He had already made his four rotations by seven o'clock that
evening, grabbed a cup of coffee and was looking forward to
seeing his lady for a late dinner at her place. Just past the
Malibu Pier, an area where he was always extra careful, he
slowed down a bit and coasted around the curve through to
the next straight away stretch, the sun was setting a golden,
peach - like glow, palm trees silhouetted in an all black design
that looked like a postcard. It wasn't Crenshaw, but it could of
been worse. Some routes were very tough on a driver, others
were easy street. Looking down the highway, he noticed a small
dark circle along the horizon line, couldn't figure out what it was.
A trash-bag? A backpack ? As he got closer, the object came into
view, it was a turtle, a rather large sized turtle crawling from
left to right, he swerved to the right avoiding the turtle, as he
did so, a camper van parked on the right pulled out in front of
him, and as it did, that is when he noticed the beachcomber
standing directly in his path, hit the brakes, skidding several
yards and slamming into the beachcombers several bags and
eventually knocking him to the asphalt, he turned to ask the
lone passenger if he had seen what just happened, but not a
soul was on the bus. " Could have sworn that cat was still on."
The first thing you are supposed to do is call it in. But Jordan,
just on reflex jumped off the bus to see what happened. He
looked down and splayed across the highway were several
small packages wrapped in brown paper and masking tape.
He looked closer at the corner of one of the small bundles
and noticed it was full of currency, unmistakably dollar bills.
All day long he had to watch people putting bills into the slot
on his bus, the corners always bending, creating a problem.
If anyone knew what the corner of a dollar bill looked like,
it was Jordan. The beachcomber, was out like a light, but
when Jordan put his ear to the mans chest, he could hear him
breathing. He could also smell his breath, whiskey and onions.
Why a man does what he does is always a mystery, mostly to
the man himself, so when he reached to pick up one of the
bundles and put it in his inside left pocket, it seemed pretty
natural. He got back on the bus and called it in. By now the
sun was down. The highway was closed. Ambulance, cops,
transit authority, the whole shebang. When radio reporters,
traffic helicopters and the local television stations came out,
he figured that he was not only going to be late for dinner.
There was a good chance he was going to be fired, even if it
wasn't his fault, even if the guy was drunk. To top it off, the
turtle was no where to be seen, that was his whole defense.
Wanda heard about it on the radio before he even got home.
They Call It The City of Angels
Chapter Five: Cliff
Cliff was psychic, not for a living or anything like that. Just had
a knack for reading people, had a way with animals and a sort
of connection with the elements that was, let us say, out of the
ordinary. Like a lot of so-called handicapped persons, he had
some hidden gifts that made up for the fact that he couldn't
speak very well, had trouble with motor skills, would never be
able to hold down a job, keep a home or cook his own meals.
He was disabled as people like to say, remedial or worse even,
retarded. Cliff's father, Stan, was a judge, he always winced when
his colleagues used that term. His mother, Dora was a retired
lawyer who ran her own legal advisement company and would
actually correct people whenever they denigrated her son with
those types of labels. "Cliff is challenged, but he's no dummy." or
"He may need some help, but he's got a great heart." or "He has
his problems, but he's never said a bad thing about you." She was
nobodies fool. And by god she wasn't about to let people get away
with any mean spirited conversation about her only child.
He attended a sort of day care type of school. One in which there
were daily outings in between lessons, classes, working with sound,
colors, sometimes simplified mathematics and social sciences, to a
degree. In the classroom, his teachers were all certified practitioners,
but on daily social outings, volunteers were often on staff. Retired
widows, stay at home wives, middled aged women who were unmarried,
this kind of thing. They often took a group of kids to the park, out to
lunch or even to a museum every now and then. One day, one of Dora's
clients recognized him walking with his schoolmates and a volunteer
up past the L.A County Museum of Art. She specifically remembered
Cliff because her own daughter had some issues which led her to seek
legal advice and Cliff happened to be in the office with mom. Some
time later, the client mentioned in passing that she ran into Cliff at
the museum and couldn't help but notice that the kids were wearing
shirts and jackets of a wide variety with disparaging comments of
all sorts. Cliffs T-shirt, said in bold black letters : YOU STINK !
Another kid wore a hat that said, ' LOSER ' , another with a
jacket that stated, ' I never Loved You '. The client chuckled, asking
Dora where she bought it. Cliffs mom didn't buy it. In fact she had no
idea why her son was wearing it. Well, after some looking into, it
turned out that the ' volunteer ' had recently broke up with her boy
friend who happened to be a security guard at the museum, so she
made the kids wear these hats, coats and t-shirts unbeknownst to
any of the kids parents or the kids themselves. Further investigation
revealed that it had become a common practice among the volunteers
to do such a thing. The kids were being used as props. When Dora
found out about it in full, she brought it up to Stan and they decided
to do what any good legal family would do. They decided to sue.
Stan was a judge in high profile cases. Through the years, he had
watched his more liberal contemporaries end up in disparaging
posts such as traffic court in Compton or settling housing issues
Downtown, the Judge Judy type of detail. He had played his cards
right, literally. He was a kind man, patient, quiet, respected by his
bailiffs and well liked buy most of the people he worked with, not
necessarily by those he had sent to prison, but most everyone else.
Dora became a lawyer and later a legal advisor partly because they
were working in the same circles and partly to sort out the issues
they were having with Cliff early on. They loved Cliff immensely.
More than the usual parent might love a child and definitely more
than if he was, quote-unquote-normal. They had a nice size home
in the Valley and Stan drove North to work just a few miles away.
He tried not to bring his work home, but when your wife is a legal
advisor, a top notch lawyer really, it was almost impossible, cases
concerning children or abuse of authority or murder were always
a sticky issue, they both tended to lean pretty hard on the accused.
He was older by a few years, but Dora was mature for her age, so
it worked out pretty well. They all vacationed together twice a year
and during the holidays often took a cabin in the snowy topped local
mountains. Considering the situation with Cliff, they handled it well.
Around the time that Cliff became four, five and six , they noticed
he had a way of sensing what was going on , not only in their inner
lives, but also in the lives of people they worked with. If Stan had
a high profile case concerning an auto accident, Cliff might create
a drawing with unexplainable details. When Dora's mother was close
to death, he had drawn a picture of her final resting place two months
before they had chosen it. He was somehow reading the inner lives of
his parents and at first it freaked Stan out. Some days, before a big
trial,
Stan might peruse around cliffs room, looking for an image that might
help him with the case. Dora put a stop to it, but hey, who could blame
him? There son was psychic and they knew it. Wether Cliff knew it or not
didn't matter. Once, when Cliff was twelve, they woke up one early
morning
to find Cliff nestling with a Deer. He had no food to give it. He was
just
holding the dear, when they opened the door, it ran away. Another time,
a hummingbird flew into Cliffs room, sat on his finger, just sat there .
There were all kinds of encounters such as these. Dora thought maybe
she should mention it to a friend of a client who had written a book on
shamanism in the modern day, but Stan said no. He didn't want his
son ending up on some television show or lame story on NPR. It was
their secret. When Cliff got home that day, he took out a sketchbook
and drew a stunning and startling portrait of a man that Stan would
never forget, someone he hadn't thought about for fifteen years.
They Call It The City of Angels
Chapter Six: Chuck
Chuck wanted to make detective, so did half the guys in his
division. But he had been working on it actively for three and
a half years now. Had a friend downtown who advised him on
what to do, how to lay the groundwork. He started by making
friends on the street. If he found a tough guy, say, smoking pot
while driving. He'd pull him over, get his information, talk to
him a bit, instead of citing him, he'd tell him that smoking while
driving made no sense. He'd chat him up a bit, make a friend.
Later, after hours, he'd look up the kids record, run a check on
his family, find out where, when and how he hustled and made
it a point to meet him again. He did this for the past three years
and had connections all over Los Angeles, not just in his area.
He spent one day a week doing research, talking to other guys
who had made detective, even hanging around the division.
Everyone on the force knew he was angling, if it didn't interrupt
his local quotas, his desk duty and any other assignments,
no problem.
When word got out that his brother-in-law was getting out
of the joint after a fifteen year stint for manslaughter, people
started talking. Chuck realized that this was actually his
chance to make detective. These days everything on the street
was controlled by a unit of men incarcerated for decades and
sometimes for life. They gave the orders. Chuck knew that
after fifteen years, his brother-in-law, Junior had learned a
few things, things that could help Chuck move in on what they
call, the ' Big Dogs '. No detective would bother with some
small time peddlers, they all wanted a big catch, something
that would get some ink, something that would help them up
the ladder a few rungs. Recently, there had been a new crime
spreading through the city of Los Angeles. Somebody or a
group of people were torching palm trees in designated areas.
At first, they thought it was a kid or pyromaniac. As it spread
throughout Southern California, other theories popped up.
The burnt palm trees were a signal that certain local business
had not contributed to a certain individual or it was, 'a warning'
sign, 'a don't shop here' sign or a ' your on the list ' sign.
Chuck was in agreement that it was not random, he noticed
when, where and how it was playing out. Since making the
goal to become a detective, he had transformed the den into
an office. His wife and the girls knew Daddy was serious about
his work, so they watched television in the living room and
shared the master bedroom with bunk beds. While Chuck
and his wife Celia had what they commonly call a guest bed
room. Celia had an entire room to herself for dressing and
basic women's stuff with a vanity set Chuck bought when
they first got married.
In his office, which he always kept locked, Chuck had a map.
He followed murders: There had been over twenty-two in the
past ninety days. Drug busts: there had been three big ones in
the past forty-five days and dozens of small one's. Lately, he'd
been following the palm tree burnings. Even started reading
up on other incidents through history, from cross burnings to
lynching. Looking for something that might give him one up
on what was going down. The Mayor of Los Angeles, in an
official statement, directed to law enforcement had said that,
" The Palm Tree Burnings " were a scar on the city, were bad
for business, bad for tourism and had to be stopped. He wanted
a new kind of cooperation between departments wherever the
incidents had occurred. Incentives were given to both cops on
the street, detectives on the beat and even the local feds, since
several of the incidents had happened on federal property.
One happened on a reservation near Joshua Tree National
Forest and another happened directly in front of the Federal
building downtown. Some people said it was a scam, just another
distraction from the real crimes that were happening in L.A. :
Drug Smuggling, Child prostitution, Underground Pornography.
The so - called sanctioned crimes that made money. Chuck
didn't care what it was about, he had been told to get something
important on it and he'd be given a serious opportunity to make
detective. If he could crack the case, it was a total guarantee.
Several weeks earlier, Chuck went downtown to ask a couple
friends, one was a lieutenant detective, if they would give him
permission to tap the phones in his home. His brother-in-law
was getting out of the joint and maybe they could find out a
few things. The word would most likely come back officially
as a no. On his way home, he cranked up John Coltrane' s a
Love Supreme, while flying down the 110 freeway, he realized
that no one could stop him from recording any conversations
in his own home. He could drive out to the local Circuit Station,
buy some basic over the counter devices and wire the place up.
Chuck came from the generation that actually was offered shop
classes in junior high school. He had taken both wood shop and
electric classes, so, setting up the whole thing was not a big deal.
He wired the entire guest house in three hours and did it all for
less than what it would have cost to tune up the station wagon.
He couldn't tell Louis Sr. or Celia , they wouldn't understand.
It was his job. He knew that if they ever wanted to take another
vacation together, he'd have to make detective. Three days later,
Junior got out of prison and Chuck drove down to Ma Fritters
to get breakfast and check in with his father-in-law Louis Senior.
They talked about how to deal with Junior's Coming Home party.
'Are you heading back to the office ?' asked the waitress, ' Yep.'
Afterward, while driving back, he thought, ' Not for long babe. '
MAIN SITE : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURE.com
CONTACT : JOHNNYMILWAUKEE@EARTHLINK.NET
LA : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURELosAngeles.blogspot.com
BAY AREA : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURESF.blogspot.com
NEW YORK : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURENY.blogspot.com
Joshua Aaron TRILIEGI 1282 W. Sunset Bd Los Angeles
California USA 90026 Phone Direct : 213 975 0067
Joshua A. Triliegi's BUREAU of ARTS and CULTURE Magazine New York Edition an Affiliate of BUREAU of Arts and Culture NETWORK. We originally Delivered Paper Editions Now With BUREAU Magazine Sites in New York, MidWest, South, Seattle, LA, Santa Barbara, San Diego, The Literary + NEWS Site. Office 323 . 734 . 2877 Download The 300+ Page E Edition Read by Millions Worldwide.
NEW FICTION : They Call it The City of Angels / CHAPTER FIVE / A New Serial Novel by Joshua A. TRILIEGI
They Call it The City of Angels
A New Serial Novel by Joshua A. TRILIEGI
Exclusively for Readers of BUREAU of ARTS and CULTURE and
our Three sites in Los Angeles, San Francisco and New York City
All National & International Copy Rights Reserved to the Author
Chapter Five: Cliff
Cliff was psychic, not for a living or anything like that. Just had
a knack for reading people, had a way with animals and a sort
of connection with the elements that was, let us say, out of the
ordinary. Like a lot of so-called handicapped persons, he had
some hidden gifts that made up for the fact that he couldn't
speak very well, had trouble with motor skills, would never be
able to hold down a job, keep a home or cook his own meals.
He was disabled as people like to say, remedial or worse even,
retarded. Cliff's father, Stan, was a judge, he always winced when
his colleagues used that term. His mother, Dora was a retired
lawyer who ran her own legal advisement company and would
actually correct people whenever they denigrated her son with
those types of labels. "Cliff is challenged, but he's no dummy." or
"He may need some help, but he's got a great heart." or "He has
his problems, but he's never said a bad thing about you." She was
nobodies fool. And by god she wasn't about to let people get away
with any mean spirited conversation about her only child.
He attended a sort of day care type of school. One in which there
were daily outings in between lessons, classes, working with sound,
colors, sometimes simplified mathematics and social sciences, to a
degree. In the classroom, his teachers were all certified practitioners,
but on daily social outings, volunteers were often on staff. Retired
widows, stay at home wives, middled aged women who were unmarried,
this kind of thing. They often took a group of kids to the park, out to
lunch or even to a museum every now and then. One day, one of Dora's
clients recognized him walking with his schoolmates and a volunteer
up past the L.A County Museum of Art. She specifically remembered
Cliff because her own daughter had some issues which led her to seek
legal advice and Cliff happened to be in the office with mom. Some
time later, the client mentioned in passing that she ran into Cliff at
the museum and couldn't help but notice that the kids were wearing
shirts and jackets of a wide variety with disparaging comments of
all sorts. Cliffs T-shirt, said in bold black letters : YOU STINK !
Another kid wore a hat that said, ' LOSER ' , another with a
jacket that stated, ' I never Loved You '. The client chuckled, asking
Dora where she bought it. Cliffs mom didn't buy it. In fact she had no
idea why her son was wearing it. Well, after some looking into, it
turned out that the ' volunteer ' had recently broke up with her boy
friend who happened to be a security guard at the museum, so she
made the kids wear these hats, coats and t-shirts unbeknownst to
any of the kids parents or the kids themselves. Further investigation
revealed that it had become a common practice among the volunteers
to do such a thing. The kids were being used as props. When Dora
found out about it in full, she brought it up to Stan and they decided
to do what any good legal family would do. They decided to sue.
Stan was a judge in high profile cases. Through the years, he had
watched his more liberal contemporaries end up in disparaging
posts such as traffic court in Compton or settling housing issues
Downtown, the Judge Judy type of detail. He had played his cards
right, literally. He was a kind man, patient, quiet, respected by his
bailiffs and well liked buy most of the people he worked with, not
necessarily by those he had sent to prison, but most everyone else.
Dora became a lawyer and later a legal advisor partly because they
were working in the same circles and partly to sort out the issues
they were having with Cliff early on. They loved Cliff immensely.
More than the usual parent might love a child and definitely more
than if he was, quote-unquote-normal. They had a nice size home
in the Valley and Stan drove North to work just a few miles away.
He tried not to bring his work home, but when your wife is a legal
advisor, a top notch lawyer really, it was almost impossible, cases
concerning children or abuse of authority or murder were always
a sticky issue, they both tended to lean pretty hard on the accused.
He was older by a few years, but Dora was mature for her age, so
it worked out pretty well. They all vacationed together twice a year
and during the holidays often took a cabin in the snowy topped local
mountains. Considering the situation with Cliff, they handled it well.
Around the time that Cliff became four, five and six , they noticed
he had a way of sensing what was going on , not only in their inner
lives, but also in the lives of people they worked with. If Stan had
a high profile case concerning an auto accident, Cliff might create
a drawing with unexplainable details. When Dora's mother was close
to death, he had drawn a picture of her final resting place two months
before they had chosen it. He was somehow reading the inner lives of
his parents and at first it freaked Stan out. Some days, before a big
trial,
Stan might peruse around cliffs room, looking for an image that might
help him with the case. Dora put a stop to it, but hey, who could blame
him? There son was psychic and they knew it. Wether Cliff knew it or not
didn't matter. Once, when Cliff was twelve, they woke up one early
morning
to find Cliff nestling with a Deer. He had no food to give it. He was
just
holding the dear, when they opened the door, it ran away. Another time,
a hummingbird flew into Cliffs room, sat on his finger, just sat there .
There were all kinds of encounters such as these. Dora thought maybe
she should mention it to a friend of a client who had written a book on
shamanism in the modern day, but Stan said no. He didn't want his
son ending up on some television show or story on NPR. It was their
secret. When Cliff got home that day, he took out a sketchbook
and drew a stunning and startling portrait of a man that Stan would
never forget, someone he hadn't thought about for fifteen years.
MAIN SITE : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURE.com
CONTACT : JOHNNYMILWAUKEE@EARTHLINK.NET
LA : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURELosAngeles.blogspot.com
BAY AREA : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURESF.blogspot.com
NEW YORK : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURENY.blogspot.com
Joshua Aaron TRILIEGI 1282 W. Sunset Bd Los Angeles
California USA 90026 Phone Direct : 213 975 0067
A New Serial Novel by Joshua A. TRILIEGI
Exclusively for Readers of BUREAU of ARTS and CULTURE and
our Three sites in Los Angeles, San Francisco and New York City
All National & International Copy Rights Reserved to the Author
Chapter Five: Cliff
Cliff was psychic, not for a living or anything like that. Just had
a knack for reading people, had a way with animals and a sort
of connection with the elements that was, let us say, out of the
ordinary. Like a lot of so-called handicapped persons, he had
some hidden gifts that made up for the fact that he couldn't
speak very well, had trouble with motor skills, would never be
able to hold down a job, keep a home or cook his own meals.
He was disabled as people like to say, remedial or worse even,
retarded. Cliff's father, Stan, was a judge, he always winced when
his colleagues used that term. His mother, Dora was a retired
lawyer who ran her own legal advisement company and would
actually correct people whenever they denigrated her son with
those types of labels. "Cliff is challenged, but he's no dummy." or
"He may need some help, but he's got a great heart." or "He has
his problems, but he's never said a bad thing about you." She was
nobodies fool. And by god she wasn't about to let people get away
with any mean spirited conversation about her only child.
He attended a sort of day care type of school. One in which there
were daily outings in between lessons, classes, working with sound,
colors, sometimes simplified mathematics and social sciences, to a
degree. In the classroom, his teachers were all certified practitioners,
but on daily social outings, volunteers were often on staff. Retired
widows, stay at home wives, middled aged women who were unmarried,
this kind of thing. They often took a group of kids to the park, out to
lunch or even to a museum every now and then. One day, one of Dora's
clients recognized him walking with his schoolmates and a volunteer
up past the L.A County Museum of Art. She specifically remembered
Cliff because her own daughter had some issues which led her to seek
legal advice and Cliff happened to be in the office with mom. Some
time later, the client mentioned in passing that she ran into Cliff at
the museum and couldn't help but notice that the kids were wearing
shirts and jackets of a wide variety with disparaging comments of
all sorts. Cliffs T-shirt, said in bold black letters : YOU STINK !
Another kid wore a hat that said, ' LOSER ' , another with a
jacket that stated, ' I never Loved You '. The client chuckled, asking
Dora where she bought it. Cliffs mom didn't buy it. In fact she had no
idea why her son was wearing it. Well, after some looking into, it
turned out that the ' volunteer ' had recently broke up with her boy
friend who happened to be a security guard at the museum, so she
made the kids wear these hats, coats and t-shirts unbeknownst to
any of the kids parents or the kids themselves. Further investigation
revealed that it had become a common practice among the volunteers
to do such a thing. The kids were being used as props. When Dora
found out about it in full, she brought it up to Stan and they decided
to do what any good legal family would do. They decided to sue.
Stan was a judge in high profile cases. Through the years, he had
watched his more liberal contemporaries end up in disparaging
posts such as traffic court in Compton or settling housing issues
Downtown, the Judge Judy type of detail. He had played his cards
right, literally. He was a kind man, patient, quiet, respected by his
bailiffs and well liked buy most of the people he worked with, not
necessarily by those he had sent to prison, but most everyone else.
Dora became a lawyer and later a legal advisor partly because they
were working in the same circles and partly to sort out the issues
they were having with Cliff early on. They loved Cliff immensely.
More than the usual parent might love a child and definitely more
than if he was, quote-unquote-normal. They had a nice size home
in the Valley and Stan drove North to work just a few miles away.
He tried not to bring his work home, but when your wife is a legal
advisor, a top notch lawyer really, it was almost impossible, cases
concerning children or abuse of authority or murder were always
a sticky issue, they both tended to lean pretty hard on the accused.
He was older by a few years, but Dora was mature for her age, so
it worked out pretty well. They all vacationed together twice a year
and during the holidays often took a cabin in the snowy topped local
mountains. Considering the situation with Cliff, they handled it well.
Around the time that Cliff became four, five and six , they noticed
he had a way of sensing what was going on , not only in their inner
lives, but also in the lives of people they worked with. If Stan had
a high profile case concerning an auto accident, Cliff might create
a drawing with unexplainable details. When Dora's mother was close
to death, he had drawn a picture of her final resting place two months
before they had chosen it. He was somehow reading the inner lives of
his parents and at first it freaked Stan out. Some days, before a big
trial,
Stan might peruse around cliffs room, looking for an image that might
help him with the case. Dora put a stop to it, but hey, who could blame
him? There son was psychic and they knew it. Wether Cliff knew it or not
didn't matter. Once, when Cliff was twelve, they woke up one early
morning
to find Cliff nestling with a Deer. He had no food to give it. He was
just
holding the dear, when they opened the door, it ran away. Another time,
a hummingbird flew into Cliffs room, sat on his finger, just sat there .
There were all kinds of encounters such as these. Dora thought maybe
she should mention it to a friend of a client who had written a book on
shamanism in the modern day, but Stan said no. He didn't want his
son ending up on some television show or story on NPR. It was their
secret. When Cliff got home that day, he took out a sketchbook
and drew a stunning and startling portrait of a man that Stan would
never forget, someone he hadn't thought about for fifteen years.
MAIN SITE : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURE.com
CONTACT : JOHNNYMILWAUKEE@EARTHLINK.NET
LA : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURELosAngeles.blogspot.com
BAY AREA : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURESF.blogspot.com
NEW YORK : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURENY.blogspot.com
Joshua Aaron TRILIEGI 1282 W. Sunset Bd Los Angeles
California USA 90026 Phone Direct : 213 975 0067
Editor and Writer Joshua TRILIEGI shares Insights on creating " They Call It The City of Angels " A New Serial Novel Project
The Editor and Publisher of BUREAU of ARTS and CULTURE
Announces a New Experimental Serial Novel about Los Angeles.
Mr Triliegi will write a chapter a day for the next few weeks and
post the results in various languages at the three blog spots that
regularly showcase Art, Theater, Music and Community events.
" I thought it would be a good writing exercise to simply write
about what I see and hear everyday on the streets of the city.
To simply create a chapter a day based on the people and things
going on in Los Angeles. Since we all come from so many back-
grounds, styles, cultures and languages, I decided to structure
the multi character novel to represent all of Los Angeles. I simply
write a chapter a day by allowing the characters to unfold & the
story to reveal itself based directly on the things I see and hear."
" Its pure fiction based on generalities. For instance, Chapter
Three, which was inspired by a girl I saw on the bus earlier in
the day, she had a sketch book with some nice artworks and I
thought about her." Or Chapter One, based on a conversation
I had with a guy who was entering back into society from a
long stretch in the penitentiary. I thought about what other
people in his life may have been thinking."
" Its a challenge to simply introduce a character and follow the
creative line as it flows into something structured and complete.
I usually know the beginning and the end of each Chapter, and
simply let the middle fill itself out. I like the daily discipline as
well as the audience being in on the process. In this particular
case, I don't really take notes. I just start with an idea and let
it flow. This is not a normal novel by any means, but it is a new
and interesting challenge for both the writer and the readers.
Were publishing it in three cities and a wide variety of languages,
English, Italian, French, Chinese, Armenian, Chinese, Hebrew,
Japanese & Korean so far. Its been a lot of fun I hope the people
of Los Angeles and the world will follow it out as it reveals itself.
As the writer, in this particular case, I am just as curious as the
reader as to what will happen and how things will go. The cool
thing about this project is how quickly the characters began to
take on a life of their own. "
" Its an interesting way to work. I am putting together several
other writing projects and decided that this would be a good
warmer upper. We get anywhere from a 50 to 400+ views a
day on our website for our Articles, Reviews and especially
our Audio Interviews, so this particular literature project should
be good exercise and at the same time, allow people to see how
a novel is actually created day by day."
Thank You,
Joshua A. TRILIEGI
Editor - in - Chief
MAIN SITE : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURE.com
CONTACT : JOHNNYMILWAUKEE@EARTHLINK.NET
LA : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURELosAngeles.blogspot.com
BAY AREA : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURESF.blogspot.com
NEW YORK : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURENY.blogspot.com
Joshua Aaron TRILIEGI 1282 W. Sunset Bd Los Angeles
California USA 90026 Phone Direct : 213 975 0067
Announces a New Experimental Serial Novel about Los Angeles.
Mr Triliegi will write a chapter a day for the next few weeks and
post the results in various languages at the three blog spots that
regularly showcase Art, Theater, Music and Community events.
" I thought it would be a good writing exercise to simply write
about what I see and hear everyday on the streets of the city.
To simply create a chapter a day based on the people and things
going on in Los Angeles. Since we all come from so many back-
grounds, styles, cultures and languages, I decided to structure
the multi character novel to represent all of Los Angeles. I simply
write a chapter a day by allowing the characters to unfold & the
story to reveal itself based directly on the things I see and hear."
" Its pure fiction based on generalities. For instance, Chapter
Three, which was inspired by a girl I saw on the bus earlier in
the day, she had a sketch book with some nice artworks and I
thought about her." Or Chapter One, based on a conversation
I had with a guy who was entering back into society from a
long stretch in the penitentiary. I thought about what other
people in his life may have been thinking."
" Its a challenge to simply introduce a character and follow the
creative line as it flows into something structured and complete.
I usually know the beginning and the end of each Chapter, and
simply let the middle fill itself out. I like the daily discipline as
well as the audience being in on the process. In this particular
case, I don't really take notes. I just start with an idea and let
it flow. This is not a normal novel by any means, but it is a new
and interesting challenge for both the writer and the readers.
Were publishing it in three cities and a wide variety of languages,
English, Italian, French, Chinese, Armenian, Chinese, Hebrew,
Japanese & Korean so far. Its been a lot of fun I hope the people
of Los Angeles and the world will follow it out as it reveals itself.
As the writer, in this particular case, I am just as curious as the
reader as to what will happen and how things will go. The cool
thing about this project is how quickly the characters began to
take on a life of their own. "
" Its an interesting way to work. I am putting together several
other writing projects and decided that this would be a good
warmer upper. We get anywhere from a 50 to 400+ views a
day on our website for our Articles, Reviews and especially
our Audio Interviews, so this particular literature project should
be good exercise and at the same time, allow people to see how
a novel is actually created day by day."
Thank You,
Joshua A. TRILIEGI
Editor - in - Chief
MAIN SITE : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURE.com
CONTACT : JOHNNYMILWAUKEE@EARTHLINK.NET
LA : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURELosAngeles.blogspot.com
BAY AREA : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURESF.blogspot.com
NEW YORK : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURENY.blogspot.com
Joshua Aaron TRILIEGI 1282 W. Sunset Bd Los Angeles
California USA 90026 Phone Direct : 213 975 0067
NEW FICTION : They Call it The City of Angels / CHAPTER FOUR / A New Serial Novel by Joshua A. TRILIEGI
They Call it The City of Angels
A New Serial Novel by Joshua A. TRILIEGI
Exclusively for Readers of BUREAU of ARTS and CULTURE and
our Three sites in Los Angeles, San Francisco and New York City
All National & International Copy Rights Reserved to the Author
Chapter Four: Jordan
Jordan is a bus driver, it didn't define him, he's also a bass man,
a basketball coach, a bit of a poet too. He is the youngest bus
driver in all of Los Angeles County. Came out here to get away
from a seriously tragic family history. Born in Detroit, the week
of the famous riots, his dad was a serious player and took the fall
for being a member of an elite crew of dudes who actually helped
to start it. His Mom was in and out of town so much, he hardly
knew her. Came out here alone on a one time musical scholarship.
Recently, he ended up hocking his bass, a red fender given to him
by his uncle, still had the pawn ticket in his wallet, been meaning
to get over there to extend the loan voucher another ninety days so
he could get it back after paying up in full. Wanted to buy his girl
a pair of earrings and figured he could always get the bass back,
but with his car payment, rent and all the rest, he just let it drift.
He was two weeks away from getting off probation from
the transit authority. Six weeks of training and almost a
year driving and finally he would be able to exhale. His first
route started near LAX Airport, up La Brea, over to Crenshaw,
past Leimert Park & around Rodeo, down Martin Luther King
to The Sports Arena and back around again. He liked it.
reminded him of his parents, his heritage, his people.
But now, they had him driving from Venice Boulevard onto
the 405 freeway, up through Santa Monica onto Pacific Coast
Highway, past Pepperdine University and all the way up to
Malibu Pier and back again. Most people would have loved
that route but Jordan always said the drivers were snobs, the
kids crossed the street without looking, carrying surfboards,
lawn chairs, tourists from all corners of the world, asking
directions to places he never heard of, in languages he never
knew. He was hoping to get his old route back, but as the odd
man at transit authority, the chances were mighty slim. Most
of the drivers, managers, supervisors and radio dispatch persons
were steeped in the Jesus thing: Baptist, Christian, Catholic,
Protestant, you name it. Jordan was a third generation Muslim.
His Daddy, his Granddad, his Uncles, some of his Aunts and him.
He had already made his four rotations by seven o'clock that
evening, grabbed a cup of coffee and was looking forward to
seeing his lady for a late dinner at her place. Just past the
Malibu Pier, an area where he was always extra careful, he
slowed down a bit and coasted around the curve through to
the next straight away stretch, the sun was setting a golden,
peach - like glow, palm trees silhouetted in an all black design
that looked like a postcard. It wasn't Crenshaw, but it could of
been worse. Some routes were very tough on a driver, others
were easy street. Looking down the highway, he noticed a small
dark circle along the horizon line, couldn't figure out what it was.
A trash-bag? A backpack ? As he got closer, the object came into
view, it was a turtle, a rather large sized turtle crawling from
left to right, he swerved to the right avoiding the turtle, as he
did so, a camper van parked on the right pulled out in front of
him, and as it did, that is when he noticed the beachcomber
standing directly in his path, hit the brakes, skidding several
yards and slamming into the beachcombers several bags and
eventually knocking him to the asphalt, he turned to ask the
lone passenger if he had seen what just happened, but not a
soul was on the bus. " Could have sworn that cat was still on."
The first thing you are supposed to do is call it in. But Jordan,
just on reflex jumped off the bus to see what happened. He
looked down and splayed across the highway were several
small packages wrapped in brown paper and masking tape.
He looked closer at the corner of one of the small bundles
and noticed it was full of currency, unmistakably dollar bills.
All day long he had to watch people putting bills into the slot
on his bus, the corners always bending, creating a problem.
If anyone knew what the corner of a dollar bill looked like,
it was Jordan. The beachcomber, was out like a light, but
when Jordan put his ear to the mans chest, he could hear him
breathing. He could also smell his breath, whiskey and onions.
Why a man does what he does is always a mystery, mostly to
the man himself, so when he reached to pick up one of the
bundles and put it in his inside left pocket, it seemed pretty
natural. He got back on the bus and called it in. By now the
sun was down. The highway was closed. Ambulance, cops,
transit authority, the whole shebang. When radio reporters,
traffic helicopters and the local television stations came out,
He figured that he was not only going to be late for dinner.
There was a good chance he was going to be fired, even if it
wasn't his fault, even if the guy was drunk. To top it off, the
turtle was no where to be seen. That was his whole defense.
Wanda heard about it on the radio before he even got home.
MAIN SITE : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURE.com
CONTACT : JOHNNYMILWAUKEE@EARTHLINK.NET
LA : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURELosAngeles.blogspot.com
BAY AREA : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURESF.blogspot.com
NEW YORK : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURENY.blogspot.com
Joshua Aaron TRILIEGI 1282 W. Sunset Bd Los Angeles
California USA 90026 Phone Direct : 213 975 0067
NEW FICTION : They Call it The City of Angels / CHAPTER THREE / A New Serial Novel by Joshua A. TRILIEGI
They Call it The City of Angels
A New Serial Novel by Joshua A. TRILIEGI
Exclusively for Readers of BUREAU of ARTS and CULTURE and
our Three sites in Los Angeles, San Francisco and New York City
All National & International Copy Rights Reserved to the Author
Printed here in English , Hebrew and Armenian choose your language
with the language selector to the left
Chapter Three: Josie
Josie was an artist. They had noticed that right away. By the time
she was three, she could sing a tune. By the time she was nine, she
could mimic any dance movement. By the time she was twelve she
could draw realistic pictures that were up to scratch with any adult.
Today is Josie's birthday. Her room is covered in teen beat posters.
Packs of Bubble-Yum chewing gum on the dresser. Photographs of
her girlfriend's at school, at the beach, at the park, award ribbons
from art, dance and singing contests, a letter of recommendation
from an art teacher at the local university, a pair of tennis shoes
in the corner and of course her dozens of sketchbooks filled with
classic portraits of friends, people she observed, objects, places.
Her parents had immigrated in the early nineteen sixties, they gave
her an American name, things were going to be hard enough for her
as it was, they figured, she was born here, she's the first American
in our family, lets go with the flow. Her Dad worked at a local factory,
her Mom was a homemaker of the old world style, she sewed, cooked,
gardened and kept the books. Josie was wide open when it came to
discussing friends, school, dreams and the future, but when it cam to
her boyfriends, she never ever told a soul. Not her parents, not her
girlfriends, no one. So when she started dating Louis, who was a few
years older, no one had anything to worry about, because no one knew.
He had that protective quality that some guys have, she felt safe around
him. He was knocked out by her talents, even had her design tattoos for
him and his friends. It was a taboo sort of love, the kind that couldn't
last longer than a summer and it didn't. Louis eventually started dating
girls his age and Josie rebounded with a kid from her own school and
neighborhood. But deep down inside, she still had a love for Louis and
even though he didn't know it, he too was still in love with her.
By the time winter came along, they found themselves in the awkward
situation of having to see one another, sometimes in the company of
each others new playmates. At first this seemed easy, smile, wave, a
simple hello or how ya doing ? But after these moments, Louis found
himself troubled, confused, sometimes even angry. He didn't know who
he was angry with, Josie, the new boyfriend or himself, he just knew
that something wasn't exactly settled and it really confused him to the
point where sometimes he couldn't sleep. So, he started to call her up
just to say hi, then Josie's new boyfriend got word of this and reacted
accordingly. One thing led to another and now the boys were talking
about a showdown. The kind that spreads quickly, the word got out,
after a dance at school, they were going to meet and settled this thing.
Josie freaked when she found out, felt guilty, felt responsible and had
no one to tell because this was a part of her life she had always kept
to herself. So the pressure mounted until the night of the dance. At
first Josie said she wasn't going, then she changed her mind and told
Ryan, her new boyfriend that she was going with friends and they could
talk after the dance, hoping this would diffuse the pressure and by then
she could help avoid an actual fight. Though, the way things went only
worsened the situation. Instead of avoiding a fist fight the entire
event
became a drag race through the boulevards of Los Angeles and by the
end of the night a car flipped in mid air up an over the railroad
tracks.
Josie's Dad knocked on her bedroom door, no one answered. He called
her girlfriend's parents no one knew what happened. Eventually they got
a call from officer Chuck of the county police department explaining
that
there had a been a terrible accident and could they please come down to
the Harbor hospital to help sort something out. They were unsure about
the identity of a person and needed verification. When Josie's parents
arrived,Chuck was standing in the hallway, clipboard in hand, this was
the most difficult part of his job. He could handle the tough guys, the
smart aleck public, the other cops on the squad, but he couldn't hold
his
water when it came to telling parents that we think your child is dead.
Josies's parents were led into a well lit room, two bodies were laying
on
aluminum stretchers with sheets covering each. The bodies had been
washed
of all blood, but there was nothing that could be done about all the
torn and
mangled flesh. Josie was under one of the sheets, Ryan was under the
other.
It was the first time their parents would ever meet. Eventually they
would
meet again in court and again at the arraignments and again upon Louis's
release from prison. Today is Josie's birthday and if she hadn't died
back in
nineteen seventy-six, she would have been thirty years old. Her dad
closed
the bedroom door, which he kept exactly as it had been the day she died,
wiped his eyes and promised himself that someone was gonna pay for this
pain. By then, he'd lost his wife and by now, he began to lose is mind.
MAIN SITE : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURE.com
CONTACT : JOHNNYMILWAUKEE@EARTHLINK.NET
LA : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURELosAngeles.blogspot.com
BAY AREA : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURESF.blogspot.com
NEW YORK : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURENY.blogspot.com
Joshua Aaron TRILIEGI 1282 W. Sunset Bd Los Angeles
California USA 90026 Phone Direct : 213 975 0067
NEW գեղարվեստական: Նրանք այն անվանում են քաղաքը Angels / ԳԼՈՒԽ ԵՐԵՔ / A New Serial Novel Ըստ Joshua A. TRILIEGI
הפרק שלישי: ג'וזי
ג'וזי היה אמן. הם שמו לב לכך מייד. עד
שהיא הייתה בת שלוש, היא יכולה לשיר מנגינה. עד שהיא הייתה בת תשע, היא
יכולה לחקות כל תנועת ריקוד. עד שהיא הייתה בת שתים עשר, היא
יכולה לצייר תמונות ריאליסטיות שהיו עד שריטה עם כל מבוגר.
היום היא יום ההולדת של ג'וזי. החדר שלה מכוסה בפוסטרים הכו צעירים.
חבילות של מסטיק בועה-יאם על השידה. תמונות של
החברה שלה היא בבית הספר, בחוף הים, בפארק, סרטי הפרס
מהאמנות, ריקוד ושירה תחרויות, מכתב המלצה
ממורה לאמנות באוניברסיטה המקומית, זוג נעלי טניס
בפינה וכמובן עשרות פנקסי רישום מלאים
בדיוקנים קלאסי של חברים, אנשים שהיא נצפתה, חפצים, מקומות. הוריה היגרו בשנתי השישים המוקדמות, הם נתנולה שם אמריקאי, הדברים הולכים להיות קשה מספיק עבורה כפי שהיה, הם הבינו , היא נולדה כאן, היא האמריקאי ראשון במשפחה שלנו, מאפשר ללכת עם הזרם. אבא שלה עבד במפעל מקומי, אמא שלה הייתה עקרת בית בסגנון העולם הישן, היא תפרה, מבושלת, עבד בגינה ושמרה את הספרים. ג'וזי היה פתוח לרווחה בכל הנוגעלדנים חברים, בית ספר, חלומות ועל עתיד, אך כשזה הגיעלחברים שלה, היא מעולם לא אמרה לו נשמה. לא ההורים שלה, לא אותה החברות, אף אחד. כשהיא התחילה היכרויות לואיס, שהיה אז כמה שנים מבוגרות יותר, אף אחד לא היה שום סיבה לדאגה, כי אף אחד לא ידע. שהייתה לו באיכות הגנה שיש כמה חבר 'ה, היא הרגישה בטוחהבסביבתו. הוא דפק על ידי כשרונותיה, גם היו לה קעקועים עיצובעבורו וחבריו. זה היה סוג של טאבו אהבה, מהסוג שלא יכולים להימשך זמן רב יותר מאשר בקיץ וזה לא קורה. לואיס סופו של דבר התחיל לצאת בנות הגיל וג'וזי התאוששו עם ילד מבית הספר, ושלה בשכונה. אבל עמוק בפנים, עדיין יש לה אהבה ללואיסולמרות שהוא לא יודע את זה, גם הוא היה עדיין מאוהב בה. בחורף הזמן הגיע, הם מצאו את עצמם במבוכת המצב של צורך לראות את אחד אחרת, לעתים בחברתם של כל האחרים למשחק חדש. בהתחלה זה נראה קל, חיוך, גל, פשוט שלום או מה שלומך? אבל אחרי הרגעים האלה, לואיס מצא עצמו מוטרד, מבולבל, לפעמים אפילו כועס. הוא לא ידעשהוא היה כועס, ג'וזי, החבר החדש או את עצמו, הוא פשוט ידע שמשהו לא יושב בדיוק וזה ממש בלבל אותולנקודה שבה לפעמים הוא לא הצליח לישון. אז, הוא התחיל לקרוא אותה רק כדי להגיד שלום, ולאחר מכן החבר החדש של ג'וזי קיבל מילה של זה והגיב בהתאם. דבר אחד הוביל למשנהו ועכשיו הבנים מדברים על עימות. מהסוג שמתפשט במהירות, יצאה השמועה, לאחר ריקוד בבית הספר, הם הולכים להיפגש והתיישב הדבר הזה. ג'וזי התחרפן כשהיא גילתה את זה, הרגיש אשם, הרגיש אחראי והיה שאף אחד לא לספר, כי זה היה חלק של החיים שלה, היא תמיד שמרה לעצמה. אז הלחץ רכוב עד הלילה של הריקודים. בראשון ג'וזי אמר שהיא לא הולכת, אז היא שינתה את דעתה ואמרה ריאן, החבר החדש שלה שהיא הולכת עם חברים והם יכולים לדבר אחרי הריקוד, בתקווה שזה יהיה לנטרל את הלחץ ועד אז היא יכולה לסייע במניעה מאבק בפועל. אם כי, כפי שהדברים הלכו רק החמיר את המצב. במקום להימנע מאגרוף להילחם בכל האירוע הפך למירוץ דראג דרך השדרות של לוס אנג'לס ועד סוף הלילה מכונית התהפכה באמצע האוויר עד מעל מסילת ברזל המסלולים. אבא של ג'וזי התדפקו על דלת חדר השינה שלה, אף אחד לא ענה . הוא קראלהורים של החברה שלה אף אחד לא ידע מה קרה. סופו של דבר הם קיבל שיחת טלפון מצ'אק קצין משטרת המחוז הסביר שיש לו הייתה תאונה נוראה והם יכולים להגיע בבקשה לבית החולים הארבור לעזור מיין משהו. הם היו בטוחים לגבי זהותו של אדם וצורך באימות. כאשר ההורים של ג'וזי הגיעו, צ'אק עמד במסדרון, לוח ביד, זה היה חלק הקשה ביותר של עבודתו. הוא יכול להתמודד עם החבר 'ה קשוח, ציבור חכמולוגית, השוטרים האחרים בכיתה, אבל הוא לא הצליח להחזיק אותו המים כשזה הגיע לספר להורים שחושבים שהילד שלך מת. ההורים של Josies הובלו לחדר מואר היטב , שני גופים היו הנחת על אלונקות אלומיניום עם סדינים מכסים כל אחד. את הגופות נשטפו מכל הדם, אבל לא היה שום דבר שאפשר לעשות על כל הקרועוהבשר מרוסק. ג'וזי היה מתחת לאחד הגיליונות, היה ריאן תחת אחרים. זו הייתה הפעם הראשונה אי פעם שהוריהם היו נפגשים. סופו של דבר הם היינו נפגשים שוב בבית המשפט ושוב בהקראות ושוב על של לואי שחרורו מהכלא. היום הוא יום ההולדת של ג'וזי ואם היא לא מתה בחזרהב1976, היא הייתה בן שלושים. האבא שלה סגר את דלת חדר השינה, שבו הוא נשמר בדיוק כפי שהיה ביום שמתה, ניגב את עיניו והבטיח לעצמו שמישהו היה הולך לשלם על זה כאב. עד אז, הוא איבד את אשתו ועד עכשיו, הוא החל לאבד את הראש שלו. אתר ראשי: www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURE.com קשר: JOHNNYMILWAUKEE@EARTHLINK.NET לוס אנג'לס: www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURELosAngeles.blogspot.com אזור מפרץ: www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURESF . Blogspot.com ניו יורק: www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURENY.blogspot.com יהושע אהרון TRILIEGI 1282 וו שקיעת Bd
A New Serial Novel by Joshua A. TRILIEGI
Exclusively for Readers of BUREAU of ARTS and CULTURE and
our Three sites in Los Angeles, San Francisco and New York City
All National & International Copy Rights Reserved to the Author
Printed here in English , Hebrew and Armenian choose your language
with the language selector to the left
Chapter Three: Josie
Josie was an artist. They had noticed that right away. By the time
she was three, she could sing a tune. By the time she was nine, she
could mimic any dance movement. By the time she was twelve she
could draw realistic pictures that were up to scratch with any adult.
Today is Josie's birthday. Her room is covered in teen beat posters.
Packs of Bubble-Yum chewing gum on the dresser. Photographs of
her girlfriend's at school, at the beach, at the park, award ribbons
from art, dance and singing contests, a letter of recommendation
from an art teacher at the local university, a pair of tennis shoes
in the corner and of course her dozens of sketchbooks filled with
classic portraits of friends, people she observed, objects, places.
Her parents had immigrated in the early nineteen sixties, they gave
her an American name, things were going to be hard enough for her
as it was, they figured, she was born here, she's the first American
in our family, lets go with the flow. Her Dad worked at a local factory,
her Mom was a homemaker of the old world style, she sewed, cooked,
gardened and kept the books. Josie was wide open when it came to
discussing friends, school, dreams and the future, but when it cam to
her boyfriends, she never ever told a soul. Not her parents, not her
girlfriends, no one. So when she started dating Louis, who was a few
years older, no one had anything to worry about, because no one knew.
He had that protective quality that some guys have, she felt safe around
him. He was knocked out by her talents, even had her design tattoos for
him and his friends. It was a taboo sort of love, the kind that couldn't
last longer than a summer and it didn't. Louis eventually started dating
girls his age and Josie rebounded with a kid from her own school and
neighborhood. But deep down inside, she still had a love for Louis and
even though he didn't know it, he too was still in love with her.
By the time winter came along, they found themselves in the awkward
situation of having to see one another, sometimes in the company of
each others new playmates. At first this seemed easy, smile, wave, a
simple hello or how ya doing ? But after these moments, Louis found
himself troubled, confused, sometimes even angry. He didn't know who
he was angry with, Josie, the new boyfriend or himself, he just knew
that something wasn't exactly settled and it really confused him to the
point where sometimes he couldn't sleep. So, he started to call her up
just to say hi, then Josie's new boyfriend got word of this and reacted
accordingly. One thing led to another and now the boys were talking
about a showdown. The kind that spreads quickly, the word got out,
after a dance at school, they were going to meet and settled this thing.
Josie freaked when she found out, felt guilty, felt responsible and had
no one to tell because this was a part of her life she had always kept
to herself. So the pressure mounted until the night of the dance. At
first Josie said she wasn't going, then she changed her mind and told
Ryan, her new boyfriend that she was going with friends and they could
talk after the dance, hoping this would diffuse the pressure and by then
she could help avoid an actual fight. Though, the way things went only
worsened the situation. Instead of avoiding a fist fight the entire
event
became a drag race through the boulevards of Los Angeles and by the
end of the night a car flipped in mid air up an over the railroad
tracks.
Josie's Dad knocked on her bedroom door, no one answered. He called
her girlfriend's parents no one knew what happened. Eventually they got
a call from officer Chuck of the county police department explaining
that
there had a been a terrible accident and could they please come down to
the Harbor hospital to help sort something out. They were unsure about
the identity of a person and needed verification. When Josie's parents
arrived,Chuck was standing in the hallway, clipboard in hand, this was
the most difficult part of his job. He could handle the tough guys, the
smart aleck public, the other cops on the squad, but he couldn't hold
his
water when it came to telling parents that we think your child is dead.
Josies's parents were led into a well lit room, two bodies were laying
on
aluminum stretchers with sheets covering each. The bodies had been
washed
of all blood, but there was nothing that could be done about all the
torn and
mangled flesh. Josie was under one of the sheets, Ryan was under the
other.
It was the first time their parents would ever meet. Eventually they
would
meet again in court and again at the arraignments and again upon Louis's
release from prison. Today is Josie's birthday and if she hadn't died
back in
nineteen seventy-six, she would have been thirty years old. Her dad
closed
the bedroom door, which he kept exactly as it had been the day she died,
wiped his eyes and promised himself that someone was gonna pay for this
pain. By then, he'd lost his wife and by now, he began to lose is mind.
MAIN SITE : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURE.com
CONTACT : JOHNNYMILWAUKEE@EARTHLINK.NET
LA : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURELosAngeles.blogspot.com
BAY AREA : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURESF.blogspot.com
NEW YORK : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURENY.blogspot.com
Joshua Aaron TRILIEGI 1282 W. Sunset Bd Los Angeles
California USA 90026 Phone Direct : 213 975 0067
NEW գեղարվեստական: Նրանք այն անվանում են քաղաքը Angels / ԳԼՈՒԽ ԵՐԵՔ / A New Serial Novel Ըստ Joshua A. TRILIEGI
Նրանք այն անվանում են քաղաքը Angels Նոր Serial Novel Ըստ Joshua A. TRILIEGI բացառապես ընթերցողների բյուրոյի Մշակույթ եւ մեր երեք կայքերի Լոս Անջելեսում, Սան Ֆրանցիսկո եւ Նյու Յորքում բոլոր ազգային եւ միջազգային Copy իրավունքները պաշտպանված են Հեղինակը գլխով Երեք: Josie Josie էր նկարիչ. Նրանք նկատել են, որ հենց հիմա. Ըստ ժամանակ նա եղել երեք, նա կարող է երգել մի մեղեդի. Ըստ ժամանակ նա եղել է ինը, նա կարող է նմանակող ցանկացած պարային շարժումը. Ըստ ժամանակ նա տասներկու նա կարող է նկարել իրատեսական լուսանկարներ, որոնք մինչեւ քորում որեւէ մեծահասակ Այսօր Josie ծննդյան. Իր սենյակում, որը ծածկված է դեռահասը ծեծի պաստառներով. մորթե - Bubble - Յամ Մաստակ է պահարանի. Լուսանկարներ նրա ընկերուհու է դպրոցում, ժամը լողափ, այգու, մրցանակ ժապավեններ են արվեստի, պարի եւ երգի մրցույթներ, նամակով առաջարկությամբ է արվեստի ուսուցիչ տեղական համալսարանի մի զույգ թենիսի կոշիկի անկյունում եւ, իհարկե, իր տասնյակ sketchbooks լցված դասական դիմանկարները ընկերների, մարդիկ, որ նա նկատել է, օբյեկտների, տեղերում : Նրա ծնողները, որ ներգաղթել վաղ տասնինն sixties, տվին նրան Ամերիկյան անունը բաներ են լինելու դժվար բավարար նրա , քանի որ, նրանք նախշավոր նա ծնվել է այստեղ, նա առաջին ամերիկյան մեր ընտանիքի, թույլ է տալիս գնալ հետ հոսքի. Նրա Dad աշխատել տեղական գործարանի նրա Mom էր homemaker հին աշխարհի ոճով, նա Կարված, եփած, gardened եւ պահվում են գրքեր Josie էր լայն բացել, երբ այն գալիս է քննարկում ընկերների, դպրոցի, երազանքների ու ապագայի, բայց երբ ռուլետկա է իր boyfriends, այդպես էլ երբեւէ ասել է հոգին. Ոչ նրա ծնողները, ոչ իր girlfriends, ոչ ոք. Այնպես որ, երբ նա սկսեց dating Louis, որը մի քանի տարի ավելի, ոչ ոք չէր ոչինչ անհանգստանալու, քանի որ ոչ ոք չգիտեր: Նա է, որ պաշտպանական որակը, որ որոշ տղաները ունեն, նա զգաց, անվտանգ են նրան. Նա նոկաուտի է իր տաղանդների, նույնիսկ իր դիզայներական դաջվածքներ են իր եւ իր ընկերների Դա մի տեսակ տաբու սիրո ինչ որ կարող է տեւել ավելի երկար, քան ամռանը, եւ այն չի. Louis, ի վերջո, սկսվեց Ծանոթություն աղջիկներին իր տարիքը եւ Josie rebounded հետ երեխայի, իր սեփական դպրոցն ու բակերը. Սակայն խորը վար ներսում, նա դեռ մի սեր Լուի եւ թեեւ նա չգիտեր այն, որ նա շատ էր սիրում նրան. Մինչեւ ձմեռային եկավ մեկտեղ, նրանք հայտնվել են անհարմար իրավիճակում ունենալու տեսնել մեկին այլ, երբեմն ընկերության միմյանց նոր Playmates. Առաջին հայացքից այս էր հեշտ, ժպիտը, ալիքը, մի պարզ ողջույն, կամ ինչպես ya անում. Բայց հետո այդ պահերին, Louis գտել ինքը մտահոգված, շփոթված, երբեմն նույնիսկ զայրացած. Նա չգիտեր, որ նա զայրացած է, Josie, նոր ընկերոջ հետ, կամ ինքն իրեն, նա պարզապես գիտեր , որ մի բան էր, թե հենց կարգավորվի, եւ դա, իրոք, շփոթված նրան կետում, որտեղ երբեմն նա չէր կարողանում քնել. Այնպես որ, նա սկսեց զանգահարել նրան պարզապես ասել hi, այնուհետեւ Josie նոր ընկերոջ էլ խոսքը, եւ արձագանքել համապատասխան Մի բան հանգեցրել մյուսը, եւ հիմա տղաները խոսում էին մի showdown. Ինչ է, որ տարածվում է արագ, խոսքը դուրս, հետո պարի դպրոցում, իրենք պատրաստվում են հանդիպել եւ բնակություն այդ բանը. Josie գծավոր, երբ նա իմացել են, զգացել մեղավոր, զգացի պատասխանատու է եւ ոչ մեկին ասելու, քանի որ դա եղել է մաս իր կյանքում, նա միշտ պահել է դնում. Այնպես որ ճնշումը մոնտաժված մինչեւ գիշերը պարի. At առաջին Josie ասաց նա չի պատրաստվում, ապա նա փոխել է իր միտքը եւ ասաց Ryan, իր նոր ընկերոջ, որ նա պատրաստվում էր ընկերների հետ, եւ նրանք կարող են խոսել, երբ պարի, հույս ունենալով, որ դա տարածված ճնշումը եւ ապա նա կարող է օգնել խուսափել է փաստացի պայքարում. Չնայած, որ ճանապարհը բաներ էր միայն վատթարացել իրավիճակը. Փոխարենը խուսափելով բռունցքը պայքարել ամբողջ իրադարձությունը դարձավ քաշել մրցավազքը միջոցով Պուրակներ Լոս Անջելեսի իսկ վերջում գիշերը մեքենան շրջված կեսերին օդում, մինչեւ որ ավելի երկաթուղային հետքերով. Josie ծանոթյություններ Dad թակեցի իր ննջարանում դուռը, ոչ ոք չի պատասխանել : Նա կոչ է արել իր ընկերուհու ծնողները ոչ ոք չգիտեր, թե ինչ է տեղի ունեցել. Ի վերջո, նրանք զանգահարեցին սպա Chuck - րդ շրջանի ոստիկանությունում բացատրելով , որ կա մի մի սարսափելի վթարի է եւ կարող է դրանք, խնդրում իջել են նավահանգիստ հիվանդանոց օգնել Ով ինչ - որ բան դուրս. Նրանք վստահ ինքնության անձի եւ անհրաժեշտ ստուգման. Երբ Josie ծնողները գալիս, Chuck կանգնած միջանցքում, clipboard ձեռքին, այս էր ամենադժվար մասը իր աշխատանքի. Նա կարող էր կարգավորել կոշտ guys, որ խելացի Aleck հանրային, այլ cops է ջոկատի, սակայն նա չի կարող զբաղեցնել իր ջուրը, երբ այն գալիս է ասելու, որ մենք ծնողներին, որ Ձեր երեխան մահացել է Josies ծնողները, որոնք առաջնորդվում են մի լավ լուսավորված սենյակում երկու դիակները երեսարկման եւ ալյումինե Պատգարակներ կապնվել թերթերով լուսաբանող ական Մարմիններն էին լվանում է բոլոր արյունը, բայց ոչինչ, որ կարող է անել բոլոր պատռված եւ mangled մարմնում. Josie տակ մեկի թերթերով, Ryan տակ էր, որ այլ էր: Առաջին անգամ նրանց ծնողները երբեւէ հանդիպել. Ի վերջո, նրանք կարող են կրկին ու կրկին դատարանում է arraignments եւ նորից է Լուի ծանոթյություններ ազատելու բանտում. Այսօր Josie ծննդյան, իսկ եթե նա չի մահացել ետ տասնինն յոթանասուն վեց, նա կլիներ երեսուն տարեկան. Նրա հայրը փակել ննջարան դուռը, որը նա պահել այնպես, ինչպես դա եղել է այն օրը, որ նա մահացել է, սրբեց անոր աչքերը, եւ խոստացել է, իր ինչ - որ մեկը եղել է gonna վճարել այդ ցավը. Ըստ այդ նա ուզում կորցրել է իր կնոջը, եւ հիմա, նա սկսեց կորցնել այն միտքը,
MAIN SITE: www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURE.com Կապ: JOHNNYMILWAUKEE@EARTHLINK.NET LA: www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURELosAngeles.blogspot.com BAY AREA: www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURESF : blogspot.com NEW YORK: www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURENY.blogspot.com Joshua Aaron TRILIEGI 1282 W. Sunset Bd Los Angeles California USA 90026 Հեռ Direct: 213 975 0067
MAIN SITE: www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURE.com Կապ: JOHNNYMILWAUKEE@EARTHLINK.NET LA: www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURELosAngeles.blogspot.com BAY AREA: www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURESF : blogspot.com NEW YORK: www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURENY.blogspot.com Joshua Aaron TRILIEGI 1282 W. Sunset Bd Los Angeles California USA 90026 Հեռ Direct: 213 975 0067
הפרק שלישי: ג'וזי
ג'וזי היה אמן. הם שמו לב לכך מייד. עד
שהיא הייתה בת שלוש, היא יכולה לשיר מנגינה. עד שהיא הייתה בת תשע, היא
יכולה לחקות כל תנועת ריקוד. עד שהיא הייתה בת שתים עשר, היא
יכולה לצייר תמונות ריאליסטיות שהיו עד שריטה עם כל מבוגר.
היום היא יום ההולדת של ג'וזי. החדר שלה מכוסה בפוסטרים הכו צעירים.
חבילות של מסטיק בועה-יאם על השידה. תמונות של
החברה שלה היא בבית הספר, בחוף הים, בפארק, סרטי הפרס
מהאמנות, ריקוד ושירה תחרויות, מכתב המלצה
ממורה לאמנות באוניברסיטה המקומית, זוג נעלי טניס
בפינה וכמובן עשרות פנקסי רישום מלאים
בדיוקנים קלאסי של חברים, אנשים שהיא נצפתה, חפצים, מקומות. הוריה היגרו בשנתי השישים המוקדמות, הם נתנולה שם אמריקאי, הדברים הולכים להיות קשה מספיק עבורה כפי שהיה, הם הבינו , היא נולדה כאן, היא האמריקאי ראשון במשפחה שלנו, מאפשר ללכת עם הזרם. אבא שלה עבד במפעל מקומי, אמא שלה הייתה עקרת בית בסגנון העולם הישן, היא תפרה, מבושלת, עבד בגינה ושמרה את הספרים. ג'וזי היה פתוח לרווחה בכל הנוגעלדנים חברים, בית ספר, חלומות ועל עתיד, אך כשזה הגיעלחברים שלה, היא מעולם לא אמרה לו נשמה. לא ההורים שלה, לא אותה החברות, אף אחד. כשהיא התחילה היכרויות לואיס, שהיה אז כמה שנים מבוגרות יותר, אף אחד לא היה שום סיבה לדאגה, כי אף אחד לא ידע. שהייתה לו באיכות הגנה שיש כמה חבר 'ה, היא הרגישה בטוחהבסביבתו. הוא דפק על ידי כשרונותיה, גם היו לה קעקועים עיצובעבורו וחבריו. זה היה סוג של טאבו אהבה, מהסוג שלא יכולים להימשך זמן רב יותר מאשר בקיץ וזה לא קורה. לואיס סופו של דבר התחיל לצאת בנות הגיל וג'וזי התאוששו עם ילד מבית הספר, ושלה בשכונה. אבל עמוק בפנים, עדיין יש לה אהבה ללואיסולמרות שהוא לא יודע את זה, גם הוא היה עדיין מאוהב בה. בחורף הזמן הגיע, הם מצאו את עצמם במבוכת המצב של צורך לראות את אחד אחרת, לעתים בחברתם של כל האחרים למשחק חדש. בהתחלה זה נראה קל, חיוך, גל, פשוט שלום או מה שלומך? אבל אחרי הרגעים האלה, לואיס מצא עצמו מוטרד, מבולבל, לפעמים אפילו כועס. הוא לא ידעשהוא היה כועס, ג'וזי, החבר החדש או את עצמו, הוא פשוט ידע שמשהו לא יושב בדיוק וזה ממש בלבל אותולנקודה שבה לפעמים הוא לא הצליח לישון. אז, הוא התחיל לקרוא אותה רק כדי להגיד שלום, ולאחר מכן החבר החדש של ג'וזי קיבל מילה של זה והגיב בהתאם. דבר אחד הוביל למשנהו ועכשיו הבנים מדברים על עימות. מהסוג שמתפשט במהירות, יצאה השמועה, לאחר ריקוד בבית הספר, הם הולכים להיפגש והתיישב הדבר הזה. ג'וזי התחרפן כשהיא גילתה את זה, הרגיש אשם, הרגיש אחראי והיה שאף אחד לא לספר, כי זה היה חלק של החיים שלה, היא תמיד שמרה לעצמה. אז הלחץ רכוב עד הלילה של הריקודים. בראשון ג'וזי אמר שהיא לא הולכת, אז היא שינתה את דעתה ואמרה ריאן, החבר החדש שלה שהיא הולכת עם חברים והם יכולים לדבר אחרי הריקוד, בתקווה שזה יהיה לנטרל את הלחץ ועד אז היא יכולה לסייע במניעה מאבק בפועל. אם כי, כפי שהדברים הלכו רק החמיר את המצב. במקום להימנע מאגרוף להילחם בכל האירוע הפך למירוץ דראג דרך השדרות של לוס אנג'לס ועד סוף הלילה מכונית התהפכה באמצע האוויר עד מעל מסילת ברזל המסלולים. אבא של ג'וזי התדפקו על דלת חדר השינה שלה, אף אחד לא ענה . הוא קראלהורים של החברה שלה אף אחד לא ידע מה קרה. סופו של דבר הם קיבל שיחת טלפון מצ'אק קצין משטרת המחוז הסביר שיש לו הייתה תאונה נוראה והם יכולים להגיע בבקשה לבית החולים הארבור לעזור מיין משהו. הם היו בטוחים לגבי זהותו של אדם וצורך באימות. כאשר ההורים של ג'וזי הגיעו, צ'אק עמד במסדרון, לוח ביד, זה היה חלק הקשה ביותר של עבודתו. הוא יכול להתמודד עם החבר 'ה קשוח, ציבור חכמולוגית, השוטרים האחרים בכיתה, אבל הוא לא הצליח להחזיק אותו המים כשזה הגיע לספר להורים שחושבים שהילד שלך מת. ההורים של Josies הובלו לחדר מואר היטב , שני גופים היו הנחת על אלונקות אלומיניום עם סדינים מכסים כל אחד. את הגופות נשטפו מכל הדם, אבל לא היה שום דבר שאפשר לעשות על כל הקרועוהבשר מרוסק. ג'וזי היה מתחת לאחד הגיליונות, היה ריאן תחת אחרים. זו הייתה הפעם הראשונה אי פעם שהוריהם היו נפגשים. סופו של דבר הם היינו נפגשים שוב בבית המשפט ושוב בהקראות ושוב על של לואי שחרורו מהכלא. היום הוא יום ההולדת של ג'וזי ואם היא לא מתה בחזרהב1976, היא הייתה בן שלושים. האבא שלה סגר את דלת חדר השינה, שבו הוא נשמר בדיוק כפי שהיה ביום שמתה, ניגב את עיניו והבטיח לעצמו שמישהו היה הולך לשלם על זה כאב. עד אז, הוא איבד את אשתו ועד עכשיו, הוא החל לאבד את הראש שלו. אתר ראשי: www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURE.com קשר: JOHNNYMILWAUKEE@EARTHLINK.NET לוס אנג'לס: www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURELosAngeles.blogspot.com אזור מפרץ: www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURESF . Blogspot.com ניו יורק: www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURENY.blogspot.com יהושע אהרון TRILIEGI 1282 וו שקיעת Bd
NEW FICTION : They Call it The City of Angels / CHAPTER TWO / A New Serial Novel by Joshua A. TRILIEGI
They Call it The City of Angels
A New Serial Novel by Joshua A. TRILIEGI
Exclusively for Readers of BUREAU of ARTS and CULTURE and
our Three sites in Los Angeles, San Francisco and New York City
All National & International Copy Rights Reserved to the Author
Chapter Two: Mickey
"Look left, then right, then left again." What the hell is so difficult
about that ? Mickey muttered out loud to some mindless quack as
he skidded around the car and cranked his wrist an eighth of an inch,
which meant he was now riding from a basic twenty-five miles per
hour to the preferred forty-five along the coast of Malibu and on
into Venice beach where he kept a shop that tended strictly to Harley-
Davidson's. Mickey was a third generation biker, his Dad had known
some pretty serious guys back in the day. His grandfather had driven
a Harley from Washington State clear down to Southern California
back in the nineteen forties before going off to war, with the rest of
his generation. Back when Mickey was a kid, bikers were hated and
or feared by the general populist. Now, everybody and their grandma
wants to claim some piece of this heritage. His old man fixed bikes for
some of the well known biker gangs throughout California, but he never
actually signed up, if you know what I mean. What they call a civilian.
When his old man left town for a month, which turned into a decade,
Mickey finally took a crow bar to the lock on the old man's wood shed,
found his tools and started a business of his own. It wasn't one of
those
places with a big neon sign or anything like that, he just fixed bikes
for
guys in the neighborhood and eventually had a couple dozen regulars
and that was it. He had been offered partnerships before by local shops,
investors, squares with enough money to set him up well, but simply
didn't want the hassle. " As soon as you take their money, they own
you." That was his usual reply, but lately he'd gotten tired of the
bullshit.
Guys not paying what they owed, insurance companies not releasing
the funds on time, just cause they knew he was an unofficial Harley
repairman, as opposed to the guys with the big signs out front. Part
of him rejected the whole idea of middle America embracing the Harley
phenomenon. The other part of him knew it was good for business and
just might bring the company back into a thriving system, where bikers
could get some respect again. So, when a local rich kid offered him
10,000 dollars to expand the shop, he took it. Reluctantly, accepted a
chance to buy some new tools, get bonded, insured, even had the business
officially certified with a doing business as 'Mickey's Motorcycles'
license.
Some people said Mickey's old man had gone to Mexico, others figured
he got caught up in some kind of deal gone awry. There was talk that he
was overseas, Amsterdam maybe. No one knew for sure. He had stopped
thinking about it a few years back. Mickey made the house payments, took
care of his grandmother and tolerated his Mothers new boyfriends as best
he could. So much had changed since they were kids, growing up in Venice
beach. Back then it was mostly poor folks, now the place was turning
into
something else: well known actors, architects, airline pilots. It was a
good
thing his old man bought the place otherwise Mickey and his girlfriend,
Moon, would have been out of that neighborhood years ago. They lived a
block and a half away from Dennis Hopper's house & when Hopper bought
a Harley, Mickey was the guy he brought it to. Who didn't want to hang
out with Dennis Hopper? Mickey had creds on the street and in the hills,
which was kind of rare. He had clients up and down the coast and didn't
mind much making house calls, even if it took a couple days. He'd crash
out on the couch or garage or guest house until the job was done. Most
guys liked his company and liked to hear him wax poetic about the early
days of Rock and Roll, his mom had been the manager of several bands
up in the bay area and he knew just about everyone from Jerry Garcia's
to The Moby Grape's. People would say that Mickey was made from a
kind of American counter culture royalty. But, he shunned all that talk.
One of those quiet throw backs, except when it came to Moon, his only
truly admittedly obsessive relationship. Whatever she wanted, she got.
Moon was his first and only love. Once they had broken up for a day and
a half during high school graduation. A Friday night and all of
Saturday,
by Sunday morning, they were back together and never looked back.
As he pulled into the driveway, he glanced over to find his mother's new
boyfriend's red convertible, the passenger side windshield was riddled
with
what looked like bullet holes, upon closer inspection, he realized the
holes
were made with stiletto heels kicked from the inside out. "Here we go."
he thought, as he turned off the bike and figured, o.k. this generator
is
fixed. He knew there was something brewing, so he quietly strolled past
the front house and headed straight for Pop's shed. Always a safe
refuge.
But there in the back yard was the boyfriend wearing nothing more than
a pair of Ray-Bans and in a see through nighty, his Mom attending the
barbeque. " For christ sake Mag, what if Calley walks back here ?"
who momentarily turns in his direction, " Oh Mick, grow up will ya ? "
She had been telling him that since the time he was ten years old :
"Your not a kid anymore mick, your ten years old now, grow up."
He did. Got back on the bike, which he hadn't planned on returning
to his client till tomorrow, ripped up Pacific Coast Highway and on
into Zuma Beach, collected his fee and instead of getting a ride from
Jay, simply hopped on the Bus and called it a day. That's when he
noticed a beach comber who sure looked a lot like his dad. "That's
impossible. Must be going nuts. I gotta get out of here." He did.
MAIN SITE : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURE.com
CONTACT : JOHNNYMILWAUKEE@EARTHLINK.NET
LA : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURELosAngeles.blogspot.com
BAY AREA : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURESF.blogspot.com
NEW YORK : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURENY.blogspot.com
Joshua Aaron TRILIEGI 1282 W. Sunset Bd Los Angeles
California USA 90026 Phone Direct : 213 975 0067
A New Serial Novel by Joshua A. TRILIEGI
Exclusively for Readers of BUREAU of ARTS and CULTURE and
our Three sites in Los Angeles, San Francisco and New York City
All National & International Copy Rights Reserved to the Author
Chapter Two: Mickey
"Look left, then right, then left again." What the hell is so difficult
about that ? Mickey muttered out loud to some mindless quack as
he skidded around the car and cranked his wrist an eighth of an inch,
which meant he was now riding from a basic twenty-five miles per
hour to the preferred forty-five along the coast of Malibu and on
into Venice beach where he kept a shop that tended strictly to Harley-
Davidson's. Mickey was a third generation biker, his Dad had known
some pretty serious guys back in the day. His grandfather had driven
a Harley from Washington State clear down to Southern California
back in the nineteen forties before going off to war, with the rest of
his generation. Back when Mickey was a kid, bikers were hated and
or feared by the general populist. Now, everybody and their grandma
wants to claim some piece of this heritage. His old man fixed bikes for
some of the well known biker gangs throughout California, but he never
actually signed up, if you know what I mean. What they call a civilian.
When his old man left town for a month, which turned into a decade,
Mickey finally took a crow bar to the lock on the old man's wood shed,
found his tools and started a business of his own. It wasn't one of
those
places with a big neon sign or anything like that, he just fixed bikes
for
guys in the neighborhood and eventually had a couple dozen regulars
and that was it. He had been offered partnerships before by local shops,
investors, squares with enough money to set him up well, but simply
didn't want the hassle. " As soon as you take their money, they own
you." That was his usual reply, but lately he'd gotten tired of the
bullshit.
Guys not paying what they owed, insurance companies not releasing
the funds on time, just cause they knew he was an unofficial Harley
repairman, as opposed to the guys with the big signs out front. Part
of him rejected the whole idea of middle America embracing the Harley
phenomenon. The other part of him knew it was good for business and
just might bring the company back into a thriving system, where bikers
could get some respect again. So, when a local rich kid offered him
10,000 dollars to expand the shop, he took it. Reluctantly, accepted a
chance to buy some new tools, get bonded, insured, even had the business
officially certified with a doing business as 'Mickey's Motorcycles'
license.
Some people said Mickey's old man had gone to Mexico, others figured
he got caught up in some kind of deal gone awry. There was talk that he
was overseas, Amsterdam maybe. No one knew for sure. He had stopped
thinking about it a few years back. Mickey made the house payments, took
care of his grandmother and tolerated his Mothers new boyfriends as best
he could. So much had changed since they were kids, growing up in Venice
beach. Back then it was mostly poor folks, now the place was turning
into
something else: well known actors, architects, airline pilots. It was a
good
thing his old man bought the place otherwise Mickey and his girlfriend,
Moon, would have been out of that neighborhood years ago. They lived a
block and a half away from Dennis Hopper's house & when Hopper bought
a Harley, Mickey was the guy he brought it to. Who didn't want to hang
out with Dennis Hopper? Mickey had creds on the street and in the hills,
which was kind of rare. He had clients up and down the coast and didn't
mind much making house calls, even if it took a couple days. He'd crash
out on the couch or garage or guest house until the job was done. Most
guys liked his company and liked to hear him wax poetic about the early
days of Rock and Roll, his mom had been the manager of several bands
up in the bay area and he knew just about everyone from Jerry Garcia's
to The Moby Grape's. People would say that Mickey was made from a
kind of American counter culture royalty. But, he shunned all that talk.
One of those quiet throw backs, except when it came to Moon, his only
truly admittedly obsessive relationship. Whatever she wanted, she got.
Moon was his first and only love. Once they had broken up for a day and
a half during high school graduation. A Friday night and all of
Saturday,
by Sunday morning, they were back together and never looked back.
As he pulled into the driveway, he glanced over to find his mother's new
boyfriend's red convertible, the passenger side windshield was riddled
with
what looked like bullet holes, upon closer inspection, he realized the
holes
were made with stiletto heels kicked from the inside out. "Here we go."
he thought, as he turned off the bike and figured, o.k. this generator
is
fixed. He knew there was something brewing, so he quietly strolled past
the front house and headed straight for Pop's shed. Always a safe
refuge.
But there in the back yard was the boyfriend wearing nothing more than
a pair of Ray-Bans and in a see through nighty, his Mom attending the
barbeque. " For christ sake Mag, what if Calley walks back here ?"
who momentarily turns in his direction, " Oh Mick, grow up will ya ? "
She had been telling him that since the time he was ten years old :
"Your not a kid anymore mick, your ten years old now, grow up."
He did. Got back on the bike, which he hadn't planned on returning
to his client till tomorrow, ripped up Pacific Coast Highway and on
into Zuma Beach, collected his fee and instead of getting a ride from
Jay, simply hopped on the Bus and called it a day. That's when he
noticed a beach comber who sure looked a lot like his dad. "That's
impossible. Must be going nuts. I gotta get out of here." He did.
MAIN SITE : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURE.com
CONTACT : JOHNNYMILWAUKEE@EARTHLINK.NET
LA : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURELosAngeles.blogspot.com
BAY AREA : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURESF.blogspot.com
NEW YORK : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURENY.blogspot.com
Joshua Aaron TRILIEGI 1282 W. Sunset Bd Los Angeles
California USA 90026 Phone Direct : 213 975 0067
NEW FICTION : They Call it The City of Angels / CHAPTER ONE / A New Serial Novel by Joshua A. TRILIEGI
They Call it The City of Angels
A New Serial Novel by Joshua A. TRILIEGI
Exclusively for Readers of BUREAU of ARTS and CULTURE and
our Three sites in Los Angeles, San Francisco and New York City
All National & International Copy Rights Reserved to the Author
Chapter One: Louis
Los Angeles is a funny place to live, but those laughing were
usually from out of town. Louis was a busboy down at Old Ma
Fritters Cafe & Saloon, the longest running truck stop in the
Harbor. He had been a busboy for almost twenty six years,
before that, he washed dishes, before that, he attended the
parking lot. Directing the truck drivers where to park, making
sure the working mom's could get in and out without missing
a beat, knowing the difference between regulars who ate at the
counter and the new comers who were most likely in town to
visit the Queen Mary or take a cruise Catalina Island for the day.
All in all, Louis was a quiet, hard working man with a simple view
on life. He was happy to have a job, never missed a day of work,
except the day his son was sentenced to seventeen years in the
penitentiary for manslaughter. That was over fifteen years ago
and today was the day that Louis Junior would come home,
this made him nervous. His only vice, a daily cheap cigar.
Since that time, his wife had a stroke, his daughter had married
a local cop and he had three beautiful grandkids. So much had
changed since louis junior had gone away. In 1976, it was a old
world, now it was nineteen-ninety-one. The Dodgers entire team
had been replaced, there were new presidents, everything was
different. But still, he showed up to work on time and already
the word had gotten out that Louis Junior was back in town and
heading this way. He had reservations. He knew that Junior was
a good kid, got caught up with the wrong friends early on, had
been picked on and turned tough gut mostly for his own survival.
The accident had been complicated, it had involved a rival member
of another group of kids as well as one of Junior's ex- girlfriends
and to top it off the first cop on the scene was Louis' s new son-in
-law, Chuck, who happened to be white. They all lived in a big
victorian style house just above the port, which had a guest house
where Louis senior lived and in the big house, his daughter, Celia,
Chuck and the three girls, Cindy, Donna and Francine. It was a
good life, most of the time. Louis wondered exactly what he would
say, where junior would sleep and how all of this would play out.
He figured junior could stay on the couch in the guest house and
later he could break the news that after all was said and done:
Chuck had met Celia after that day in court and one thing led to
another, as things like this often do & well, here we are, a family.
He couldn't know exactly what Junior would think, say or do, but
he knew it wouldn't be a smooth transition. Junior had been saved
in the joint and had found god. He belonged to an outreach program
that was ready to offer him a chance to work and go back to school,
but housing was not provided. So, Louis said, " Yes son, of course
you can stay with us while you get back on your feet. " And so the
day started, as these days often do down in the port. Up at 5 AM,
to work by five thirty, he'd have an early lunch and since everyone
knew junior was coming home, had the choice to go home early,
but had already decide to stay the duration. Work was his way of
dealing with the troubles of life. It steadied his resolve, gave him
roots, kept him calm, kept him centered, even if deep down inside,
he knew that this was not an ordinary day and that things could
go bad.
No one was more aware of the impending problems than Chuck,
who worked at the front desk office directly across from the
loading docks at the longshore pick up and delivery. He hadn't
seen Junior since that day in court and before that the terrible
rainy night on the street with bodies mangled, wind swept asphalt,
palm trees bending to the ground and a fierce full moon reflecting
anguish, pain and death, in his eyes. He couldn't sleep all that
morning. For a cop, he was, not a total square, his own brother
had been a pot dealer back in the nine-teen sixties and since then,
he himself had imbibed more than a few glasses of whiskey a night.
He was hip to jazz music, loved the various cultures in Los Angeles
and more than anything, adored his wife and three girls. His family
was his everything. He was thinking about junior as he pulled into
the cafe to get breakfast to go, and three cups of joe for the boys
at the office, who secretly hated the coffee served in the back room.
Ma Fritters Coffee was made with a pinch of cinnamon and was
generally strong compared to the instant regulation joe that the
knuckle heads made. Know one said anything as Chuck pulled
into the cafe, but everyone knew what was on their minds as
Louis and Chuck exchanged words in the parking lot. The
waitresses and line cooks stopped what they were doing and
saying for just a second or two and sure enough a hush drifted
through the place. Those who didn't know the score figured it
out pretty quick. The cop and the busboy, who was actually a
fully grown man with grandkids, chatted quietly about the day.
Neither had figured out what was the best way to deal with it,
nor did they fully understand how junior would take it: both knew,
it wouldn't be easy. But life in the L.A. Harbor never really was.
All National & International Copy Rights Reserved to the Author
Novel Publication / Film Rights / Television Series Rights
Joshua A. TRILIEGI Contact at 1 . 213 . 975 . 0067
To Subscribe, Receive PDF Chapters or Support
BUREAU of ARTS and CULTURE Magazine :
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MAIN SITE : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURE.com
CONTACT : JOHNNYMILWAUKEE@EARTHLINK.NET
LA : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURELosAngeles.blogspot.com
BAY AREA : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURESF.blogspot.com
NEW YORK : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURENY.blogspot.com
A New Serial Novel by Joshua A. TRILIEGI
Exclusively for Readers of BUREAU of ARTS and CULTURE and
our Three sites in Los Angeles, San Francisco and New York City
All National & International Copy Rights Reserved to the Author
Chapter One: Louis
Los Angeles is a funny place to live, but those laughing were
usually from out of town. Louis was a busboy down at Old Ma
Fritters Cafe & Saloon, the longest running truck stop in the
Harbor. He had been a busboy for almost twenty six years,
before that, he washed dishes, before that, he attended the
parking lot. Directing the truck drivers where to park, making
sure the working mom's could get in and out without missing
a beat, knowing the difference between regulars who ate at the
counter and the new comers who were most likely in town to
visit the Queen Mary or take a cruise Catalina Island for the day.
All in all, Louis was a quiet, hard working man with a simple view
on life. He was happy to have a job, never missed a day of work,
except the day his son was sentenced to seventeen years in the
penitentiary for manslaughter. That was over fifteen years ago
and today was the day that Louis Junior would come home,
this made him nervous. His only vice, a daily cheap cigar.
Since that time, his wife had a stroke, his daughter had married
a local cop and he had three beautiful grandkids. So much had
changed since louis junior had gone away. In 1976, it was a old
world, now it was nineteen-ninety-one. The Dodgers entire team
had been replaced, there were new presidents, everything was
different. But still, he showed up to work on time and already
the word had gotten out that Louis Junior was back in town and
heading this way. He had reservations. He knew that Junior was
a good kid, got caught up with the wrong friends early on, had
been picked on and turned tough gut mostly for his own survival.
The accident had been complicated, it had involved a rival member
of another group of kids as well as one of Junior's ex- girlfriends
and to top it off the first cop on the scene was Louis' s new son-in
-law, Chuck, who happened to be white. They all lived in a big
victorian style house just above the port, which had a guest house
where Louis senior lived and in the big house, his daughter, Celia,
Chuck and the three girls, Cindy, Donna and Francine. It was a
good life, most of the time. Louis wondered exactly what he would
say, where junior would sleep and how all of this would play out.
He figured junior could stay on the couch in the guest house and
later he could break the news that after all was said and done:
Chuck had met Celia after that day in court and one thing led to
another, as things like this often do & well, here we are, a family.
He couldn't know exactly what Junior would think, say or do, but
he knew it wouldn't be a smooth transition. Junior had been saved
in the joint and had found god. He belonged to an outreach program
that was ready to offer him a chance to work and go back to school,
but housing was not provided. So, Louis said, " Yes son, of course
you can stay with us while you get back on your feet. " And so the
day started, as these days often do down in the port. Up at 5 AM,
to work by five thirty, he'd have an early lunch and since everyone
knew junior was coming home, had the choice to go home early,
but had already decide to stay the duration. Work was his way of
dealing with the troubles of life. It steadied his resolve, gave him
roots, kept him calm, kept him centered, even if deep down inside,
he knew that this was not an ordinary day and that things could
go bad.
No one was more aware of the impending problems than Chuck,
who worked at the front desk office directly across from the
loading docks at the longshore pick up and delivery. He hadn't
seen Junior since that day in court and before that the terrible
rainy night on the street with bodies mangled, wind swept asphalt,
palm trees bending to the ground and a fierce full moon reflecting
anguish, pain and death, in his eyes. He couldn't sleep all that
morning. For a cop, he was, not a total square, his own brother
had been a pot dealer back in the nine-teen sixties and since then,
he himself had imbibed more than a few glasses of whiskey a night.
He was hip to jazz music, loved the various cultures in Los Angeles
and more than anything, adored his wife and three girls. His family
was his everything. He was thinking about junior as he pulled into
the cafe to get breakfast to go, and three cups of joe for the boys
at the office, who secretly hated the coffee served in the back room.
Ma Fritters Coffee was made with a pinch of cinnamon and was
generally strong compared to the instant regulation joe that the
knuckle heads made. Know one said anything as Chuck pulled
into the cafe, but everyone knew what was on their minds as
Louis and Chuck exchanged words in the parking lot. The
waitresses and line cooks stopped what they were doing and
saying for just a second or two and sure enough a hush drifted
through the place. Those who didn't know the score figured it
out pretty quick. The cop and the busboy, who was actually a
fully grown man with grandkids, chatted quietly about the day.
Neither had figured out what was the best way to deal with it,
nor did they fully understand how junior would take it: both knew,
it wouldn't be easy. But life in the L.A. Harbor never really was.
All National & International Copy Rights Reserved to the Author
Novel Publication / Film Rights / Television Series Rights
Joshua A. TRILIEGI Contact at 1 . 213 . 975 . 0067
To Subscribe, Receive PDF Chapters or Support
BUREAU of ARTS and CULTURE Magazine :
http://www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURE.com
MAIN SITE : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURE.com
CONTACT : JOHNNYMILWAUKEE@EARTHLINK.NET
LA : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURELosAngeles.blogspot.com
BAY AREA : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURESF.blogspot.com
NEW YORK : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURENY.blogspot.com
BUREAU FILM : BERT STERN ORIGINAL MAD MAN at First Run Features
By Joshua A. TRILIEGI for BUREAU
of ARTS and CULTURE MAGAZINE
An original & personal film created by one of Bert's Stern's
longtime photographic subjects. This film is an insiders look
at Mr. Stern's life, career, his history & approach to creating
the images that the world of photographers and collectors
have come to admire , appreciate and purchase as well as
publish. Mr. Stern is famous for creating iconic portraits of
Marilyn Monroe, Elizabeth Taylor, Audrey Hepburn and the
more contemporary models and actresses through the years
& up to the present day, including Lyndsey Lohan & Kate Moss.
This is a home movie of sorts, sometime vague, other time
s exacting, sometimes personal, other times professional.
Bert Stern has run the gamut, he's a character, an old schooler
from the golden era of advertising. Most famously photographing
what became Marilyn Monroe' s final photographic session for
Vogue Magazine.
Mr Stern was in the thick of New York when photographs
became the chosen media for advertisements which up to
that time relied heavily on drawings, graphics and illustrations.
Bert Stern is an artist who happened upon a camera and, as
many professionals will testify, transformed the industry of
photographic advertising, portraiture and selling an image.
This film is a casual look at Mr Stern, told by Bert Stern
himself, over a glass of wine, breakfast, after hours conversations.
We meet his loves, his successes, his foibles and witness his
comeback from a forgotten and obscure iconic image maker
to a collected and respected lion of the industry. This is a good
introduction to Mr Stern who continues to somehow keep himself
in the public eye, through controversy as well as revisiting the
themes and images that made him famous to begin with. We
suggest this film.
The film is presented by First Run Features which has a large
volume of documentaries on interesting, controversial and
obsessive personalities like Ferlinghetti, Phil Ochs, Mumia,
Charles & Ray Eames, Howard Zinn, Harper Lee, Fidel Castro
and Erroll Garner among others. In the politically correct world
of today's film and filmmakers, First Run Features has a brave
catalogue of feature documentaries that are controversial,
entertaining and fiercely original. Look for more Reviews of
their films here at The BUREAU.
http://FirstRunFeatures.com
http://firstrunfeatures.com/bertstern_links.html
Thank You,
Joshua A. TRILIEGI
Editor - in - Chief
MAIN SITE : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURE.com
CONTACT : JOHNNYMILWAUKEE@EARTHLINK.NET
LA : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURELosAngeles.blogspot.com
BAY AREA : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURESF.blogspot.com
NEW YORK : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURENY.blogspot.com
Joshua Aaron TRILIEGI 1282 W. Sunset Bd Los Angeles
California USA 90026 Phone Direct : 213 975 0067
BOOK REVIEWS: JOAN SCHULZE . LUCAS REINER . SEEROON YERETZIAN . DIANA WONG
BOOK REVIEWS: BUREAU of ARTS and CULTURE
These BOOK Reviews are of people who have exhibited Art,
been Interviewed, or have created and or collaborated with
BUREAU of Arts and Culture Magazine, Gallery or Films .
1. The Art of JOAN SCHULZE : POETIC LICENSE
2. THE LOS ANGELES TREES : LUCAS REINER
3. SEEROON YERETZIAN
4. The ART & LIFE of Diana Shui-Iu Wong
The Art of JOAN SCHULZE : POETIC LICENSE
A large and lovely self published survey book with essays
by notable art critics including Peter Frank. Joan Schulze
has been creating art for over 40 years, this book published
in conjunction with her show at the San Jose Museum of
Quilts & Textiles, is nothing less than perfect.
We interviewed Joan in her art studio on Potrero Hill in
San Francisco for the first edition of the Bureau of Arts
and Culture paper Publication and included her AUDIO
INTERVIEW as well as an extensive photo essay on the
BUREAU website. Looking at the book & having it in our
collection is a pleasure. Joan's work might be compared
to Rauschenberg and indeed she sites him as an early
influence, not so much in style, for Joan had been creating
works before discovering Rauschenberg at SFMOMA, but
more as a realization that one might do such a thing for
a living. Raised in a Chicago working class neighborhood
in a time when women were either, " mothers,teachers or
nurses. " Being an artist as a profession was a revelation.
Joan is a master collage artist, quilt maker and a fine poet.
The artworks fall into a category that some folks would call
mixed media. Some quite small [ 4 x 4" ] others rather large
[ 42 x 96" ] . Each piece tells a complete story, put several
together and you have a series of stories, looking at the book
or visiting her studio and you have an entire life's work.
Utilizing images from her own photographs and a balanced
mix of media created tear sheets, Joan tells a small personal
story that is so true that it hints at a much larger truth that
becomes universal. As a collage artist who has spent a decade
utilizing some of the same techniques: sewing, cut & paste,
photo & media sources, I found Joans work inspiring in the
same way that she most likely found Rauschenberg' s.
Telling titles such as, There goes the neighborhood, Fan of
Jack Kerouac , Galileo's Secret and Dinner at Eight help the
viewer along with the more exacting styles of work, whereas
the more minimalist works tend to have one liners such as,
Reserves & Budget. Although there is nothing truly minimalist
about Joan's work as it is painstakingly worked & reworked in
the same way that Basquiat might paint an entire portrait
only to later paint over it with a simple stroke of color, phrase
or wash. These are complicated collages created by a mature
artist with a playful and creative output worth collecting. Easy
to live with image landscapes that reveal themselves over time.
www.Joan-of-Arts.com
THE LOS ANGELES TREES : LUCAS REINER
Petra - Giloy Hirtz
with an Essay by Fred Dewey
on PRESTEL
Several years ago I called Lucas Reiner asking if he might
want to contribute to a Multi Director Feature Film Project
I was putting together based on the letters of interesting
and influential Artists. He was busy creating a series of
artworks based on the trees of Los Angeles, but I kept
calling the studio insisting that I needed his involvement.
Eventually he found a piece by Walt Whitman that somehow
included both his current projects ideology as well as fitting
within the schematic of The Letters of the UNDERGROUND
Film Series. I was floored by his segment, shot in black and
white with a simple text provided by Walt Whitman, it was,
as they say in the Jazz World, ' Straight - Ahead '.
Some years later,I received this fine publication wrapped
in purple canvas with lush color plates documenting the
Trees of Los Angeles Series from 2001 - 2008, including
stills from the Whitman Section of Letters of The UNDER-
GROUND Volume II. Lucas is a fine artist, film maker &
writer who is finely attuned to the arts, a sensitive, private
man who, when opens up, reveals some deep philosophies.
The paintings vary in size and style, titled after the locations
such as, On Canyon Drive, On Drexel Ave, On Alameda Ave,
Off Washington. The larger works measure 90 x 66 " , the
smaller works 6 x 7 " mostly made from oil with a smattering
of drawings from graphite and a limited edition of etchings.
Historically, one thinks of Van Gogh' s bleak black & white
drawings of the trees in winter. Otherwise, this is fairly original
and new ground. Many of the trees have been butchered,
blunted & nipped in such a way that reveals mans obliviousness
to nature. Like a bad haircut, or in same cases a very cool hair
cut: a flat top, an afro or even a mohawk.
The trees have a personality, style, a vibe all their own.
Many of the paintings have a neutral background of fuzzy
grey, what the Los Angeles weatherperson might call,
" that late night and early morning cloud cover " , though
there is a very dramatic deep red background in some,
for instance, On Drexel Ave, which is almost surreal, the
tree reaching towards the sky jettisoning outward. Or the
forboding deep chocolate brown that surrounds the work
entitled, On Lincoln Boulevard #1. These are like portraits
revealed in the same way that great photographers such as
Diane Arbus or Richard Avedon might isolate a subject to
reveal it' s true character. The book itself is impressively
made and stands up well among collectors of fine art,
sculpture & photographic large coffee table books.
You may want to check with your Local ART Book Store
to inquire and or order a copy.
SEEROON YERETZIAN
www.ABRIL BOOKS.com
It would be too easy to say that Seeroon Yeretzian is
the Armenian Frida Kahlo, but then again, it' s almost
too difficult not to mention the similarity. Both female
artist' s spring from a culture dominated by men,
masculinity and machismo.Seeroon pulls no punches,
neither does this incredible publication with color plates
from the early nineteen eighties to the present time.
I have been lucky enough to spend time with Seeroon,
exhibit her work and hang out at her gallery in Glendale
as well as the Family bookstore ABRIL BOOKS which
published this full length catologue. An early painting,
dated 1983, entitled, ' The Mattress ' depicts a homeless
man sleeping on the street in stark black, white & grey
tones. A brave look at a decadent decade, when the
divide between rich and poor was staggering, few artists
turned an eye to the subject of homelessness at the time.
There seems to be a trifold of influences: Socio-economic,
Feminist & Religious. A diverse an odd grouping to say
the least. Seeroon is a master painter, a real humanist,
when compared to other Armenian artist's, she' s a radical
feminist.Back to the Kahlo comparison, her husband,
Haroutioun Yeretzian founded the first all Armenian
bookstore in Southern California and was a powerful
individual in his own right. This book is posthumously
dedicated to him. He was a host to cultural events
surrounding the Armenian community for decades.
Artists, Poets, Film makers and of course writers of
every sort always made a stop to ABRIL Books as a
pilgrimage to Southern California. Seeroon Yeretzian,
the wife of this influential man, did not by any means
play second fiddle, it appears that she kept up with
the Armenian Boys Club.
The subjects of her works, the female form, the burden
of femininity, child birth and identity mixed with the
crucifixion tell a larger story of the spirits need to prevail.
Seeroon spent time in the refugee camps at an early age.
Many of the paintings present themselves in haunting
imagery that express those memories. I have to admit,
that while hanging around her gallery for a time, I have
found myself in tears, the two of us connecting on some
level as artists, as humans, as people. Not to say that all
the work is heavy, but like Frida, much of it has an earthy
biography like storyline that tells us a certain truth about
our personal history.
To balance things out, there is plenty of graphic based art
that interprets as well as honors Armenian, Jewish and
European biblical traditions through the alphabet. These
are detailed, amazing works that intertwine letters, animals
& architecture as well as symbology. Her works are highly
sought out and collected world-wide. The day I walked into
her life, I had no idea who I was connecting with, now that
were friends, contemporaries even, I feel honored to have
her in my circle and as a supporter of The BUREAU of Arts
and Culture Magazine, Gallery and Cinema.
MERGING The LABYRINTH and BEYOND
The ART & LIFE of Diana Shui-Iu Wong
Compact Disc by Shannon Michael Terry
Diana Wong is a consummate painter who immigrated
from China to Europe and later America. This book tells
the complete story from her early influences to the most
recent works. Large, expansive paintings that deal with
form, light, nature & space in a way that is both revealing,
exacting and expressive.
A vibrant, earthy style positioned somewhere between
abstraction and neo - expressionism . Diana has a strong
philosophical background laced with a passion and under-
standing of the elements that reflects in her work. Although
this book focuses on her recent works including the Nine
Palaces Series, there are early examples of painting styles
through the years. From the nineteen Sixties to the 2000's.
Diana's work shows a certain curiosity with color, application
& experimentation. A playful yet mature style that develops
as it moves through the years. The sister of three chinese
brothers, Diana was a bit of a trail blazer, culturally speaking.
Not many chinese woman of her generation became painters,
let alone travelled the world. She's a rebel, quiet, yet defiant,
shy, but also ascorbic. We are currently showcasing her live
in - studio AUDIO INTERVIEW on the BUREAU of ARTS and
CULTURE Website & are honored to have her involvement in
The BUREAU of Arts and Culture Gallery. This publication also
includes a musical compact disc by sound musician Shannon
Michael Terry, a sort of Sonic Impression of the work.
www.DianaWONG.com
COMING SOON REVIEWS OF BUREAU ASSOCIATES SUCH AS :
JIMMY STEINFELDT . BERNIE HILLER . TONY FITZPATRICK
Written By Joshua A. TRILIEGI Editor - in - Chief
MAIN SITE : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURE.com
CONTACT : JOHNNYMILWAUKEE@EARTHLINK.NET
LA : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURELosAngeles.blogspot.com
BAY AREA : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURESF.blogspot.com
NEW YORK : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURENY.blogspot.com
Joshua Aaron TRILIEGI 1282 W. Sunset Bd Los Angeles
California USA 90026 Phone Direct : 213 975 0067
These BOOK Reviews are of people who have exhibited Art,
been Interviewed, or have created and or collaborated with
BUREAU of Arts and Culture Magazine, Gallery or Films .
1. The Art of JOAN SCHULZE : POETIC LICENSE
2. THE LOS ANGELES TREES : LUCAS REINER
3. SEEROON YERETZIAN
4. The ART & LIFE of Diana Shui-Iu Wong
The Art of JOAN SCHULZE : POETIC LICENSE
A large and lovely self published survey book with essays
by notable art critics including Peter Frank. Joan Schulze
has been creating art for over 40 years, this book published
in conjunction with her show at the San Jose Museum of
Quilts & Textiles, is nothing less than perfect.
We interviewed Joan in her art studio on Potrero Hill in
San Francisco for the first edition of the Bureau of Arts
and Culture paper Publication and included her AUDIO
INTERVIEW as well as an extensive photo essay on the
BUREAU website. Looking at the book & having it in our
collection is a pleasure. Joan's work might be compared
to Rauschenberg and indeed she sites him as an early
influence, not so much in style, for Joan had been creating
works before discovering Rauschenberg at SFMOMA, but
more as a realization that one might do such a thing for
a living. Raised in a Chicago working class neighborhood
in a time when women were either, " mothers,teachers or
nurses. " Being an artist as a profession was a revelation.
Joan is a master collage artist, quilt maker and a fine poet.
The artworks fall into a category that some folks would call
mixed media. Some quite small [ 4 x 4" ] others rather large
[ 42 x 96" ] . Each piece tells a complete story, put several
together and you have a series of stories, looking at the book
or visiting her studio and you have an entire life's work.
Utilizing images from her own photographs and a balanced
mix of media created tear sheets, Joan tells a small personal
story that is so true that it hints at a much larger truth that
becomes universal. As a collage artist who has spent a decade
utilizing some of the same techniques: sewing, cut & paste,
photo & media sources, I found Joans work inspiring in the
same way that she most likely found Rauschenberg' s.
Telling titles such as, There goes the neighborhood, Fan of
Jack Kerouac , Galileo's Secret and Dinner at Eight help the
viewer along with the more exacting styles of work, whereas
the more minimalist works tend to have one liners such as,
Reserves & Budget. Although there is nothing truly minimalist
about Joan's work as it is painstakingly worked & reworked in
the same way that Basquiat might paint an entire portrait
only to later paint over it with a simple stroke of color, phrase
or wash. These are complicated collages created by a mature
artist with a playful and creative output worth collecting. Easy
to live with image landscapes that reveal themselves over time.
www.Joan-of-Arts.com
THE LOS ANGELES TREES : LUCAS REINER
Petra - Giloy Hirtz
with an Essay by Fred Dewey
on PRESTEL
Several years ago I called Lucas Reiner asking if he might
want to contribute to a Multi Director Feature Film Project
I was putting together based on the letters of interesting
and influential Artists. He was busy creating a series of
artworks based on the trees of Los Angeles, but I kept
calling the studio insisting that I needed his involvement.
Eventually he found a piece by Walt Whitman that somehow
included both his current projects ideology as well as fitting
within the schematic of The Letters of the UNDERGROUND
Film Series. I was floored by his segment, shot in black and
white with a simple text provided by Walt Whitman, it was,
as they say in the Jazz World, ' Straight - Ahead '.
Some years later,I received this fine publication wrapped
in purple canvas with lush color plates documenting the
Trees of Los Angeles Series from 2001 - 2008, including
stills from the Whitman Section of Letters of The UNDER-
GROUND Volume II. Lucas is a fine artist, film maker &
writer who is finely attuned to the arts, a sensitive, private
man who, when opens up, reveals some deep philosophies.
The paintings vary in size and style, titled after the locations
such as, On Canyon Drive, On Drexel Ave, On Alameda Ave,
Off Washington. The larger works measure 90 x 66 " , the
smaller works 6 x 7 " mostly made from oil with a smattering
of drawings from graphite and a limited edition of etchings.
Historically, one thinks of Van Gogh' s bleak black & white
drawings of the trees in winter. Otherwise, this is fairly original
and new ground. Many of the trees have been butchered,
blunted & nipped in such a way that reveals mans obliviousness
to nature. Like a bad haircut, or in same cases a very cool hair
cut: a flat top, an afro or even a mohawk.
The trees have a personality, style, a vibe all their own.
Many of the paintings have a neutral background of fuzzy
grey, what the Los Angeles weatherperson might call,
" that late night and early morning cloud cover " , though
there is a very dramatic deep red background in some,
for instance, On Drexel Ave, which is almost surreal, the
tree reaching towards the sky jettisoning outward. Or the
forboding deep chocolate brown that surrounds the work
entitled, On Lincoln Boulevard #1. These are like portraits
revealed in the same way that great photographers such as
Diane Arbus or Richard Avedon might isolate a subject to
reveal it' s true character. The book itself is impressively
made and stands up well among collectors of fine art,
sculpture & photographic large coffee table books.
You may want to check with your Local ART Book Store
to inquire and or order a copy.
SEEROON YERETZIAN
www.ABRIL BOOKS.com
It would be too easy to say that Seeroon Yeretzian is
the Armenian Frida Kahlo, but then again, it' s almost
too difficult not to mention the similarity. Both female
artist' s spring from a culture dominated by men,
masculinity and machismo.Seeroon pulls no punches,
neither does this incredible publication with color plates
from the early nineteen eighties to the present time.
I have been lucky enough to spend time with Seeroon,
exhibit her work and hang out at her gallery in Glendale
as well as the Family bookstore ABRIL BOOKS which
published this full length catologue. An early painting,
dated 1983, entitled, ' The Mattress ' depicts a homeless
man sleeping on the street in stark black, white & grey
tones. A brave look at a decadent decade, when the
divide between rich and poor was staggering, few artists
turned an eye to the subject of homelessness at the time.
There seems to be a trifold of influences: Socio-economic,
Feminist & Religious. A diverse an odd grouping to say
the least. Seeroon is a master painter, a real humanist,
when compared to other Armenian artist's, she' s a radical
feminist.Back to the Kahlo comparison, her husband,
Haroutioun Yeretzian founded the first all Armenian
bookstore in Southern California and was a powerful
individual in his own right. This book is posthumously
dedicated to him. He was a host to cultural events
surrounding the Armenian community for decades.
Artists, Poets, Film makers and of course writers of
every sort always made a stop to ABRIL Books as a
pilgrimage to Southern California. Seeroon Yeretzian,
the wife of this influential man, did not by any means
play second fiddle, it appears that she kept up with
the Armenian Boys Club.
The subjects of her works, the female form, the burden
of femininity, child birth and identity mixed with the
crucifixion tell a larger story of the spirits need to prevail.
Seeroon spent time in the refugee camps at an early age.
Many of the paintings present themselves in haunting
imagery that express those memories. I have to admit,
that while hanging around her gallery for a time, I have
found myself in tears, the two of us connecting on some
level as artists, as humans, as people. Not to say that all
the work is heavy, but like Frida, much of it has an earthy
biography like storyline that tells us a certain truth about
our personal history.
To balance things out, there is plenty of graphic based art
that interprets as well as honors Armenian, Jewish and
European biblical traditions through the alphabet. These
are detailed, amazing works that intertwine letters, animals
& architecture as well as symbology. Her works are highly
sought out and collected world-wide. The day I walked into
her life, I had no idea who I was connecting with, now that
were friends, contemporaries even, I feel honored to have
her in my circle and as a supporter of The BUREAU of Arts
and Culture Magazine, Gallery and Cinema.
MERGING The LABYRINTH and BEYOND
The ART & LIFE of Diana Shui-Iu Wong
Compact Disc by Shannon Michael Terry
Diana Wong is a consummate painter who immigrated
from China to Europe and later America. This book tells
the complete story from her early influences to the most
recent works. Large, expansive paintings that deal with
form, light, nature & space in a way that is both revealing,
exacting and expressive.
A vibrant, earthy style positioned somewhere between
abstraction and neo - expressionism . Diana has a strong
philosophical background laced with a passion and under-
standing of the elements that reflects in her work. Although
this book focuses on her recent works including the Nine
Palaces Series, there are early examples of painting styles
through the years. From the nineteen Sixties to the 2000's.
Diana's work shows a certain curiosity with color, application
& experimentation. A playful yet mature style that develops
as it moves through the years. The sister of three chinese
brothers, Diana was a bit of a trail blazer, culturally speaking.
Not many chinese woman of her generation became painters,
let alone travelled the world. She's a rebel, quiet, yet defiant,
shy, but also ascorbic. We are currently showcasing her live
in - studio AUDIO INTERVIEW on the BUREAU of ARTS and
CULTURE Website & are honored to have her involvement in
The BUREAU of Arts and Culture Gallery. This publication also
includes a musical compact disc by sound musician Shannon
Michael Terry, a sort of Sonic Impression of the work.
www.DianaWONG.com
COMING SOON REVIEWS OF BUREAU ASSOCIATES SUCH AS :
JIMMY STEINFELDT . BERNIE HILLER . TONY FITZPATRICK
Written By Joshua A. TRILIEGI Editor - in - Chief
MAIN SITE : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURE.com
CONTACT : JOHNNYMILWAUKEE@EARTHLINK.NET
LA : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURELosAngeles.blogspot.com
BAY AREA : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURESF.blogspot.com
NEW YORK : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURENY.blogspot.com
Joshua Aaron TRILIEGI 1282 W. Sunset Bd Los Angeles
California USA 90026 Phone Direct : 213 975 0067
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