I love this sketch Adriano Moraes did of Jeff Wengrofsky and I that night.
I remember feeling so perfectly and completely happy while standing there near the doorway, being sketched.
I could see all the guests coming down the grand stairway at Morningside Castle, all in their finest frocks and
sharpest suits. Something about people-watching with permission to be silent and still in the mad throng of that
beautiful party, all while being watched and taken in so intently by an artist making the magical transference
between eye and hand, hand and pencil, pencil and paper. The moment was captured in more ways than one.

Portrait within a portrait.

I had an amazing meeting of the minds with Gerald Busby, a brilliant composer and truly wonderful man
who lives in the Chelsea Hotel. You’ll be hearing more about him from me soon – he’s amazing.

Gerald instructed me to go up to the top floor and walk down the stairs. So glad I did.
It was such a gift to be able to wander the halls of this grand old dame who gave
shelter and succor to so many artists and heroes of mine. I could feel their shades
dancing in the halls, their footsteps echoing. I made a wish that the Chelsea will
continue, will not be robbed of her spirit – though she is being mercilessly robbed
of her art and her tenants. What spirits will be left when they are all gone?

“TO THE PURE, ALL THINGS ARE PURE”
I took a wrong turn looking for Gerald’s apartment
(I should’ve just followed the music!), but I’m glad I
did, because I happened upon room #528 and its
perfect message. It reminds me of being in Rome
with my Grandfather. We were in Madrid, on one
of the last days of what would be our last trip together.
We had gone to the Ermita San Antonio de la Florida
to see Goya’s Sistine Chapel and final resting place,
and I remember both of us were so, so happy that day.
We gazed up at the gorgeous domed cupola depicting
the miracle of Saint Anthony, and all the angels and fat
cherubim gamboling below and just drank in all that beauty,
that light. I asked him then, “How did we get to be so lucky?”
and he replied, “Because our hearts are pure.”

A detail of some as of yet unstolen art from the Chelsea Hotel.
Not sure who the artist is. Fill me in if you know…

From a mural at Petite Abeille, where I had a delightful
post-earthquake brunch with some of my favorite fancies.

Goat girl phone doodle.

I loved this gargoyle/green man who ornaments an apartment on the prettiest street in Crown Heights.

Subway serenader. He also played erhu.

This is Lola. She is one of my favorite people.

This is one of her toys, which she let me play with.

This is ostensibly the pleasant goat. But where is the big big wolf?

I finally found the intersection of Waverly Place and Waverly Place,
stumbling up it alone, by chance, late on my way to dinner one muggy
night. It would have been better if it had been snowing, and silent – like
in Veronica, but at least it exists. People had told me that it didn’t. It does!

The nothing is coming – unicorns unite!

Morning, glories.

The Tiger’s Wife, by Téa Obreht – I’m almost finished with it. It’s so good it makes me kind of sick.

Ramona, my love – won’t you be mine? I want this, I want this, I want this – but I cannot have it!

I also want every single one of these bird cigarette cards!

Mardi Gras 1983 poster. Yes, yes – I covet this, also.

Back of the taxi cab disco goth Cleopatra realness goin’ on…

Late night drawing. Sideways roots.

Moon moth cuffs. Done & nearly done. I make jewelry, y’all. For sale, soonly.

Le bain – my happiest refuge.

Bath pavilion, dusk de-glittering.

Before the Joanna Newsom concert at the Paramount. It’s so lovely to see her play there, in that big grand place.
This time and the last, I couldn’t help the tears that just popped out of my eyes and kept flowing, unwished for,
unbidden. Last time, it was “Cosmia” that did it, but that’s a given. This time, only three songs in, “Easy” unexpectedly
slew me, and then “Cosmia” kept it going. I’m trying to get better at weeping. I’m a pretty ugly crier, all red faced,
snot-strewn and crumpled. Maybe it goes easier if you don’t fight it like I’ve been doing all my life. When music moves
me, or a sad film, a book, or a painting – I give myself over as wholly as I can manage. I try and just let it come and
wash over me, run down my face and keep going, deeper into what I am being given: this art, this feeling, this moment.

It’s funny, because I never noticed the lyric from the end of “Easy” until that night – “Speak my name, and I appear.”
Perhaps Miss Newsom is some sylph that can be beckoned in this way, because she did just that once – or twice, that I can
think of… It’s a long story, but I had been saving some little treasures to gift her, in return for all the beauty she’s bestowed
on my life with her songs. I grabbed them by impulse one morning on my way out the door, late already, but still I felt the
weird sting of sight that made me run back inside for them, and then forget as soon as I got to work. By the end of the day,
I lingered over a stack of constellation cards like the one with the sea-monster on it above. I had to choose which ones to buy,
and which must be put back into circulation, and it was very hard, because they’re all so wonderful – with little holes poked in
where the stars shine through when you hold them up, aligned with their originals spangling the night sky. I chose the seamonster,
the unicorn, the lynx, and then paused over Ursa Major, thinking “Oh, this one I ought to keep to give to Joanna, for Ursala in
“Monkey and Bear.” At that moment, the bell over the door clattered and in slipped a cute fourteen year old wrapped in an old
red and black flannel, with a brooch-studded tam perched over one ear. I tried not to goggle, with those constellations shivering
in my hand when I realized it was none other! I wrote a quick note of thanks on the back of the bear, and gathered those treasures
I had unthinkingly run back in for – a silver Victorian owl buckle, a little tin of pretty bits, blue morpho butterfly wings, and went to
summon up my guts to give them to her. She was dear and kind, and even teary – but I had to hug her and run away quick before
I fell over. So that’s my story – Miss Melissa Petitchou has another one, that’s similar – it starts and ends with a bell, a thought of her
and then she appeared. Maybe she’ll share it with us if we ask very, very nicely. Oh, won’t you Miss? Oh, do!

On my letter writing desk (where very few letters ever get written, alas! Hopefully that shall change soon.)
Green frog ink bottle, fairy compact that was my Nonnie’s, tintype, Mint Humbugs tin filled with pen nibs,
ink sticks and calligraphy accessories in brocade boxes, embroidery of a wishing well by Holly Bobisuthi.

Discovering a latent love of yellow. Saffron, really. Goldenrod. Especially together with deep teal. Oh my, yes.

I re-hung all the art on the walls, scrubbed and dusted until I was sneezing black! More evidence
to come. (Of the fanciness and sparkle of my fresh studio, not of my sodden tissues or whatever.)

Book altar.

Wooden friends.

Eulalia Chrysanthemum in her winter hat.

Treasures.

My electric stereoscope and a hand-stuffed quail Sarahfina taxidermied for my birthday.

My instruments. I play the ocean harp much better than I manage the ukulele, I’m afraid.

Hey, hey – last light of day.

✸ Really enjoying Martine Johanna lately. Beautiful work.

✸ Lori Field’s Forest Stories
I also really love these encaustic paintings. Wonderful, dreamy colors.
“Lori Field’s paintings depict a world where animals and humans live together in enchanted forests
filled with two headed skeleton kittens, Tiger goose head cows, and baby ram angels.”

“Virvon, varvon/tuoreeks, terveeks, tulevaks vuodeks/sulle vitsa/ mulle palkka”
✸ I LOVE this holiday: Virvon, varvon…
“I will wish, whisk and whack/ you health and happiness/
for this new season/ for you the branch/ for me the prize.”

✸ The wonderful Slavic folktale styled graphic work of Tin Can Forest is making me very happy.
“The deep, dark forest of our collective unconscious has never seemed more beautiful and mysterious
than in the images of Tin Can Forest. The Toronto-based team of artists Pat Shewchuk and Marek Colek
spin tales where barter-happy demons and animal spirits, drawn from Slavic folklore, walk in step with
witches and villagers. We caught up with Tin Can Forest to ask them about their work and new book
‘Baba Yaga and the Wolf’ from Koyama Press.”

✸ The Vanquishing of the Witch Baba Yaga
“The Vanquishing of the Witch Baba Yaga examines man’s interaction with the mythic woodlands of Eastern Europe,
detailing the bloody history and complex psychologies that transformed the forest from a conceptually sinister space into
a realm of precious security. Mushroom hunting provides a passageway into the history of the region and helps reveal the
roles that woodlands play in the psychology and sociology of fear, imagination, and survival.

Baba Yaga was vanquished by necessity when refugees of war and social unrest fled to her woods for shelter, nourishment, and
sanctuary. Drawing on fairy tales, folklore, and personal recollections, The Vanquishing of the Witch Baba Yaga examines how
the collective, social memory of Eastern Europe both shaped and shapes local relationships with the forest.”
This looks really wonderful. Watch the promo video!

✸ Eastern Europe’s Evil Granny Rules Two New Novels, “Deathless” and “Baba Yaga Laid An Egg”
I’m reading both of these right now. So, so good!

A candid shot from Devaki Knowles of me applying my lip-rouge at the most recent Vintage Vivant.
The next one’s theme is Storyville Bordello! Scandalous! Salacious! Shocking!

Another treasure from Pink Tentacle – Anatomical illustrations from Edo-period Japan
This anatomical illustration is from the book Kanshin Biyō, by Bunken Kagami.

From Joanna Ebenstein’s “Private Cabinets” Photo Series, Volume 1: Barrister’s Gallery, “Morbid Anatomy Cabinet” Exhibition

From the Home Collection of Evan Michelson, Antiques Dealer, New Jersey

My pals Dark Dark Dark were just here in Austin, and made me fall in love with them all over again.
This is one of my favorite songs of theirs. I sing it all day long, and so will you, I hope.

Tell me what you celebrate
It isn’t hard to do…
Do you love me?
Do you love that paint?
Exposing the brick
They’re crumbling a bit
Do you love the bees
Fly over our heads
Race into the woods
Make honey so sweet

And tell me what you celebrate
It isn’t hard to do
Do you love me
A walk on the street
Oh lavender!
The scent fills the air
Oh remember
The hand sewn quilt
We laid on it there
We laid on it there…

✸ As Above So Below
My friend Bruce Webb has an exhibition of some of his impressive
collection of fraternal order paraphernalia up at Domy Books this month.

✸ My darling dearest Dana Sherwood has a new project called All My Dresses
“Archiving twenty years of collecting vintage dresses, some have been destroyed,
some have been “borrowed”, none have been intentionally discarded.”

Thvm ✸ Rag for Arielle de Pinto from mary-catharine anderson on Vimeo.

A beautiful video featuring my friend Miss Arielle de Pinto‘s gorgeous woven chain jewelry.

✸ Look at Me, I’m Crying
A beautiful piece on crying in public in New York City. I can relate, having found myself doing just that, far too often,
on my last excursion up there. Maybe it was the insidious combination of mercury retrograde and vicious sinus infection
that made me more susceptible than usual to uncontrollably weeping on streetcorners, park benches, Duane Reade,
the backs of various taxis. It was kind of ridiculous. I remember being sandwiched on a bench between a henna-haired
bag lady and a lanky teenage boy reading an old science fiction paperback. They just shared the space with me,
and let me cry – oblivious or unbothered, but it was oddly peaceable. The Nigerian cab driver was much more
disturbed, begging me to stop my weeping, and promising to somehow help me figure out how to get from Prospect
Park South to Williamsburg in fifteen minutes. Yeah, that didn’t end up working out, but he was very nice to me.
“If you live in New York, you’re bound to end up crying in public eventually; there just aren’t enough private places.
Just the other day I saw someone doing it on West 12th Street. A tall woman in a beret, with a curtain of reddish hair,
she had tears streaming down her cheeks. She wasn’t on the phone, wasn’t accompanied by a man, or a mom or even
a dog. She wasn’t beautiful, the way a lot of people in New York are, but I couldn’t look away.”

I love this beauty from Jeremy Enecio – thank you, Mlle. Wurzeltod!

✸ Her Voice in My Head I love, love, love
this piece by Emma Forrest about Kate Bush in the Paris Review. Go read it RIGHT NOW!

Caresse P-Orridge & Sickmob – “R. U. Experienced?”

✸ Two new scientific studies reveal hallucinogens are good for your mental health

✸ Ruslana Korshunova – The Lost Girl
Why did a supermodel at the top of her game—hauntingly beautiful and only 20—kill herself in 2008?
A filmmaker describes his three-year quest for clues, and answers.

✸ The Lost Boys
“In December 1970 two teenagers disappeared from the Heights neighborhood, in Houston.
Then another and another and another. As the number of missing kids grew, no one realized
that the most prolific serial killer the country had ever seen—along with his teenage accomplices—
was living comfortably among them. Or that the mystery of what happened to so many of his
victims would haunt the city to this day.”

✸ The exceptional mourning of twins
From Mind Hacks:
“I’ve just found an amazing article that looks at how the death of twins is mourned in cultures around the world.
The journal Twin Research and Human Genetics is usually dedicated to the science of twin studies –
a key method for understanding the role of genetics and the environment on the development of human traits.
In 2002 they had a special issue that took a very different look at the subject – examining grief and mourning related to twins.
One of the articles is a stunning look at the anthropology of twin death, exploring the diverse and intriguing beliefs and practices concerning twin death.”

Articles about three heroes of mine:
✸ The Official Justin Bond

✸ The Invisible Scent – Christopher Brosius

✸ Poly Styrene (3 July 1957 – 25 April 2011) from Coilhouse

✸ the greening life from Moonshine Junkyard
These same thoughts have been buzzing around my brain, but I didn’t have a word to hold them close – until now: viriditas!
“the light green heart of the living fullness of nature.”
Thanks for this, Tam.

The other night at a birthday party I spied these fancy moths.
I got up on a chair in high heels after much wine to take the
pictures. Probably not a great idea, but I had to do it! Glad I
did too, because I love the patterns of the insects, the lacy
porchlight shade, the rough asbestos siding. I love what
you find hanging around porchlights on summer nights
(mostly, anyway). I’ve never seen a luna moth in person,
but it is one of my great wishes too one day. Have you?

Look at him so elegantly black black black. I wish he would
roost on my hat like a jewel. I would be honored to escort him.

Sometimes you alight on a book you’ve always meant to read,
and once you start, you can’t imagine how you waited so long.
The Heart Is a Lonely Hunter is like that for me. For some reason,
I’ve waited a long time to come ’round to the Southern Gothic canon.
Maybe because it’s always been too close? Now that’s a comfort,
to be able to enter into those old towns, old ways again – terrible
days as they were – for sure they’re nearly gone now. I was usually
escaping the claustrophobic confines of spanish moss draped quiet
streets – the same I biked down every night, forsook them instead for
books that took place in chilly London, in dark New Crobuzon or
bloody Ciudad Juárez. Oh, but now – I think I’m ready to dive in
and swim on home. I started with Eudora Welty, and fell in love
with her prose. Carson, though! She just kills me. Flannery’s next
on my list, oh and Katherine Anne Porter – man, I think it’s all about
the ladies for me right now! Though I need to finally dig in to some
Harry Crews, too. Reading these authors feels right in the summertime.
Here’s something Flannery O’Connor had to say about it that I like:
“Anything that comes out of the South is going to be called grotesque
by the northern reader, unless it is grotesque, in which case it is going
to be called realistic.” There’s something I need to dig for here,
in that black alluvial soil where the stories come from. These places,
and the memories they hold. It’s part of the reason why I live down here,
why I want to stay. That, and the weather. Also, friendly people!
Back to The Heart Is a Lonely Hunter, oh! I’ve never read any
book that captured so well the sense of painful longing, the restlessness
of people trapped in between, walking dark summer streets aimlessly,
looking for something amazing to happen. I know that feeling so well.

“This was her, Mick Kelly, walking in the daytime and by herself at night.
In the hot sun and in the dark with all the plans and feelings.
This music was her—the real plain her…
This music did not take a long time or a short time.
It did not have anything to do with time going by at all.
She sat with her arms around her legs, biting her salty knee very hard.
The whole world was this symphony, and there was not enough of her to listen…
Now that it was over there was only her heart beating like a rabbit and this terrible hurt.”
— Carson McCullers

Tomorrow I start this one. I’m so grateful that I snapped it up when I s
saw it, and now have it on hand to begin. It’s so painful when you fall
in love with an author and nothing else will do. I like that I’ve been
finding these 70′s paperback editions, too. I love the cover designs,
their compactness, and nostalgia-inducing aroma. Delicious books!

On a completely unrelated note, I painted my fingers and toes green
today. I cannot budget manicures or pedicures anymore, alas, and
so must attempt to get better at not making it look like a messy child
did it. I feel like I have glittery emerald beetle carapaces in place of
nails. The color is called “Ivanka”, but I’ve decided to re-name it
“Divine Decadence” after the shade Sally Bowles favored.
The polish is made by Zoya, a company that eschews chemicals – they are
all formaldehyde, toluene, dibutyl phthalate(DBP) and camphor free! Not
that it’s still not kind of bizarre, and probably still somewhat unhealthy to
paint lacquer on your claws, but hey. I stopped painting them for years
and years, because I always work with my hands, and they chip so fast.
But it does cover up the dirt constantly embedded under there from
gardening, and helps me not viciously gnaw my hangnails. So! Polish.
I’d like to get Edyta, Adina and Akyra. Still looking for the perfect mint.

The other afternoon, I got to hang out with my little fairy godson, Sascha.
He shares my love for cuckoo clocks, and played with them for a long time.
It’s amazing to watch children at play. It’s very intense, very focused. I read
something recently that talked about what we really are doing when we are
“at play”. It’s very valuable work! I remember how intent I could be when
playing with my dolls, or building forts, or digging. I learned about this odd
UK site called Ghost of The Doll from Miss Lorra Faye Stranks recently –
if you were a child of the 80′s that didn’t grown up in an ashram or
something, you can bet that something you adored is listed there.
I wasn’t expecting such a visceral flood of memory as I clicked through
pictures of My Little Ponies, but seeing them again brings me right
back to that space of being so completely absorbed in combing
candy colored manes, or making them talk, or prance about or
whatever. I remember all their names, the personalities we gave them.
Children’s toys surely can absorb some of that focus, wouldn’t you think?
Even the crappy plastic ones, I reckon. See anything there you remember?

Sascha’s the best. I love that we can have little conversations now.
It’s pretty amazing to know someone from the very first day they were
born, and then to see them acquiring language. It’s magical indeed.
I know I’m biased, but honestly, I think he’s the most marvelous child ever.

Afternoon light and shadow-lace veils. Dressing up is a balm
for my soul. It’s still my favorite game, and I’m going to endeavor
to do it much more often – even when I’m only stepping out for
a little while. I feel like it makes a difference in other people’s
lives too. Also, I feel that those of us that enjoy it owe the rest
of the world an example of how not to succumb to the perpetual
casual Friday that has sadly become the norm. Dress to inspire!

We went to dinner at one of my favorite restaurants the other night,
the Eastside Show Room, and had fabulous cocktails and tempura-okra
and little quails stuffed with figs and talked of exciting plans,
and of cabbages and kings. I found this 70′s wrap dress at
Feathers, (one of my favorite vintage shops here) and wore
it over a black slip (yes, the same one I’d been living in for days!)
fancy stockings and a pair of suede foldover boots from ASH
that I’m wearing as much as possible despite the rainy days
we’ve been having. The sequin headband was made by my
sweet Miss Nina Carolina, and the golden leaf necklace is
from Ren at Lux Revival. I love wearing things from my friends!

Speaking of, I borrowed this dress from my BFF Pandora. It’s a very special
dress, and has magical powers. It’s the most comforting, happy-making
thing to wear, ever. As if it were cotton spun from buttercream and sunshine.
I hope you’ll forgive the outfit and vanitas heavy post, but it’s been quite a
spell, so I’m cramming a few into one! Are you down with the fripperies?
The brown wedges are also from ASH, and I adore them. They are so well
made and comfortable, and obviously I like being artificially tall. Plus, it’s
nice to be able to throw on a summery frock but then take it up a notch
with some serious footwear. Dressing for heat like this with any modicum
of elegance is definitely an art. My advice? Always carry a hand-fan.

My darling friend Chad Merritt (of St. Mary’s and Mon Petit Fantome)
came to town, and did much to lift my spirits from the doldrums!

Sweetness! I don’t know how I never realized before that the horse mural
on Milton St. (off South Congress) is a superb backdrop for picture-taking!

If you aren’t familiar with his beautiful music, or his wonderful
artwork, I suggest you get yourself acquainted! Not only that,
but he is one of the funniest, sweetest and most thoughtful
people I have ever known. I only wish he could be here all
the time! Chad lives on the Gulf Coast, near the Texas/Louisiana
border, and has been through several vicious hurricanes that
basically destroyed his hometown (as well as his home and
belongings). I’ve never met anyone more resilient and open-
hearted. We talked about our sorrow about what BP has done
to the Gulf, to our oceans and to the lives of everyone in the
region. He’s been a real inspiration to me to not get mired
in the swamp of despair. We’re both Capricorns, and our
saturnine natures make us a little pre-disposed towards
gloom – but you just have to pick yourself up and take
care of business, and then make art or writing or music
from what’s in your heart. My concepts of justice and
fairness have really been tampered with lately. I’ve
been feeling like a little kid, stomping and screaming
about how unfair various situations are – these huge
corporations that get away with destroying our world,
these cops that get away with shooting unarmed young
men in the back, and all the little dramas that we perpetuate.
I’m starting to wonder if justice really even exists – or it it’s
just an outdated concept, a mythical beast. I had a vivid
dream recently that I’d thrown a big party at my house
where the guests got drunk and rowdy. I found a card
from my mother’s tarot deck torn in half. Can you guess it?
Yep – JUSTICE. I fixed it with cellotape and kicked the
hooligans out of the garden. Pretty clear symbolism there.
What do you think? Is there any justice left in our world?
Was there ever? I try to think of it more like a wheel –
sometimes the wheel takes a long, long time to get
back around to even things out, but I like to think
that it does eventually. I do believe in karma, but
I don’t think it’s always as instant as we would like
it to be, and there’s always run-off. See what happens
when I try to make a frivolous post about outfits? Ha!

The Last Gadjo Disko! It’s true, darlings-

Saturday, February 6th
at La Zona Rosa
612 West 4th St.
10pm-4am
18+
$7 – $15
Dress to transgress!

With performances from:
Comintern
Wino Vino
Franziska
Sick
and
DJ Chicken Kiev
spinning 100% recycled culture:
immigrant punk – baile funk – kuduro
slavic hip-hop – disko ethnoteka

Gadjo Disko is ending because one of our glorious triumverate, Mack –
who you all know from his inimitable pizazz and fabulosity at the door,
is moving to SF! We will miss him enormously, and there’s no way it
could happen without him. The three of us (myself, Chesley and Mack)
have worked really hard to make Gadjo Disko what it is, and it’s been
an amazing experience. It breaks our hearts, too – but this is the way
it’s gotta be, at least for the time being. Hopefully we’ll be doing more
events in the future though – I can’t imagine us not putting on parties!

Can we just take a minute to revel in the glory of Mackling’s magical
tiger boots? I really need to somehow find a pair in my size. Stunning.

This was taken kind of late in the evening, after many smushings had
smudged my Peking Opera macquillage and my blue weave had been
ditched. There are fresher versions here and here though, if you prefer!

My friend Steve Brudniak is an amazing artist, as well as being a demon
on the dance-floor! Check his work out – it will blow your mind, promise.

These guys are Computer Jesus Refrigerator, and I love them.

I love this girl’s dark green eyes, and lavender hair and sparkly jewels
and well – pretty much everything about her! Who is she I wonder?

Miss Melanie looking incredible in her balinese mask + feng shui mirror earrings!

Cindy Sparklefingers and Jimmy Jewell = ♥

Miss Nicole Labry on her birthday! I suprised her with a big tray of wee cupcakes
and everyone sang! Earlier in the day, we surprised her with a male stripper
dressed as a cop who tried to bust up her birthday barbecue with his nightstick!

Miss Amelia Valentine looking especially sultry and lovely, oh what a woman!

Um, hello lady. You are real sexy, and I hope you don’t mind me posting
this awesome photo of you despite the wee nip slippage! Hotcha!

Corinne Loperfido + Alisan

Despite what Kangaroo Sexy says, this last Gadjo is no secret!
Spread the word far and wide! We have a fabulous new venue
with room for all, and anyone who’s never had the opportunity
to attend should jump on it! It’s going to be an amazing night!

I got caught up earlier staring for way too long at
National Geographic’s hypnotic Patterns in Nature series:

Frost covers the windshield of a car in Tuscarora, Nevada.
Photograph by David Boyer

Snow covers an orchard in the United States.
Photograph by Richard Olsenius

Bare trees cast lacy likenesses on Kunming Lake in Beijing, China.
Photograph by Macduff Everton

The other night, I was invited to two costume parties:
the first was a 60′s-70′s themed holiday bash, and the
other was a Peter Pan/Lost Boys birthday party.
My conundrum was to come up with something appropriate
for both, and also warm. I went with a witchy-progrock-cult
member-medieval look that is probably more 80′s looking
than anything else, but what the hell. I’m pretty obsessed
with my new peruvian wool poncho, and having been wearing
it every day. I used to borrow my step-mama’s cloaks and
suede wrap-boots (man, I miss those!) and wander the woods
after reading piles of Elfquest comics. (Did you know you can read
ALL the old issues online? True. Very dangerous! Oh those Pinis!)
Yeah, I probably carried a staff and definitely was fervently wishing
at all times that I had pointy ears and four fingers and that the
elves on their wolves would come and rescue my from my
adolescent misery. Anybody else with me on that?

This is me, on the moon. In my backyard. Wearing the beloved poncho,
apparently asleep. Clearly passed out on the ground (or the moon)
is my favorite pose. Yep. Stay tuned for more photos of me sleeping!

Poncho, scarf, leggings, boots = all thrifted. This is my uniform.
Not so much with the headband, though I do want to reclaim it
to it’s true glory. I’m working on revolutionizing them, and I promise
it won’t involve stretchiness, terrycloth, or being jammed down
over straightened bangs, okay? Just wait. It will be magical.

My darling Sienita left her Oaxacan gold earrings in my driveway
the day after Halloween, and I’ve been wearing them nonstop
ever since! I’m totally holding them hostage! The ransom is
100 pesos and a bottle of cherry-rum cordial, just so you know.

Witch witch witch.

Speaking of headbands, I remember being completely fixated
on the album artwork for Debbie Harry’s Kookoo.
Her face is the most perfect face, ever.
This image made such a huge impression
on me at a very young age, but I’ve never
actually listened to it! How odd. Have you?
Of course it’s by H.R. Giger! He also directed
two videos for this album, holy shit -
how have I never seen these before?

Crazy. I feel a Coilhouse post coming on!

Oh, and lest I forget – the time is nigh for winter perfumes, my darlings!
I discovered Messe de Minuit by Etro, and wear it nearly everyday.
It smells divine mixed with CB I Hate Perfume’s Burning Leaves,
with a touch of Wild Hunt. Messe de Minuit = Midnight Mass,
and for me that conjures images of abandoned churches,
Satanic rites, sexy witches, and freaky monks. Also, Hexmas!
You gotta love Etro’s own rather purple description:

“The magic flute that conquers darkness.
A boys’ choir on Christmas night.
The gleam of a Templar sword.
Alchemy and perfume, the perpetual oscillation
that lulls Merlin to sleep in the forest of Broceliande.
Messe de Minuit is primarily incense tempered
by notes of vanilla, myrrh, and cinnamon.
Woody and spicy, it is a mystical escape
from the ordinary male stereotype.”

Oh, really? Phallic much?
The main notes are:
Orange, bergamot, tangerine,
labdanum, incense, myrrh, cinnamon,
patchouli, honey, amber, musk, vanilla

There are a lot of conflicting reviews about
this one, and they’re all worth reading:

Bois de Jasmine – Messe de Minuit

Jorge de Burgos Would Approve: Messe de Minuit by Etro

Frangrantica – Messe de Minuit by Etro

Victoria’s Own – Messe de Minuit

“Snow is the most dramatic and exciting aspect
of winter in the Northern hemisphere,
dressing the world with a white gown of sparkling snowflakes.
Fête d’Hiver is my winter fantasy, with fluffy powdery snow
on a fur collar, and burning incense and cedar in the fireplace
in a little cabin in the middle of the woods.
Her brother, Bois d’Hiver smells like bringing in a fir tree
along with a trail of cold snow air from outside.
Both perfumes have a foundation of frankincense, myrrh and amber,
and have enough spices and orange peel to make them smell
almost like pomander, mulled wine and church incense.
But in both cases I tried to stay away from the usual
holiday clichés by adding a little twist: rose and gardenia notes
in Fête d’Hiver, and orange blossom and fir absolute in Bois d’Hiver.”
-by Ayala Sender of Ayala Moriel Parfums

I’m intrigued by Ayala Moriel’s
winter scents, especially from her description
found at the Scented Salamander’s winter and fall
perfumes post. I return to that one again and again:
I love reading about Christopher Brosius’
wintery concoctions. I’m really craving his Gingerbread
perfume, and wondering why I haven’t ordered
any yet! His Winter 1972 calls to me also -
it’s the scent of “fields of untouched new fallen snow,
hand knit woolen mittens covered with frost,
a hint of frozen forest & sleeping earth”
What are you wearing now that the
weather’s turned blustery?

See also:
Favourite Winter Fragrances from Bois de Jasmine

Winter Solstice – Dark Season

Snow Maidens

“Goats milk to drink, from a chipped tin mug; we shall eat the oatcakes
he has baked on the hearthstone. Rattle of the rain on the roof.
The latch clanks on the door; we are shut up inside with one another,
in the brown room crisp with the scent of burning logs that shiver
with tiny flame, and I lie down on the Erl-King’s creaking pallaisse of straw.
His skin is the tint and texture of sour cream, he has stiff, russet nipples
ripe as berries. Like a tree that bears blossom and fruit
on the same bough together, how pleasing, how lovely.”

These odd little bees are pleased about it as well.
This pear tree is loaded down with fat pears, still hard,
and then frosted with starry white! It is so bizarre and beautiful.
The mandarin tree is bedecked with waxy buds, also!

Other items of harvest: these mushrooms that I did not like the taste of.
The man tried to make me eat them in an omelette, and stamped and fussed
when I refused- but their meat was too bitter and astringent to be palatable.
Our pomegranates are much tastier- everyone in the neighborhood is after them!

Evidence of rollerskating birthday parties: fabulously gory tattoos,
temporary of course. I don’t have any tattoos at all! Again, I prefer
to have transitory decoration. I liked having this one, for a day.

These sulphur mushrooms have popped up everywhere!
Little yellow cities sprawled in each garden bed.

“He knows which of the frilled, blotched, rotted
fungi are fit to eat; he understands their eldritch
ways, how they spring up overnight in lightless
places and thrive on dead things. Even the homely
wood blewits, that you cook like tripe, with milk
and onions, and the egg-yolk yellow chanterelle
with its fan vaulting and faint scent of apricots,
all spring up overnight like bubbles of earth,
unsustained by nature, existing in a void. And I
could believe that it has been the same with him;
he came alive from the desire of the woods.”

I had a lovely surprise visitor the other day in the form of
Miss Liza Ferneyhough (aka. stellarbaby) – I am totally
obsessed with her artwork, and have started a wee collection
of her fantastic gocco prints. I was beyond charmed and delighted
to discover that she had done the drawing of me above,
in marionette form, and astride a grackle no less!
We share a deep love and appreciation for these oft-reviled birdies.

Oh yes, and at long last- my haircut! I am so happy with it, and so glad
I followed my instinct to go through with it. Somewhat serious, considering
that a year ago I would have a panic attack even considering cutting bangs.

Change is good. My Saturn return ends this month, and that ritual shifting
seemed very necessary. My friend Chenoh, at Black Orchid Salon did it!
She’s wonderful – I felt very sure, and very calm and trusting, because I knew
that she knew exactly what I was after. Of course, I use dog clippers for upkeep.
Glamour! Strangely enough, it seems to make random people really pleased
as well- and no old ladies have inquired if I’ve had brain surgery recently.

Everyone’s been asking for pictures, and unfortunately I’ve just been too
swamped with deadlines and so much to do that I’ve not been able to
find a moment for an all-out vanity-fest, alas. These weird blurry shots
of me rolling around with my puppy in the backyard will have to do!

Have I mentioned lately that I really love my puppy? It’s true.

The new hair has inspired bouts of listening to Skinny Puppy’s Too Dark Park,
watching Ladyhawke, and wearing really silly sweaters. This weather and
all that makes me think of being 14 and very broody, walking in wet woods
with my headphones on. I’m also having to remember how to layer for
colder weather, starting with leggings and leg warmers with apples.

Now I’m feeling zombiefied.

Nostalgic yes, and slightly lycanthropic. Goodnight!

Oh yes, and – at very long last:
photos from the fashion show!
Mine were not so super, and everybody
else’s are still trickling in, but here are some
of my very favorites, though it’s so hard to choose!
The following seven photos are from Zee Great Wendini!
Many more of her photos can be seen here, and also
lots of good ones from her fella, Flash Barrilleaux.

Ekaterina Konovalova, resplendent in firebird plumage…

Mistress Stephanie was the most fantastic emcee!
She and her Melodic Cat performed a new song that made me blush
right down to my ankles, entitled, “The Lovers of Madame Polacheck”!
There’s not a video for that one, (yet!) so in lieu of that, please enjoy
their latest yummy videos (especially anyone not yet familiar with their oeuvre)

The White Queen, Miss Herr, wearing Jade Rumor

Hello sweethearts! This girl saved my face from disaster (literally!)
and the darling Matty, who made such delicious ensembles…

Hung is wearing LyuRad, with extra long appendages!
Asen is wearing her own designs à la Shi Feticcio/Cross Couture.

Alix and I after the show- he was my model and muse!

This photo of my favorite pair of twins was taken by
Miss Autumn Spadaro, as were the following three.
More of her photos from the night can be found here.

Francesca y Alisan, horned and be-skulled in the lav.

Sweet seahorses! Outfits by the fabulous Hermie Escamilla, modelling with her man.

This last one might really be my favorite – I love the dancing legs (and arms!)

You can see my photos here – just scroll all the way down, yes?
So excited for this next one- I need to dance dance dance very soon!