Ever feel a pang of nostalgia for a place you've never been?

The Velvet Turtle's lonely carcass sits boarded-up in a Chinatown parking lot. Nothing about it strikes me as remarkable, but every time I see the sign...I dunno. The monocle, the oversized bow-tie, the beak parted slightly as if to say, "The crisp, exquisite, coldness of this martini makes the mediocrity of my filet mignon almost forgivable..."; every signifier conspires here to delight me, and (though I never set foot in the joint) I mourn the passing of the VT.

A mute-but-powerful expression of , "(Sigh) Fuck...", (my mantra!).

An all-too-familiar emotional state, anthropomorphized.

God made water on my birthday.

The river swole up quick and pushed it's annual avalanche of dog shit like a dirty finger into the pacific blue Pacific. This spot is part of a deep, irregular, spillway/bowl perferated by a service entrance to the LA River. The bowl is rimmed w/tiny caves that shelter all walks of vice-seeker. It's a crazy space, hard to photograph- hence the collage, sorry. I just dig the fact that it opens up on the river, even when the river is a river of concrete, bright beyond the cool frame of the door (brings to mind an excellent de Kooning titled Door To The River...next time you're at the Whitney check it out).

My GF snapped this on the way home, and looking at it now...

...I think we may be related.