Blogroll, yes, friendblog

Madame de Stael of the Blogosphere

My Aries-in-arms and fellow exile from Los Angeles blogs at Campaign Champagne. If you’re not reading it, you’re not keeping up with the essence.

“Crawling into 2008. Sliding in at the last minute. This year feels silent, like the future itself is going out of style.”

(That title really isn’t a fair comparison. MDS has been eviscerated in history’s estimation as a writer, whereas CC is going to hold her own, I’m confident. I just meant that they were both arbiters of style. Can an estimation eviscerate? Probably not. Could I be maintaining more discretion of metaphor? Probably not, after three days of tech.)

Anyway, I love the way she writes, and I’m going to quote a bunch more of it here. The blog is vital.
” I left the country. Didn’t meet anyone new. Went to the Observatory again. Took a walk by myself to where I could see all of downtown and almost all the way to the beach. I live so hard that it’s a blur and I knew when I’d left that I hadn’t. Not really. Whenever I’m in town I still feel like home is at the base of the hills. That I’ll walk in and flop on my couch and check my voicemail and meet M at the corner.

I moved twice. Pared down to half my possessions, and then moved. And halved again, and moved. I put all the things that had been floating around in books. I probably have your number and your first flyer, and your notes to me, and the directions you gave me to your underground club. I have the postcards you wrote me from Asia, and Europe, and pics we snapped in the car and newspaper articles about us.

I read, and I wrote. I read to get me thinking about how people tell their stories, how they collapse a run around town into something people would want to read. I read books about the people I want to write about. And I wrote little bits of stories. 2004 leaked into 2005-2006, bled straight into 2007. I remembered what it was like to be nineteen and sneaking around my age, and being 24 and finally owning it.

I came down hard, and brought you with me. We cut out to New York and sped around downtown, we hovered on rooftops and smoked Los Angeles senseless. We found people we lost and realized we’d been on half-lives without them. We realized we had no secrets. Nothing happened this year really.”