Tosh Berman's Blog, page 213

September 21, 2014

September 21, 2014

“To exist is to change, to change is to mature, to mature is to go on creating oneself endlessly.” When I think of my past, I immediately get an erection.  The only thing I care to remember is my series of sexual conquests.  Everything else is not important.   I used to know the names of my conquests, but now, all I can remember are their bodies, face, and intelligence.  I was never a big fan of names, because I have a hard time connecting something verbally to a face.  It’s uncommon for a writer to admit this, but the visual image is far more important to me than the vocabulary.  I think back to countless women I have touched, both in the literal and spiritual sense, and every one of them offered me great pleasure, that can’t be really recorded by words on a page.



When I close my eyes it is like being in H. G. Wells’ Time Machine, where I set the dials to a specific time and place, and go there.  I can visit ancient civilization or the pre-war Paris years, by just imagining what it would be just like.  I don’t need to be actually there, but just knowing a few names, for instance Boris Vian, Juliette Gréco and of that sort, I already have a place and time in mind.  So my time machine is really me closing my eyes and transporting myself to that world.  My sexual time-traveling sort of works the same.  Some are real memories of actual fuck sessions, and others are “imagined” get-togethers where I focus on a beauty of my choice.

There is a secret club, only for men of a certain age, that I belong to called “Gas, Grass, & Ass, ” where we discuss our sexual conquests among ourselves.  It’s rude to discuss these things in an open forum or even in public, but within this club we can freely discuss in detail our sexual adventures.  The one rule is the fact that we never mention the name of the woman, or give any personal background on her, except what she is like in bed, and after all, we are gentlemen of a certain age and time.

One of the things we really like to talk about is if we were in, or had the use of a Time Machine, who would we revisit again for carnal pleasure.  The irony is that this club only focuses on the past, so in a sense I’m in a room full of men who live in or for the past.  Some say one cannot live in the past, but I think we all know that is not exactly true.  The present only exists, because there is a past, and how we perceive that “past” is how we see our present.  The future we never knows.



“Think like a man of action, act like a man of thought.” The one thing we all agree with is that each woman has her own particular scent.  I commented that I had a fantasy of sitting in a room blindfolded and the women that I share intimacy with comes in.  I identify each one by their natural sexual scent.  To be wrong, would be fatal!  Nevertheless, it is interesting that all of us men at the club have a highly sense of smell, and that it’s a big part of our sexuality or desire.   When I get home from our weekly meetings, I feel exhausted.  Drained even.  The only thing that makes any sense to me is that “the pure present is an ungraspable advance of the past devouring the future.  In truth, all sensation is already memory.”

September 20, 2014

September 20, 2014


There’s a hotel in Echo Park that I go to, and it is called “The Hotel for Lost Men.” This hotel is basically made for middle-aged men, to dwell in a passion where no one is watching or making demands on them. It is based on a series of ‘love’ hotels in Osaka, Japan, but this one has a twist.  What you get is a room, but also a sex doll.  And this is not just any sex doll, but one that if you touch it, you swear it’s human skin, and even the eyes look real.  A unique blend of high quality silicone has been applied to create the doll. Each doll is made with a skeletal structure.  Their skin is “soft to the touch, and the dolls breasts have been modified to enable a more softer, more realistic touch and feel."



I go to this hotel because by nature, I’m a shy man.  Also I really don’t have a need for a relationship, because I find them boring. If I wish to relate to another person or girl, I can do that easily with my post office clerk, or the young girl behind the counter at Starbucks. Human communication or one-on-one of course, is important for some, but for me, all my inner-thoughts are enough for me.  I never feel lonely. I don’t desire companionship.  I don’t desire heart-to-heart conversation; I desire to stick my penis in a doll.



With that in mind, “The Hotel for Lost Men” is on a side-street, in the hills of Echo Park. The structure looks like housing from Walt Disney’s “Snow White and the 7 Drawfs, in fact it is suspected that Disney built these structures for his workers, due that his studio was close by.  Once you walk in, you are in the lobby, where you can see the various dolls.  For instance there is a doll who dresses like a hotel receptionist, and you can actually go up to her and order a doll and room.  There is a giant menu which lists all the girl dolls, with photographs of course, and a picture of the room as well.  Prices are clearly listed as well as if you want to rest (two to three hours) or spend the night.  There are various types of rooms one can order. Some are over-the-top, like “Sade’s bedroom, ” or “Mustang Ranch Fantasy, ” and so forth.   I chose “Nightporter” room and requested Sarina, a doll that reminds me of an early girlfriend I had in Taft High School.   It takes them about ten minutes to secure the doll as well as the room.  I never see a live worker on the premise.  Every transaction is done through the hotel receptionist, whom I mention being a sex doll as well.  

The Nightporter room is based on the film, and is a large room with six or seven hospital beds.  Sarina was on one of the beds dressed in a black sweater and an off-white dress with a shirt collar. My high school sweetheart used to wear the same dress, and one of the wonderful things about this hotel is that you can custom made your dolls to whatever specific clothing or hair or eye color.  The girls look real, and I never have seen a dead girl before, but I imagine that this is the closest one can get to a dead girl.



When you touch Sarina, she feels real, but no sign of life.  Intellectually it is hard for me to penetrate a doll, but once I get in a mind-set, I’m fine.  I’m obsessed with my aging, and it is interesting that this hotel caters to men in my age bracket, and I’m not sure why?  But what is interesting is that I physically age, but the dolls look exactly the same. Of course they do not age, and they remind one of time being stopped, or perhaps a memory that one freezes, so one can observe over and over again.  After each encounter, one is responsible for cleaning up the doll, and in the drawer, they have assorted cleaning tools.  One would think, since I’m a paying customer, would just leave the dolls dirty, but I personally can’t do that.  Not thinking about the next guy, but more out of respect for the doll, and the pleasure she gave me, or is it more about the pleasure I give myself?

September 19, 2014

September 19, 2014

“I am determined to go through the horror of this world.” I don’t throw the dice, and I pretty much map out the plans on a massive desk in my office.   I have four men in my office at this moment, and they are wearing leather jackets with button up Levis, and motorcycle boots.  I don’t know if I should french-kiss each one, or dress them up for a party.  Nevertheless art-making and doing business is very well the same thing.  John and George are without a doubt the hottest here, and both are sort of emotionally damaged.  Not sure why, more likely due to the lost of a family member, or just not fitting in the world.  This is something that I totally understand, not fitting in the world.  I have been an outcast for my whole life, and I live in a world that hates me.  So, I either drown in self-pity, or make my own world.  I have four young men here that will make a new world, for you, and without a doubt for me as well.



When I look back, I must have been dreaming. I was led into a cave, somewhere in Damn Liverpool, and I came upon a vision that hit me right away.   I usually have doubts or have to re-think it, but here, was something that came upon me in a technicolor fashion, but clearly in a black and white world.  It reminded me when I first went to London by myself, and I picked up on a beautiful man, who was rough on the edges, and eventually punched me out, and took all my cash as well as my watch, that my father gave me, for being such a good salesperson in our family business.  Yet, it wasn’t a downer for me, it made me feel alive, and I was placed in a dangerous world, that I secretly have been craving for a long time.

I remember going into the cave, and realizing that there was not any exit.  I immediately felt the change in my life as soon as I enter the entrance opening.  The heat was the first sensual overload, and it was like if I was going back to the womb, but not my mothers, but someone else’s uterus. A male version if there is such a thing. It wasn’t the audience that appealed to my senses, but seeing four drunken musicians on the stage, that sort of reminded me of the chap who punched me out and took my dole.



Before that, I just wanted to study acting, but my father was against that plan.  He wanted me to work in the family business, and with half a heart I did so.  I eventually went to drama school, but I realize I hated school life.  At the time, it was bad as my world, but much smaller, and therefore I felt I couldn’t breathe in that environment.  I then realize that I can be a performer, but I needed the right medium to work with.  What I really wanted to do was re-shape the horrible world and somehow make it into a better place I was ill in my stomach thinking of all the lies that I had to put up with.  Here in front of me, is one way out, a new honesty at work, that will change mine as well as your life.  John, George, Paul and….. Pete.   That last name doesn’t fit well with the others.  I must make a note to change that in the very near future.



I know very little about music, even though I work in the record store department of the family store, but I know it's important to others. I recall a young man, or boy, who came in and asks for a song “My Bonnie, ” and I remember his face being so disappointed when we didn’t have that record in stock. I almost wanted to come up to him and put my arms around him.  It wasn’t eros, but more of a feeling or remembrance of my past disappointments.  I feel if I could supply people a certain amount of happiness, and not deal with bitter disappointments, then I have contributed something to “this” world. Alas, there are for two worlds.  I’m going to change one world and make it into my idealistic world.   I have the tools or instruments right in front of me.   I just need to fine-tuned or get rid of the Pete issue.

September 18, 2014

September 18, 2014

“I never said, 'I want to be alone. ' I only said 'I want to be let alone! ' There is all the difference.” One should be able to choose who you want to be with, or who you want to work with.  This is my desire.  This is my right.   I was from Sweden, and came to America to become part of the motion picture business.   Well, I ended up in the business, and I didn’t like it.  Not one bit.  To improve my English dictation, I studied tapes made by Lord Haw-Haw, a British citizen who made broadcasts for the Nazis during the war.  He at times used an upper-class British accent, while making statements over the radio, and I found it hypnotic.  I just try to imagine that it’s P.G. Wodehouse’s Jeeves whispering in my ear, but what he said sounded so beautiful, but the ugliness of the content was something I had to move aside. “The people of England will curse themselves for having preferred ruin from Churchill to peace from Hitler.” I played it over and over again, till I got his accent just perfectly correct.  I didn't do this for a film role but to be part of a new world, and with that I needed a new identity.  By no means was I erasing my other identity, because I wanted to have the ability to switch roles or positions in life.



I’m going to do one more job in the film business, and then I’m going to spend the rest of my life drifting.  As I approached my 60th birthday, “in a few days, it will be the anniversary of the sorrow that never leaves me, that will never leave me for the rest of my life.” One can mark success in different ways, for me, it is to be alone with my heart and some close friends.  I always believed that there were two sides to me.  One being a recluse and the other, a social person.  But I cannot be treated like a performing monkey anymore.  I really resent my directors telling me to smile, not a smile, say my lines, not to say my lines, and so forth.  I don’t feel like I have a strong sense of self, and therefore acting is sort of a way of communicating with the public or the individual.  People think I’m beautiful, but what does that exactly mean?



My last role will be playing twins that are conjoined by the head, to be exact by the eye.  I’m playing both roles, so it will be tricky for me to convey two separate identities, yet one body.   To be honest, the script is not that great, but I think it will be an interesting role, or two roles (they should pay me twice!) and then say goodbye to my so-called public life.  What I have to imagine is having a part of me that is always there.   What I have done is practice my lines in front of the mirror and pretending that the image is another character, or my twin sister.  For one of the sisters, I chose the Lord Haw-Haw accent ("Jairmany calling, Jairmany calling”) but for the other sister, who is a country singer - I try to go for a soft southern accent.  It is sometimes difficult, because I feel like I’m separating my soul in doing this part.



“There are many things in your heart you can never tell to another person. They are you, your private joys and sorrows, and you can never tell them. You cheapen yourself, the inside of yourself, when you tell them.” So how does one sister keep her distance from the other, when physically they are together for always.   One of the sisters is able-bodied, but the other one has spine bifid, which causes a height difference.  So one has to carry the other around, but she made a bar stool, because it is the exact height, and just added wheels to the bottom of the stool.  The able-body sister serves as the manager as well as holding the microphone when the other sings.  The script is loosely based on a real set of twins, but of course, this being a film, there are many things that are made-up.  Once I finish that film, I will focus on nothing.  I won’t disappear, but I will decline to participate in the film world, or any other world that is out there.  It will just be me, and the private world of the other.  I walk alone, but there is always another angel inside me that guides me through the murky waters that are known as life.

September 17, 2014

September 17, 2014

I barely exist.  Well, perhaps to you I barely exist, but for me, I am the star of my own world. I just don’t have the resources to make a proper appearance, or become the person you think I should be. I’m a songwriter as well as a writer, and yet, I don’t have a record deal nor a relationship with a publisher.  Still, I can create something, make something that can be admired if you allow me that pleasure. I have the tendency, or some say the talent to choose the wrong type of woman.  The one’s that make me purr, are usually married, and married to powerful men.  I guess I want a taste of that power by being with their women.   To taste what they have tasted, even though it’s a by-product of their power, their position, it is still a high for me to get close to it.  There is something in my DNA, that makes me want to throw a punch before thinking it through.  I don’t consider myself a vicious man, but once I taste their blood, it is like wine to my senses.  I once read that there are no accidents or coincidences, that every gesture or thought is pre-planned.  If I was meant to be rich, successful, and I guess happy, then it would happen.



I have been told that “You’ve got a million-dollar talent son, but a ten-cent brain.” The problem is that I need the attention before anything else. I can’t stand being ignored, or not to be the focus of attention.  It’s always a shock to me, when people don’t respond to me right away.  Everything I do or see is an extension of me.  I take a walk down Waverly Drive, and I see the architecture, the road signs, and even the trees as objects that should have a relationship with me. I find it odd that a thing can exist without me thinking about that thing.  As I try to finish my memoir “I Am Not Ashamed, ” I find myself in a deep sea of doubt, and that, to be honest with you, leave me scared.  I wrote a song called “Angel of Death, ” which confronts my fear of not being around.  “Can you truthfully say/With your dying breath/That you’re ready to meet/The Angel of Death. ”



My taste for married women came from the feeling that I’m alive and here at the moment. I don’t like to think about the next day, or even the next minute. When you get to it, I just want to be famous and admired - and the love or lust from a married woman brings that intensity in life.  My girlfriend’s husband Franchot, threw a punch at me the other night, he missed, and I broke his cheek bone.  It felt good to do that.  On the other hand, I won the battle, but I may have lost the war.  It felt right at that moment, but now people are beginning to doubt me or even worse, not caring at all.  There is only so much pain to go around, and I can’t be seen as the pain giver, because people will be tired of me.  And then what?  “Just a deck of cards and a jug of wine/And a woman’s lies makes a life like mine/Oh the day we met, I went astray/I started rolling down that lost highway. ”

September 16, 2014

September 16, 2014

I was obsessing over Korla Pandit, both the man and his music, when walking towards the Central Library in Los Angeles.  I looked up at the Standard Hotel to hopefully get a glance of someone up there.  Usually when I’m on the street level, I don’t see a thing.  But I saw a sole man, looking at the view of downtown from the roof.  I immediately thought if he was going to jump.  When I went into the library and began working on my memoir, I read on Facebook that a man jumped from the pool/roof area of the Standard Hotel just now. I felt bad, because I thought maybe that guy up there picked up on my thoughts about jumping.  But to be honest, I often think about that, while walking around downtown, due to the tall buildings, one is always aware that someone can topple over the roof or their window, and hit you while you’re strolling along the boulevard.  When I read the responses to that post, regarding the unfortunate soul who jumped, most didn't comment on his suicide, but more to the fact that it is unsafe to walk around the downtown area.   One person mentioned that a bowling ball almost hit him while he walked past a ten story building.  Whoever had that bowling ball, used it to keep their window open, for air I guess.

Nevertheless, I went back to my writing, and thinking about Korla Pandit.  I find him fascinating, because one, I love the sound of the organ.  Pandit was an incredible musician, and myself being attracted to visually stimulating people, found him magnificent.  He used to have a show called “Korla Pandit’s Adventures in Music” that was broadcasted every week day on the Los Angeles TV station KTLA.  He never spoke, but looked dreamily into the camera while performing his music.  Each episode was 15 minutes long.   He looked like he came from somewhere exotic, such as India.  He had a white turbine and usually wore a tuxedo.   One story I heard was that he was born in New Delhi to a Brahmin priest and a French opera singer who traveled from England to India.  Eventually the family made it to the United States.



At the time he was doing his weekday TV series, he also did the music for the radio drama series “Chandu the Magician.” The main character Frank Chandler (“Chandu”) had the ability to teleport, astral project, mesmerize, as well as project illusions.  He learned the secrets of the occult from the Yogis in India.  In many ways, Korla looked like Chandu the Magician.   Chandler after learning the secrets of the occult was told by his Yogi teacher to “Go forth in the youth and strength and conquer the evil that threatens Mankind.”


As one knows, evil is everywhere.  Kierkegaard has commented that “Since boredom advances and boredom is the root of all evil, no wonder, then, that the world goes backwards, that evil spreads.” If one can lose oneself into an exotic world, then I feel that there is hope to at the very least, force evil back into the Pandora’s box.  By instinct, I feel Korla brings Eastern wisdom into the Western world, or at least he did so when he did his 15 minute television show.  Not saying a word, and looking into the camera, and playing his organ, he speaks with great volume.   Yet, even with my slight knowledge of Korla Pandit and Chandu the Magician, I couldn't save the man on the top of the Standard Hotel.   To do good, one needs to be a professional.

September 15, 2014

September 15, 2014
“A great many people have come up to me and asked how I manage to get so much work done and still keep looking so dissipated. “ I have always been known to friends and foes to be the go-to-guy with respect of having a martini always near me.  In all seriousness, “I know I’m drinking myself to a slow death, but then I’m in no hurry.” I have trouble sleeping at night, so I find having a chilled glass of martini at the bedside helps me sleep better. If I wake up in the middle of the night, I just reached the cooler, and take another sip, and I’m off to dream land, where I try to imagine my life as a memoir.  Which also keeps me up at nights, because I’m so damn busy remembering every little incident that went through my world from age 1 to 20.  Youth is significant, but the memory of youth is much more important.  Luckily there have been major changes in the world of writing, one that “the biggest obstacle to professional writing is the necessity for changing a typewriter ribbon.” With the miracle machine, the laptop, I don’t have to worry about that.  Now I can write till my fingers run off to the side, where the martini glass resides. 


My life changed when I found out that I’m a distant relative of Gilles de Rais, perhaps the first serial killer on record.  The Frenchman was alleged to killing up to 600 children from 1432 to the spring of 1433.  I personally don’t believe the number is that high, more likely 200.  Nevertheless, being related to such a brute (although a refined one, according to historians) hasn’t helped me much.   The dark cloud that follows me, I think came from my distant relative.  I try to think and behave like François de La Rochefoucauld, who seemed to be a reasonable gentleman of nobility.   I bear that in mind while writing my memoirs and sipping my drink.   He wrote that “true love is like ghosts, which everyone talks about and few have seen.” I had a dream the other night that I was on an island, and I came upon a sophisticated party, full of beautiful woman - one of them actually looked like Louise Brooks.  When I approached her, it was like I wasn’t there.  She didn’t acknowledge me, and I had the feeling that either I wasn’t there, or she wasn’t there as well.  In fact, the whole party appeared to be projected from someone’s dreams, but clearly to me, it wasn’t from my dream. 



“There is is only one kind of love, but there are a thousand imitations.” So perhaps my dream the other night was my experience of falling in love, but the girl didn’t even exist.  Can one love just an idea of being in love?  The other part of the dream that I remember quite clearly is when I heard someone from the party saying “Why don’t you get out of that wet coat and into a dry martini?”  At that moment, I woke up and reached for my chilled martini.

September 14, 2014

September 14, 2014

There is something so honorable about taking a stand in life, no matter what happens.   I don’t normally pray, but first thing in the morning, even before a cup of coffee, I knell in front of my full length mirror and silently repeat to myself:

“I believe that to have a friend,
A man must be one.

That all men are created equal
And that everyone has within himself
The power to make this a better world.

That God put the firewood there
But that every man
Must gather and light it himself.

In being prepared
Physically, mentally, and morally
To fight when necessary
For that which is right.

That a man should make the most
Of what equipment he has.

That 'This government,
Of the people, by the people
And for the people'
Shall live always.

That men should live by
The rule of what is best
For the greatest number. ”



Many years ago, a bad man did a very bad thing to my father, and ever since then I swore that I wouldn’t allow evil to come upon my house nor my neighbors.  Usually around 9:00 PM at night, I go to my closet and get an outfit that resembles a Texas Ranger uniform, and with the cloth, from my father’s leather vest, I made a mask to go with the outfit.  I carried a pistol, but I swore to myself that I would never use it to take another’s life.  If anything, I would use it to signal help, or at the very least shoot a weapon out of the villain’s hand.  Sometimes I have missed, and I shot a finger or two off, but alas, it was a miscalculation of taking the wrong aim.  Nevertheless I use only silver bullets, to remind myself that life is precious and not to be thrown away.

Also as much as possible I want to use perfect grammar and precise speech devoid of slang.  If one is going to bring justice to the area, one has to set high standards, in case there are any children who are following my career or my duties as a fellow citizen. Therefore I don’t smoke or drink.  I enter into the night, because I embrace the darkness that surrounds the area. It is usually in the darkness where bad men do evil things, but for me I want to take the night back, and bring it to its natural poetic beautiful soul. I tend not to soil myself in such a fashion where I refuse to drink alcohol or eat fatty foods, but instead I think water to purify my damaged soul.



As I wander into the night, I just have to deal with the idea of revenge, but I do know that this is a fruitless form of activity, because that thirst can never be satisfied.  If you go to that well, you will always find yourself back to that well, trying to drain the last drop at the very bottom.  I did retire once, and found someone else taking up my role or identity. If he followed the above creed or promise, I would be more understanding - but this man or creature decided to take the law into his own hands, by committing massacres one after another. So obviously, I had to go back into the night to clear my name.

After putting on the recording of “William Tell Overture” on the turntable, I approached the mirror again, and slowly put my costume on, knowing that I will never be able to leave my identity as the figure who fights for justice.  I declare to the night and to all those who feel a false sense of security in the nighttime. I’m back.

September 13, 2014

September 13, 2014

Triskaidekaphobia is the fear of the number “13.” The composer Arnold Schoenberg had a deep fear of that number, and in fact, died on Friday the 13th.   He was reminded by his friend, mentor, and a fellow composer, Oskar Adler that when he attained the age of 76, and that the numbers 7 + 6 = 13.   At that point, Schoenberg avoided multiples of 13, but never considered adding the digits of his age.  For that whole year, Schoenberg suffered intense fear, in fact, the day he died he was feeling fine, but the thought of “13” made him go to bed, where he was sick, depressed and anxious.   Like his friend Oskar, Arnold was also obsessed with the horoscope.  A dear friend of Schoenberg, Oskar taught the great composer the rudiments of music and played chamber music with him.   As well as being a member of the Society for Private Musical Performances, organized by Schoenberg as a private listening club for the purpose of playing modern music to other composers and those who are fans of the “new,” also gave spiritual advice as well as horoscope readings.



To go to the concerts presented by The Society For Private Musical Performances, you have to join the organization, and it was an attempt to keep out hostile critics who would attack the music or performances.  On the entrance door as read “Critics are forbidden entry.” Also applause was not permitted after the performance of any of the music carried out by the musicians.  To be a member, you have to be interested in modern music and one is there to basically be exposed to the music that was being made in Vienna, 1918.   It was regarded as a success, because the organization gave 353 performances of 154 works in a total of 117 concerts.  Schoenberg, who created the series didn’t allow any of his music to be played for the first two years of the organization.  Instead programs included works by Stravinsky, Bartók, Debussy, Ravel, Webern, Berg, and others.



When Schoenberg moved to Los Angeles to teach music composition at USC, he met a very young woman by the name of Amy Camus, who either came from Brooklyn or as she later claimed, from Callao, Peru.  Nevertheless she wished to study with him, specifically voice.  She had a singing voice that was over four octaves from B2 to C♯7 (approximately 123 to 2270 Hz).  According to the composer Virgil Thomson, her voice is “very low and warm, very high and birdlike”, but nevertheless her range “is very close to four octaves, but is in no way inhuman or outlandish in sound.” This is a viewpoint not shared by Schoenberg.



Camus had a sound that was eerie, and it sounded like it came from another part of the world.  Some would think “Peru,” but it could have been anywhere from Central or South America.  As an European, Schoenberg had never been exposed to such a voice, or a culture that Amy brought to the table.  He was totally intrigued by the range and sound of her voice, but once she filled out the application stating that her birthday was on September 13, he withdraws that application, and claimed to have lost it.  Nevertheless she did find some success, and eventually signed a record contract with Capital Records, where she had numerous hits during the 1950s.

As for Schoenberg, he was offered a chance to do the soundtrack to a Hollywood film.  The studio wanted him to write incidental music as well as a major theme in the film’s beginning and ending credits.  But Schoenberg insisted that if he takes the job, he would need to have complete control not only of the music, but the entire soundtrack of the film, including all dialogue spoken in the movie.  The producers were taken back by his demands, because they have not previously heard such a thing.  Sadly, the studio had to turn him down, and a young Les Baxter was approached and ended doing the music for “Ritual of the Savage.” The film never came out, but it did become a Broadway show, that unfortunately wasn’t much of a financial success. It was reportedly inspired by a book by Raymond Roussel called “Impressions of Africa.” The producers pulled the plug of that show after only 13 performances.

Lun*na Menoh Book Signing and Fashion Show at Kohn Gallery September 20, 2014

ARTBOOK | D.A.P. + Kohn Gallery + Tam Tam Books invite you to join Lun*na Menoh For a Fashion Show + Book Signing with authors Lun*na Menoh and Leslie Dick, in celebration of: Lun*na Menoh: A Ring Around The Collar

Saturday, September 205 to 7p.m. (fashion show at 5:30p.m. sharp) Kohn Gallery1227 N Highland AveLos Angeles, CA 90038