Women's Intuition and Dennis Hopper.

So Yes - I began living in my car in February. I delayed a deadline for two printed articles regarding the Extravaganja with Zane Helberg and Lucas Dick at the Request of or rather repeated insistence of Sugar Factory Films Phil Messerer - I lost a payment of 1500 $. The articles may yet be printed but my money is no longer retrievable. I lost my Feb. Rent. Further - I lost the ability to care for my roommate ( Who suffers extreme health issues) because I ran the risk of my head and neck and arm going numb and maybe - docs warned - I would not be able to repair the damage after rescuing her from a diabetic seizure. Time to go. I lived very well in my car in Hollywood years before when a development office had insisted that I become a partner's live-in girlfriend while my contract was being drawn. I swear - If I could only suck cock for financial gain, I would be bankrolling Messerer's vision - I love that visionary Buddha even if he is a bit like Alfred Hitchcock in his director's tactics. The articles weren't the only thing gone wrong. Money was owed to me from several clients/peeps - Times are hard - trickle down , Reagan. Trickle Down. Thanks for the memories.
I'd been looking for cheaper circumstances with a roof included but three apartments in LA were swiped beneath my feat due to new transients "Actressing" with disposable cash outbidding me. I convinced some people to pay for temporary shelter while I fixed their wanking action scripts - but still - My resume is a list of accomplished short term contracts - A steady employer looks at me and responds "This ain't no Disco" to me and laughs me out their door. I am at an inbetween zone where I don't quite cover myself yet with clients and projects, and steady jobs blow me off like the Homecoming queen blows the class nerd with a pocket protector who asks her out - The set up comes - But he is left alone waiting for his princess while she and her friends giggle and gossip about his complete perceived incompetance. I will have my revenge on day - Just like the nerds - Perhaps it already came.
I took a drive with the guinea pigs to clear our minds. Down Sunsets winding Blvd., to PCH - Up the coast to a church in Malibu the g-pigs really groove on due to the kind of grass they got growing in the back yard. Within a week, available properties had more than doubled. LA economy is in a panic. I am in several panics and took the time to unleash and unwind them watching my g-piggies graze, leap, hop, and snuggle. Beautiful creatures. But there was one panic I could not let go of - "You need to leave this town now - " my mind kept saying with a high frequency panic that seemed to enter my brain like a HARRP mind control victim explains being infiltrated and wreck my friggin heartbeat. I hopped on the phone.
"You gotta pay me, " I said to some clients who owed me money. "It is not my fault you didn't listen when I said get trip lights. I am sorry you were hit. I am hit harder and I need to leave town - Find SOMETHING for me, man."
"What's your hurry? You sound as hyped as Berns Daly when he needs to place a bet in Mexico - "
"I dunno. I can't shake a panic. It doesn't belong to me - I gotta rip out of this town. I have been invited to Taos. I feel a high panic dude - Like an earthquake is coming. Maybe it won't hit here, but I want to leave now - Every housing option I have looked, every steady job - douched like 'Santorum' ( Santorum is a term invented by Dan Savage, columnist for the syndicated 'Savage Love'. It is fecal matter and spunk that leaks from the anal passage. Savage named it 'Santorum' in honor of 2012 presidential candidate Rick Santorum - then the youngest Senator to be elected to a seat. A pretty AP reporter taped him off record saying homosexuality was like man on dog or man on child. Savage - as well as other's - Went wild, throwing ugly on that ape like Glenn Beck chimps the left ( Which I think should be renamed the Correct since we all know Beck is absolutely right...) Every other paranoid concern I can quash - Earthquake - I know I sound crazy, some say I am - But I woke up in my clothes again this morning and on my lips were the words natural disaster. You technically owe me two grand for the months I put in - I will settle for five hundred. I gotta ramble like Led Zepplin."
"You are fucking crazy, but if you let go of the rest I owe you drive by the house or I'll wire it to your account."
"Wire it. I got work in Taos. I owe some people money. You are not the only person who has forgone payment. I don't have the gas to get out to your new digs."
And so it was wired. And so I left town. And so I made it to Taos a day before the Earthquake hit Japan. A Tsunami warning was issued for LA. My facebook is fluttered with status reports from residents in Hollywood freaked about the radiation fallout from the reactor meltdowns. I slept in my friends drive til she came home. Mave ( short for Maverick) opened her door to me saying even after knowing I worked as a professional psychic, she could not handle me picking up on an Earthquake. As the damage reports rolled in, my grief, empathy, and concern for fallen temples, dojos, and missing fucking friends sent me to the local Ashram for prayers of peace. I have a natural Disdain for yoga. I am too punk rock. But Ram Das wrote "Be Here Now" in the mountains of Taos and I was told I could just hang out, say my prayers alone as an anarchist is want to do, and join folks in the meal presented after ceremonies.
I have always been intuitive and shamanic. The craft of acting comes naturally to me. My Mother says I would spook her by answering her questions before she asked them when I was three or four. I have clarevoiyant dreams. When I worked as a professional psychic, I would consult celebrities on agent issues and land owners on building aquisitions. I worked on a bank robbery. I pin pointed a fugitive caught by America's Most Wanted. I approach my acting and my stand up as a shaman. I look at the comics I hold great and I perceive them as grabbing dark karmic energy and eating it, digesting it for people, and shitting it out as Ambergis - I look at the job of actors as channeling catharsis by picking on a particular Chi - Energy - Ki - Spirit - and attaching to it. "The Actor as Shaman" influenced me tremendously when I read it in art school at the age of 14. A PHD psychologist went to the Royal Academy of Dramatic Arts in London and looked actors out of body experiences during relaxation exercises, and intuitive perceptions about historical figures. She found many of the actors described the roof of the school accurately, although they'd never been there. And one actor's story of playing a historical figure really stuck with me. This actor cat decided his character needed a cracked left lense in his glasses. Turned out the figure he was portraying had a cracked left lense in his glasses. Coincidence? Check with Ripley. I care not if you buy into it. But I do care that I am in Taos while other are worried about fall out radiation. Hahahaha - A sick and bitter revenge on the employers who laughed in my face and said I would never commit to their job offers. They would laugh extra hard when I pointed out that I worked steadily a psychic for a one nine hundred number - Have fun eating natural iodized kelp and checking for lumps.
My injuries were on fire by the time Mave took me to the Ashram so she sat me at a table with a comfortable chair even though we were seperated. Mave knows I make easy friends. My left side numb aside from shooting pains and the side of my left mouth being pulled down distortedly, I was in no mood to make friends. I just needed to congragate with compassionate people who were intent on sending their prayers filled with Chi, Ki, Spirit, energy - To Japan. I sat across from a native woman dressed in vibrant woven reds, decorated with silver earings her sister made, and captivating social silence. She didn't need to speak with me. I didn't need to speak with her. This made us unspoken friends.
"I cannot get rid of this panic I have," She said to her friend. " I don't know what it is - Do you know taos weather report?" It is easy to slip out of the loop in Taos. Many people live "Off the Grid" here. "Do you know?" she turned to me inquisitively.
"No. I don't. The only news I am paying attention to is the disaster in the Pacific."
She says, " You mean Japan".
"No. The Pacific. Nuclear reactors have exploded and volcanoes in Japan, Indonesia and Russia have reportedly gone off. The Tsunami hit Russian lands, Hawwaii's big Island and the West coast was on Tsunami watch with waves rough enough to suck under hardcore surfers in some pockets. It is a global disaster."
"Maybe that's what I feel," she spoke slowly and her aura was mighty and she bore grandmotherly wisdom. " I cannot shake the panic. It is like a high vibration outside of me."
"I understand," was my response. Then I told her of my arrival in Taos and the theory by which I fled LA.
"What work do you do in LA?"
Never missing an opportunity to promote Seamus Reed and Phil Messerer's movie, I explained I had just wrapped my job as an actor in my second feature movie and my hope in Taos was to catch up on my production work in Taos, including this blog that Phillip bequeathed to me. I explained That I was intuitive and that I approach acting as shamanic in its nature.
"My brother-in-law was an actor. You may know him - " Her voice went to a whisper. "Dennis Hopper."
I was already brittle with tears and held together by spiritual scotch tape. Japan had my heart. I broke at the name Dennis Hopper. I broke with quiet whispering tears of respect. DENNIS. DENNIS!!! DENNNIS!!!! I love Dennis Hopper and all his works. I loved him through all his stages in life. I knew his work outside of acting. I knew his painting. I knew and believed the same as he that artists should not be pigeoned holed to ACTOR - DIRECTOR - POET - PAINTER - solely. Art is a way of life. An artist lives life as art. Sees life as art. Sees people as art. I looked to Hopper's work in the beginning stages of creating my character in Jay Buckley's "Washington Interns Gone Bad" in "Blue Velvet". I cried like a child at the way he passed, the cancer he suffered, our world's loss of a man greater than his being. Some people pay a high price for fighting darkness. I viewed Dennis as a warrior of light - eating darkness inside himself and the darkness of the world - To this day - I will still argue his villainous performance made Costner's "Water World" - King of the "Smokers".... Even if you don't subscribe to my insights - You must agree - He is a bad Mamma Jamma who life and work was cut short. It was no coincidence I sat across the table discussing Shamanism with his Native sister-in-law. Dennis actually appeared to me in Mirror while shooting "Washington Interns Gone Bad". I will tell you as I told her the experience - Plus some extra 'Inside the Shaman's Studio' info.
"Washington Interns Gone Bad" was a micro budget comedy designed to look at and lampoon the corruption inherent in My hometown - Washington DC. I played a corrupt chief of staff who takes an optimistic intern under wing and teaches/coerces her to lie, cheat, do coke, and kill in the name of good ole patriotism. I looked at Hopper's mania in "Blue Velvet" as inspiration beginning the formation of my character. Next I exploited every fault I have ever posessed or did posess that was corrupt. I ate corrupt food. I drank corruptly. Still dealing with the fall out of "Spooks" infiltrating my life from organizing the innaugural protest of 2000, I drew on them - The "Spooks" - Hoping to extend my Ki to connect with the dark Mordor Ki that lurked in Capitol Hill. Among the specific names I looked to for connection, was that oaf who was connected to Chandra Levy's dissipearance. That is another tale for another time. My Character was explosive, turgid, crusty, and filled with self loathing and Self worship. Reviews of our little film said I rocked the movie as "Hilariously evil, making up for most of this movies faults' (according to a San Fran review)
I had told the director I wanted a bathroom scene shot of my character prepping for work. She slept with her cellphone taped to her body. She wore truffely nighties trimmed with tiny goose feathers repping her lust for luxury. In her bathroom she drank a pot of coffee, Mixed a Vodka Martini on the back of her toilet and Snorted lines of cocaine. I was looking in the mirror of the bathroom examining myself ( Japan holds the mirror as a sacred tool to the actor - sacred tool is the emphasis here), my reflection... And then it was time to snort lines. We were working with Stunt Cocaine and my directions were to pretend to snort them. I was lost in my character. I was posessed. I went down with straw in hand to the tiny vanity mirror next to the sink to do the cocaine. Upon gazing in that mirror, I did not see myself. My eyes were bright blue - Eagle-crazed blue. My chin bore whiskers. It was Dennis Hopper. Dennis hopper was looking at me plain as you are reading this blog through the vanity mirror. I snorted everything on the mirror. I snapped to when Buckley yelled cut.
"What the fuck! What did you snort? I told you not to snort it! Anne - What did you use for the cocaine? The stunt coke got wet - "
"Am I gonna die?" I asked "I saw Dennis Hopper. Dennis Hopper looked at me through the vanity mirror with the coke on it. I connected with his spirit."
"Whatever," said Buckley. "We need to watch you for a bit. I have no idea what is up your nose."
My tale was no surprise to the wise woman across the table from me. "Dennis worked the same way" she said. "You know he is burried here. Humbly. In a pine box. I held my grief together during the funeral. Since I married into the family, Essentially an outsider, he always took care to demonstrate an air of protection. I refrained from tears until the moment they were laying him in the ground. Then, when my tears began to rain, plain as day - I saw him shoot out of the pine box riding the easy rider motorcycle. He tipped his head to me as he rode into the blue sky that day asurring me he was free. I saw him. I saw him on that bike as though looking at a movie. I am not surprised he came to you. I am not surprised your spirits are connected. Everything is connected. That is why we are able to effect change. My tears turned into a smile. I loved him so much, but he loved me more. He never let anyone treat me secondarily because of my native heritage." I told her it took me 35 years to discover my American Heritage. "Everything happens for a reason. A shaman walks between the seen and the unseen world. You know this. My brother- in - law brought us together. That is certain."
After the Ashram, Mave drove me to the Gorge where "Natural Born Killers" was shot. As we turned to park, a Motorcycle chopper baring a man with a leather fringed jacket passed us. We had not seen him in our rearview mirrors. The cycle the color of Hopper's. I think Jimmi Hendrix is right. Six is nine and I don't mind. When death comes, I pray we all bust into spirit world with the speed of the rebel angel known as Dennis Hopper. I pray we all go to the other side with a calm steady motor. Borne to be wild.
In closing of this chapter, which interupts the continuity of this blog - forgoing the tales of being on set during "Underbelly Blues" - I hope you leave - even if you are not a believer - I myself the greatest punk rock skeptic - I hope you leave your computer - looking for signs of connections we share with everything, and like the Beatles preached - You begin to believe - "We can work it out." Long live Wise women. Long Live Dennis Hopper and the spirit of "Easy Rider". Long live the memory of those lost in the quake, tsunami, meltdown, and volcanoe in Japan and other regions of the pacific. Myself - I believe we all have a ticket to ride. "Buckle up" Said Betty Davis. "It's going to be a bumpy ride."

Better stock up on Flying Dog.

What? Did you think I would forget to shamelessly plug my favorite beer? Bankroller of my second feature I helped produce? I bet you think the nuclear reactors in Japan are under control too. Look for Godzilla and Mothra. They are lurking somewhere......

Tits to Wits/ Pedal to Metal/ Roadtrippin!!!!

Helberg was already outside his apartment in what I call the "Frying Pan of Hollywood". Stuck in the middle of the griddle where the fossil fuels baste you like freedom fries in a French Whore's home, the actor was in repose - coffeee (Yes, with three eee's )and cigarette - A Sinead O ' Connor cover of some lost timeless song - A Jarmushian recipe for those in the know to relax - Can't feel too healthy in the "Frying Pan" - You'll feel out of place like a Guinea Pig in Griffith Park just before the coyotes come out - Invincible, But someone will see those extra hit points and make a meal out of you....Transients in L.A. hunt much like Coyote - In posse. I have heard that some burn candles and make offerings when "Entourage" airs - Studying its writing like the Talmud. Helberg is golden. He is ready. He hops in the car with a smile and altitude that reminds me two more phone calls and I too will grin like that. Chillin with Helberg may be at times chillin with the Cheshire cat - If in fact I actually chilled with that cat - It was a very relaxing night with some tea - I saw eyeballs in the corner and a grin - They made me smile - Signature Cheshire visitation but then - The circles I travel in are very self amusing and I know a lot of jazz musicians.
"Call Cairos! That is your job today. Call Cairos!!" I say with the stress and command of an investment broker to Director of "Underbelly Blues" Phil Messerer. "He returns to Vegas today and he is expecting you to make an appointment to scout his pad." I hang the Iphone up with the memory of being able to slam a phone in the days of dial up. Zane looks at me as though he has not seen this tension, and he is right - He has not - I have the need for speed and a trip out of town. Tits to wits. Pedal to metal. A road trip with Burns Daly was just what the doctor ordered.
We pull up to an abandoned warehouse that clearly is being turned into something - evidence of a garden - Standard classic skillful squatting. Daly bangs on the trunk surprising us - entering as usual from our blindspot. Helberg spies the gigantic Scottsman (Scotts/English) and automatically offers up the Shotgun. "No Need", Says Burns. "Pop the trunk, E and let's get Lucas Dick." I follows Daly's instruction as I have learned to do without question and motor to Dick's Pad.
Lucas was waiting outside for us as a funeral wake was getting started. He jumped in the unlocked door as it was moving with three taco's from tacobell ( Not a Taco Bell endorsement, just a demonstration of our economic standing) offering them to any who hungered in the car - "Good Gravy - The Car is Moving,!" I chortle impressed at his grace. Lucas Dick replies "All good. I been to this rodeo before - Let's roll." With that we were off for San Diego. I made the 101 and girly - wanting to impress the boys - I tore out as thought it were a clear route 40 to New Mexico on a golden night of no traffic. But there was slowing, traffic, and the guys were not all that impressed. I blamed it on my road lust for undisturbed drives. Boys suffer testosterone. Girls suffer breastosterone. Tits to the wits. Pedal to the metal.
When traffic patterns began to move as swift as silver fish surfing Maui, Burns wanted to pull over - A. He had a blunt rolled. B. He wanted to make adjustments. C. We needed gassing up. Helberg bolted to smoke a cancer stick. Lucas - a free soul - wandered toward a field probably to listen to the wind and jam more on his Pandora hip hop station - Always feeding his soul with tales of indestructibility and calm. I don't know what Mr. Dick's heritage is but the native Indian and Irish Shaman in me spies the wind whispering to him often. I risked using the lavatory which I am pleased to report was run by hospitable Pakistani's who were proud of the oasis they had made of the miraculous running water we have in the USA - Flowers, Incense, affirmations - Amazing.
Returning I see Helberg's taken a stance of awe grabbing his hair unaware or indifferent to his burning Cancer stubbin. Lucas is facing the field with his arms extended like Kevin Costner diagnosing the weather from the corn blowing, collecting the corn and wind power feeding it into his storage banks for the coming show tonight, Oblivious to Burns "Adjustments". I followed Zane's focus to see what mischief Burns was brewing.
There was Burns. On top of my car's hood like a winged gremilin on the exterior of an airplane on a stormy night in the Twilight Zone armed with a blowtorch. That's right. Blowtorch. No one seems to notice beyond Helberg who is now didging and dodging around incredulous of the lack of authority reigning down on Burns. I myself was mesmerized by the Blowtorch which had a vintage quality to it - looking like it was welded and formed by a shop student in Guatemala with shoddy American vacuum cleaner parts. A closer look as I managed to avoid shock revealed a lighter magnetized into a flame as effective as a blowtorch -- I am unqualified to go into the mechanics but man - Was it effective! "This is what I made to piece together the Chopper I took from Tijuana to LA this last time. I should have pulled the car away from the pump before I did this... (Zane has broken into white balls of sweat) I just figured we could use a convertable for the journey." And Daly is off the hood and entering my car without one glance from an onlooker. Kicking the hood out from within the car, Daly Looks a bit like a Kangeroo in a WB cartoon.Hong Kong Foey. Fred Flintstone losing his temper. Two Hockey Players loosed to duke it out in a 2004 cherry red malibu. Top comes off without a hitch after about twenty minutes. Zane is watching in unfamiliar shock. Dick is still mediatating with the birds. After the top turned over and ploppled to floor, Berns daintily stepped out of the car, checked to make certain all seatbelts worked, brushed the debree off his pants, and as he walked around the car mumbled " A beer will taste good when we get off the road, eh?" Zane nodded needing to be shepherded through this shocking part of his career as a "Roaddog" of comedy. "No worries, Helberg," Daily smiled seeing the green in this seasoned comic. "E had four cases of Flying Dog delivered to the condo. We'll be watching waves and toasting one another's talents by sun down. My turn to drive." I toss Burns the keys probably the only person who knows it is better to trust him than to fight against his current. "What's the corn Shaman's name again?" "Dick," I reply. "DICK!" bellows Burns. "TRAINS LEAVING!" Dick turns and runs to the altered vehicle with not one ruffled feather. He buckled in with the rest of us. Then he whips from his backpack like someone who studied the hitchhiker's guide to the galaxy - not the Adam's books - The GUIDE - a thin terry towel the size of which a basketball player could easily towel dry and ties it into a hammocked head rest shielding him from the sun and the wind. Helberg admires Dick's work with a Fonzie felt "Nice" letting the trail like air from a tire. "I told you all when we started - I been to this rodeo before - Phat changes Burnz- Let's roll" Amazed - I put on Lenny Kravitz and sing at the top of my lungs. I have not been driven round in a long bit, and to have a convertable ride - brilliant. Knowing that there are four cases of Flying Dog Beer at The Comedy Store Condo waiting for us as the waves roll in and out on the beach - I smile with the sun warming my closed eyelids as I praise those who guided me on this gonzo path to those who have gone before. "Hunter would be proud." I yell "TITS TO THE WITS, BURNZ!! PEDAL TO THE METAL!!!! WELCOME TO THE REBEL YELL HELBERG!!!!"

We made it. Zane White knuckled his seatbelt and back pack and had a powerful thirst by the time we picked up the condo's keys and popped our first Flying Dog Beer. Walking from the parking garage to the balcony he had told Daly his families stories, confessions of immature discretions ( As "w" presidentially credentialed the behavior), and goals of great apptitude and compassion. You gotta love a man who loves his family. Greatful to be alive, greatful to have the gig, greatful for Flying Dog, Zane's second move was to call his mom in Arizona. Fresh from the wilds of Montana, Dick fell asleep as though this rodeo bored him. Daly and I quashed beers knowing he would be returning to Scottland for 8 shakes of a full jar of weed. Daly and I worked often together. This was the first time he trusted me with my opinion of talent. I picked Zane Helberg and Lucas Dick knowing their talent would make me look good. They are perfectionists in every aspect of their lives as far as I could tell. My dream of being a producer and cutting people slack and paychecks were coming true... Craft Dreams, Craft brew, Craft Comedy. I managed to watch the entire sunset and turned off my phone for the show ahead.
The show itself was a rodeo that even Lucas Dick could not conceal awe. Twas Fantastic! Jeffery Peterson - the 420 comic drove into town - Headlining movie diva comic Leslie Jones made an appearance with Erik Marino and singer Becca Fischer entouraging. Med Mike to stage time. Phil Mazo drove in separately from H- wood and was reunited with a beauty from his highschool dayz who was so cool her glass bowl had NEW York Giants logo blown into it ( And she CARED like a man for that football team. She was awesome. I invited her back to the condo with all of us) Americans for Safe Access San Diego Chapter took home 900 bucks they didn't have before that night. Everyone went home happy. I signed a lot of autographs. We retired to the condo.
We retired to the condo where we drank Flying Dog Beer and played poker. Helberg and Dick took the crowd by their heart and I was so high on success I could not play poker - I could only lean to my right and giggle as I dropped cards. I retired first, blowing up my king size airbed and sleeping out on the balcony underneath the stars and moon listening to the waves do their thang...Burnz was happy, Phil and his squeeze were reunited, Zane in accord with Lucas won and lost numerous hands in the chosen game at hand. Breakfast couldn't be beat like Alice's Restaurant on Thanksgiving and the ride home was easy and breezy except I was to report to Messerer at Sugar Factory films. Set day for Zane and I was close at hand. The director wanted to chat with me about costume and character -
What did you think I was going to tell you Helberg and Dick's jokes? Maybe toss one or two to the hungry readers? Perhaps you expecting a critique of the show? Henry Winkler once told me regarding the pursuit of a successful career - It is not what you achieve that matters. It is the journey that is most important. Regaling this tale you it all sounds tall - Tall as the Gonzo days of Hunter S., Abbie Hoffman, and the misguided Weathermen. Sure - I grant you - this tale is tall - Taller than most sentimental yippic adventures. But not as tall as the comedy I witnessed executed by young masters like Lucas Dick, Zane Helberg, Leslie Jones, Jeffery Peterson, Phil Mazo, Burns Daly. ..... And yes - I had a great set too.... And I do speak solely of my breastosterone. The peace created between the sunset, the waves, supporting fellow talent while crushing Flying Dog Beer was enough to last me to set day. "Underbelly Blues" beckoned with whatever task needed tasking. My dog and I would not be going for a spin around the moon again until we wrapped. Did you know Frank Sinatra originally sang "Fly me to the Moon" to his dog - Alfred? If you believe that, I suppose you'll also believe that PBR really does have a blue ribbon. I really have a convertable... Anything is plausible. Few things are well crafted. Flying Dog Beer is crafted. Flying dog beer is crafted almost as well as the comedy I witnessed that show. Pay attention to where Zane Helberg and Lucas Dick go - the answer is places. :)

Until Zen, Folks.