Archives for posts with tag: Helmut Lang

Hannah

I haven’t written anything for so long.

Perhaps I just ran out of things to say.

Roger Ebert died.  He wrote to me recently urging me to write more.  I have no idea why.

The house in Malibu is filled with my things again and the garden, this beautiful spring, overwhelms me.

Moving back in gave me the opportunity to start editing once again.    I threw out three huge boxes of old clothes.  Cashmere, labels, everything loved for a moment back then.  Helmut, Yves, Issy, Comme des Garcons… boxy shirts from another era, trousers that I can (after my op) still get into but have lost interest in.

I kept all the Helmut Lang couture.  It’s just too special.

I feel myself floating over the surface of my life.

The road trip across the USA was spectacular.  Chicago, Denver, The Rockies, Utah and Vegas.   Just me and the dogs and a car full of art and luggage.  I met lovely people and saw cities I had only ever heard of.

I never went over the speed limit.

The operation to have my gall bladder removed was painful but since having the surgery I feel wonderful.

I didn’t realize how much pain I was living with.  How the pain made me grumpy, listless and intolerant.

Now, without that girdle of pain, without the imminent GB attacks… I feel perfectly happy.  Peaceful.

I can concentrate.  perhaps that’s why I need to write?

During the past few months so much has happened.  Things I can tell you and things I can’t.

Yet, after the moment passes, I can’t be bothered to write it down.

Editing the huge amount of stuff I own to a few essential pieces.  Taking my old stuff  to vintage stores, consignment stores and auction houses has been cathartic and profitable.   Who knew things were so valuable?

But more than that.  It feels like I am winding down.  Not is a morbid way.

With less stuff and less girth (since the op I lost a great deal of weight) I feel not only lighter but more agile, more energy to do important things (for me) more time to devote to others, causes, delights.

As you know, those who know me, I like my decisions to be made for me.  I LIKED my decisions to be made for me.

Recently I have taken control of the reigns.  Less at the mercy of Duncan Roy.  Do you know what I’m talking about?

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My days are split between the remarkable and the absurd. Bloated with new experiences, extraordinary adventures and, of course, passion.

Every day unfolds like a new napkin.

From dawn I write and rewrite. I am determined and hungry, inspired by the 75-year-old man who won the Palme D’Or in Cannes this year.

Contradictions:

On Thursday I stood in front of the Men’s County Jail with a disparate bunch of men and women denouncing the secure communities protocol, the very same protocol that illegally incarcerated me. A press conference for the Spanish press.

The only Anglo Saxon, the only non spanish speaker.

They hailed me and the other people called to testify. ‘Viva Duncan!’ they shout together. I am moved to tears.

Nobody I know cares about these people. Not least my gay ‘friends’ who savage me publicly for standing shoulder to shoulder with day workers, maids and gardeners who face daily threats of deportation and police harassment.

Later that same day I sat with Lady Gaga and Lindsay Lohan at dinner eating spaghetti. My date was overwhelmed. It was wholly unexpected.

The writing and photography give my life meaning and hope. The immigrants, of whom I am one, better shape my understanding of the world.

I am not interested in what I wear. I’m sure I look like a hobo. My beautiful tailored shirts are shredded. I have no interest in replacing them.

All the vintage Helmut Lang has been sold.

I can cobble together an ensemble for dinner. I look respectable enough.

Last week a young gay man told me I was lonely and sad. I feel neither. In fact, I have never felt so complete.

Back on excellent form I decided to go Halloween party hopping.  Started at SHLA which was a fucking BLAST.  Wearing a huge fur hat, all night it was stroked and fondled.  The rest of me wrapped tightly in black.  My new heroin chic thin frame.

My waist has shrunk from a chunky 36 ins to a very palatable 33ins.

Yum fucking yum.  Nice to wear all those form fitting togs.  Vintage Helmut Lang.

Actually, even though I intended to run around town my Halloween party hopping ended as it began.  I started at SHLA and ended my night there.

It’s time to start eating again.  I am getting too thin.

Anyway, the party at SHLA was really well planned.  They had spent a fortune on art installations and costumes.  Money well spent…the theme for the night: phobias.

Ornithophobia (birds)

Chiroptophobia (bats)

Emetophobia (vomit)

Dendrophobia (trees)

Arachnophobia (spiders)

Aviophobia (flying)

They should have had a homophobia themed room:   Spiteful little fingers.  Eyes that gaze out over your shoulder looking for something better.  Meaningless conversations.  Somebody whispering that they love you as they pick your pocket.

For God did not give us a spirit of timidity, but a spirit of power, of love and of self-discipline.

The greater part of my evening was spent on a sofa on the terrace flirting with an important (she said) artist (male) and a successful (he said) gallery owner (female), flirting and groping.  He was dressed as wolf man and she a pussy cat.  He told me to touch his cock which I did.  The gallerist squealed.  Then she joined in.  Finger sucking.  She gave me her card.  I left it on the table.

She said, “Which would you prefer?  To eat my pussy or suck his cock?”

I told her that I could do both at the same time.

Nikki Haskell joined us dressed as Marie Antoinette.  Everybody loves Nikki.  The ‘important’ artist asked her to touch his balls and she told him very imperiously to fondle hers.

“They’re made of pink satin.”  She said.

I met a bunch of  drunk ‘A’ gays who wanted to whisk me away to a gay party in Laurel Canyon but I bailed at the last moment.    I am not ready to throw myself into anything too gay at the moment..anyway I had too much fun flirting with the straight men stoking my hat.

It was a very festive end to the past few months.  The BEST thing about the party was that everybody from all the other parties all over town popped by so one really didn’t have to move at all.

Most famous person there:  Leo.  He asked if I had made anything since AKA.

Todd Feldman my ex-agent was having a party that I fully intended to join but why bother?

Spent the earlier part of yesterday with Luke who very kindly bought me lunch.

Like it or not there is still a shadow cast over me from the morbid events of the past few months, this will take time to pass but I am NOT staying at home being miserable.  I am out there doing what I do best: meeting people and having fun.

I took one number from one man but will delete it.  I have no desire to meet or engage with another man…not after JB.  That was enough to last a decade.  The idea of getting close with anyone other than those I already know is enough.

Ashley and Aaron Rose for breakfast.  Satie’s Gymnopedie playing.

Drifting over the garden like something aromatic.  Carrying me over the lush vegetation and down to the sea.

Life:  this is it my friend.  It is as it always was.

On my own.  Thank God!