Life in a Venice Commune: the Good, the Bad, the Ugly, and the
Ethereally Transcendent
by erica
snowlake
Honey, the dog with the long
eyelashes, is on lend to us for a while. She’s a greyhound/lab with the
grace of a lithe blonde deer. Unconditional Love! Great timing! Someone I can
sneak out with for my nightly long walks and petty flower thievery. My new best
friend doesn’t complain about the rent owing, the sink piled up with
dishes, or the super loud d.j. backbeats. She does, however, nip someone at a
party on the weekend. Sometimes even a dog needs to be alone.
The fountains stopped. Crisis. A portent.
It metaphysically symbolizes our flow of energy, all ten of us, times as many
friends, hangers on and people who won’t leave any given day/night/24/7.
The fountain spout held a giant blue kyanite crystal dispelling negative energy
which Matt took back when he moved his bus to the Malibu Hills. It also houses
jade and bamboo plants, and our three or so pet snails. Snaley, the biggest one
Halo’s christened, triples in size in one month, madly chomping Leaf
Cuisine take home offerings, mmmmm, slimed iridescent collard
greens.
Our fearless leader in
anarcho-dom Jeff hosts a pirate birthday party for his friend pirate Scotty. A
sweet and decidedly unsober bash still going strong when I wake up. Not without
its drama, like everything else around here, to wit spiritual counselor
Tobin’s in the parking lot consoling a convulsively wailing pirate Ivy,
cascading black mascara and shrieking sobs of “I broke the toilet”,
and in a tribal punk fit of rage/dj control issues didn’t she just
absolutely demolish the toilet. Now a troop is mobilizing an early morning run
to Redondo Beach to pick up a free toilet found on Craig’s
list.
Speaking of toilets,
there’s one living in an airstream in the parking lot. One certain
renowned Toylit, of fake husband and wife performance art duo Toylit and Log,
veterans refugee squatters of the Topanga Rodeo Grounds and authors of The
Children’s Guide to Astral Projection, among other whimsical tomes. Toylit
is solely and gleefully responsible for the parking lot’s multi-colored
glitter veneer, a by-product of many large lovingly stroked canvases he
seemingly manifests overnight, sparkle-sized portraits of Ganesh, Kali, Horus,
and an emaciated Iggy Pop, all bound for a show at the Black Cat Gallery. Dig
it! Being around fellow kooky artists/intergalatic aliens is so
inspiring!!!
I invite my homeless
friend Snake, (Beachhead Interview June 2006), over for a few days as it’s
his birthday July 4th and we, (along with the whole delusional country) are
having a bash, but get nothing but flak from my fellow residents. Seems
he’s acting strangely, reportedly drinking Natalia’s bongwater and
doing some kind of pistol-whip dance shooting straight from the nipples
that’s generally FPO, freaking people out. We congregate on the roof with
cocktails to watch the fireworks go off in 360 degrees, then spend a couple
hours in hot rousing and cursing pursuit of Snake. I receive considerable tongue
lashings.
My head itches, fleas, or a
communal side-effect of not getting much, if any, uninterrupted sleep. Tonight
Coz’s UFO/room is vibrating with an eclectic mix of djs/GHB, i awake to
the sound of a group orgasm?!, a hiphop woman from the Bronx stomping mad
capoeira booty while jungle catcalling to the thumping music, enough to wake the
living dead, repeatedly, (me), repeat, “it’s only a
dream”......
A quick pilgrimage
to Rainbow Acres up the street, and in-house chef Halo spends three hours
preparing one of the greatest vegan meals on earth. All is devoured within three
minutes flat, peeps happily purring between bong hits, and I hope to hell he got
some! Dessert is a frozen puffed amaranth/cacao concoction, straight from heaven
and the farmer’s market in Tepic,
Nayarit.
Beautiful people, freaks.
Another party, to raise the five grand a month rent, of which we’re always
short, naturally. It takes a lot of dough and energy to keep this crazy
junk/pirate ship afloat as an artist/musician/dj paradise/mecca, featuring an
international array of truly amazing divas with incredible, mind-blowing
talents, yaddayadda, no hay mucho dinero. Each party is fantastically unique,
rolling till dawn and rivaling the best all-night dancing faerie balls on the
other side of any dimensional portal. The parking lot/lounge/Burning Man camp
glistens with twinkling revelers storytelling and ukulele strumming round a tiny
urban two-by-four fire in a metal grill. Sigh.
Everyone’s entheogenic journeys
are expanding off gracefully. Josh’s conch shell trumpeting juxtaposes the
thunder of the early morning trucks rolling into Costco, palms trees swaying and
the first bird trills of the day.
There’s demons living in the drainpipes, ( a side-effect of communal
emotions?). No sooner is this verified by our house psychics/shaman, the shower
backs up allowing the pipe below to burst and all manner of holy water breaks
loose upon our unsuspecting roommates. Plus the gas gets shut off due to some
leak in the front room. So no hot water, no showers, no cooking, and yucky evil
poltergeists on a rampage over our dirty reeking bodies. Plus! the putrid smell
of vomit, which appears projectile delivered on the kitchen wall after the last
party, (Snake?), and will not disappear, no matter how many people wash it
trying to find the source, it in fact intensifies and saturates the entire
building in nauseating
waves.........
We’re all ecstatic
imbibing Ripley’s white sapote/lime smoothies, courtesy Dimas and I
picking the tantalizing fruit goodness from neighbor Tina’s tree her dad
planted from seed sixty years ago.
DJ’s deluscious Carly and elven Stefan are trading off mixing tunes while
Alana performs Supreme Hula Hoop moves synchronized with Tobin’s
kaleidoscope infinity wall backdrop visuals. It doesn’t get much better
than these moments of extraordinary group Cre8tivity, Aaron playing vocal
hangman from the communal stripper pole, my krisna flute devotion, Halo’s
healing didgiridooing, Ardas kirtaning to Jeff’s Inside Out Upside Down
guitar mantra, Josey’s psychobilly meets Phantom of the Opera guitar
droning to Allen’s tasty drumming, all conspiring to deliver a sound never
before heard or imagined, propelling this freaking Mothership Spaceship Earth
into Higher Evolution, a black hole, and/or the gap between all thoughts, (the
Gunnungigap, I believe its called).
The Colonel’s visiting, and once again, against all logic with random
intent, inspires dissension and controversy to foment. Seems our (fired) ninja
computer hacker genius simply cannot provide enough crack for the entire
household so spirits hiss-elf away cackling, leaving us a tray of gooey cinnamon
buns and forms to fill out to join the Marina del Ray Crips. Just Kidding!
Another classic joker dropping by to keep it fresh. Oh no, now he’s moving
in.......
A week before the Burning
Man mirage the parking lot’s humming with glammed up art cars, a giant San
Pedro cactus vibrating phosphorescent green for it’s erection/ejaculation
on the Playa, bicycle’s growing fur, and people already getting
fuzzy......
.....And Finally, A Few
More Communal Nuggets of Fun: (lest we forget and scatter to the wind, I know,
let’s turn it into a TV
show......!)
• Great
conversations = gnarly
arguments!
• Travi, Benny and
Shacham rock the house!
•
Jonathan donates a dehydrator for taking care of
Honey.
• Angel Melissa and her
daughter Elise keep us in riddles, stitches, and fleur de lis. Communes need
kids!!!
• Michelangelo fixes the
fountain for free! Abundance bubbles over
again!
• Geoff kindly funds
Nathan’s sidewalk flower operation so he may follow his heart’s
dream to return to Thailand, even though he takes off with the money and leaves
lots of carnations.
• 5 shopping
carts of empties equals thirty
dollars.
• A giant carrot cake
and multiple zucchinis appear magically on the kitchen counter, a medical
marijuana dispensary’s sprouting in the foyer..........and who’s
sleeping with who again?
All is well,
well, all is.......... to be continued..........
Posted: Sat
- September 1, 2007 at 10:59 AM