FOR BLAKE INCARCERATED

After a weekend amongst the rich I'm ready to get home to my hillbilly hovel. I know way too much about Eli Broad and his new wing to LACMA , the comings and goings of Britney, Tom and Katie, and the LA botox set. The embroidered slippers are getting grimy and I've lost the belt to my plush terry cloth robe. The hotel staff are becoming less gracious as I wander the halls without underwear. But as long as my pockets are stuffed with twenties they still force smiles.
Yesterday I went down Hollywood Blvd. in search of a tattoo parlor. Across the street from Frederick's of Hollywood i found a seedy shop that sold KISS t-shirts and did tats in the back. No LA INK for me. All I needed was a guy with a clean rig and a steady hand to ink up my 9mm. on my right arm. I lucked out. The quiet ponytailed Mexican cat in the chair had a fluid gentle touch and a little smirk as he shaded in the gun and SWF-LAX. Pulling a fresh bloodprint on Japanese rice paper, and videoing the process my work on the west coast was done.
Back at the hotel I watched Amy win her 5 Grammys, rock a couple of numbers and thank "Mum and Dad and Blake incarcerated....." All in all it's been a great weekend, but I'm getting a cold and my patience is wearing thin when it comes to tipping someone every time I turn around. The pistol is packed and I can smell wood smoke. To all my loyal readers I'm sorry to say it may be a while before I get another computer and start blogging regularly again. I want to thank the staff of L'Ermitage for a lovely stay. And yes I did steal those slippers. See you back East.

CHURCH GIRL

SWF-LAX GUN CARRY

First let me apologize for my absence. A few weeks back my computer crashed and it has taken me this long to get in a place where I can comfortably post a blog. And what a place it is. Presently I'm sitting at my desk, in a fluffy white terry cloth robe, embroidered with the tasteful gold tree logo of Raffles L'Ermitage Beverly Hills. Outside is the brilliant blue California sky. Excuse me while I stir my coffee with a sugar encrusted swizzle stick that bellman Carlos delivered bedside this morning. Ahhhhhhh.
The filthy floor of the shack and insatiable woodstove seemed worlds away. I awoke at 3 am yesterday morning, shut off the water, stoked the stove, fed the cats and got in the car to drive to Stewart Field to catch a flight to LA. I carried two bags- one contained a polyester running suit, three sets of socks and underwear, a couple of t-shirts, my leather pants and a disposable video camera. The other bag contained one Ruger 9mm pistol. Here's the deal. The past month or so I have been in a downward spiral of boredom, depression, light depravation, artistic angst and self doubt. The house was cold, the cats were always hungry and the trap line was frozen solid and the toilet didn't seem to want to shut off after a flush. TV watching, pot smoking and drinking didn't seem to help. When the computer crashed I hunkered down for the duration. Three months until turkey season. How would I ever make it?
For obvious reasons I can't go into specifics. Lets just say a sympathetic soul called with an offer i couldn't refuse-3 nights at a Beverly Hills 5 star hotel during Grammy weekend. All I had to do was get there. A no brainer right? Well, as most of you know I'm never one for taking the direct route. So just to make things interesting I decided to structure a piece around this weekend getaway. I would carry a gun.
Back in the late 20th century I had travelled out to New Mexico with my 12 ga. shotgun and .357 mag. for a little hunting. I had been flabbergasted by how easy it was to travel with firearms. But as we all know it's different world today and I wondered if I could pull off a transcontinental handgun carry in 2008. So here's the piece. Transport my 9mm. to LA, video the process with the disposable camera, and once in LA get a tattoo of the gun, then pull a bloodprint, completing the piece. The final object would be the pistol in a locked box, the print and the DVD showing the process.
Well, to my surprise it's easier to travel on an airline with a pistol than a big bottle of shampoo. After a cursory check of my unloaded gun at Stewart by a sleepy TSA agent and a sour NYS trooper I was good to go. Gun checked, I boarded the plane for a weekend of LA decadence. God Bless America. Stay tuned for armed Grammy updates. MO out.