Yesteryou Chapter 27

27.

Molly disliked most of the people she called “normal.”  So much indifference and stupidity, such unthinking conformity to norms, it disgusted and scared her.  That's how she was raised, by parents who felt the same way felt about normal people.  But, she also had problems with the people she nicknamed "artists," people like her who rejected religion and mass-produced ideals and traditional gender roles.  The problem she saw with most of these fellow artists was a lack of passion.  There was no fight in them, like how liberal politicians always let themselves be bullied by conservatives.  Molly responded to the world as though making bullies aware that she could not be taken advantage of, and commonplace unfairnesses were experienced as personal affronts not to be accepted.  It turned out that Vivienne and Tess were unfairness vigilantes too.  When one of the two EMT's who came to pick up Rosie's body was hoisting her up by the shoulders to lift her onto the gurney, he said to the other EMT, who held Rosie by her stiff legs, "Hey Frank, how much you want to bet she was a whore?"

Tess yelled, "Are you kidding me, talking like that about her?  You respect her.”

"Okay, okay, It's not an insult ma'am, just a fact.  She probably was a whore.  I wasn’t trying to start nothing.  Do you know the deceased’s…” but Vivienne interrupted, "It's not what you said, it's your nonchalance that's bothering her.  And you could say ‘prostitute,’ you don’t have to say “whore” like that.  You’re the whore, handling death without letting it mean anything to you, just going through the motions.  Yes, we all knew the deceased.  She was our fucking soul sister." 

"Yeah!” boomed Molly, and she kicked the side of the ambulance. 

“Assholes!,” joined Tess, and she kicked the truck as well.  Vivienne watched them and laughed.  “Fuck you guys,” she said to the irritated men, and then she took Tess and Molly by their hands and led them running and laughing down the street, an ultimately unsuccessful attempt to feel free and stronger than sadness, but fun while it lasted.  

Yesteryou Chapter 26

26.

Molly called the hotel room and reached George.  "Oh goodness, Molly, you sound so horrible, are you okay.  What happened?"

Rosie happened into this world roughly five years later than Beth but looked much older than Beth, because of how much time she spent in the sun, and her bad genetic luck, her hair gone prematurely gray by her mid-thirties.  The one conversation she and Vivienne had was mostly about movies.  Rosie had been drunk.  "Whenever a normal person (she meant someone who wasn't homelessly like herself) tries making acquaintances with me, it always makes me think of watching Midnight Cowboy; you now that movie?” 

"Mmm hmmm, it's a good one.  I used to go around telling people it was one of my favorites, actually, but really I love a happy ending.  Now that sadness is passé, I can be honest, I can say how much I like romantic comedies and children's films."  Vivienne took for granted that Rosie understood this type of self-deprecating, dryly conspiratorial intellectual talk, and that Rosie was catching all her cultural references, and Rosie did, she was.  Rosie was all things to all people, always, like Hollywood or the moon.  But she was also an acid casualty.  As they talked and Vivienne shot photos of her, Vivienne gently moved Rosie's head so that her chin was slightly raised, or guided her hands around a bouquet of yellow jonquils Vivienne'd bought at the Farmer's Market, subtly posing Rosie.  "Anyway," Vivienne continued, as Rosie seemed not to talk much but to enjoy posing for Vivienne, "when a 'normal' person tries making friends with you, and it makes you think of Midnight Cowboy, does in make you feel like a character in the film?" 

"No, it just makes me remember the thoughts I had when I saw the movie -- I used to have a fairly normal life, did things like go to the movies -- I knew the main characters, Joe Buck and Ratso, were just fictional, but still I felt so sorry for them the way they almost starved and then almost froze to death, with people who had so much money always near them, near enough to touch.  I used to live -- well -- somewhere else, I had a daughter, I had money until -- well anyway, I had that movie on VHS, and I used to watch it a lot.  Now when someone walks past me and decides to notice me, starts talking to me, I always imagine they're feeling sorry for me the way I felt sorry for Joe Buck and Ratso, but this life I have now, also, it feels unreal sometimes, unbelievable, I feel like I'm really just a character in a movie." 

"That's probably best, isn't it?  To not feel entirely entrenched in all this?"  Vivienne asked, sweeping her arms across the scene of broken bottles and the immobile, broken into car near them. 

"Probably," said Rosie.  "It feels pretty inane to take a philosophical stance on my situation right now, when I'm so hungry.  Do you have any food?"  

"No, I'm so sorry, I don't.  But here's 5 dollars.  And I'm sorry to be talking about homelessness like this, like it's abstract, I know it's your life, I'm just so curious about it, I feel I have so many questions to ask you."

"Well, it passes the time.  I like you.  Ask away."

Rosie wouldn't have minded any turn the conversation took.  A man she knew named Jack who liked to pass the time with her some afternoons gave her a bottle of a pill called Oxycontin the day before, as a gift.  One night they made love on the kitchen floor of an abandoned row house and it'd been the highlight of the past few years for him, so soothing, the warmth that emanated from her plump, stooped body.  The day Vivienne passed her on the sidewalk and stopped to talk with her and take photos of her, drawn in by the homeless woman's strange prettiness, was the last day for Rosie.  It was no longer bearable to be alive, and she would take the pills throughout the day, finished up the 9 that remained in the bottle shortly after the sky finally went gray and starless that night, a cover of clouds moving in like curtains hiding her final view of the constellations.

Ssssh.

Vivienne, Tess and Molly found Rosie's body camouflaged by the many hills and valleys created by the folds of the pile of blankets she used to sleep among.

Interview with writer Francesca Lia Block

photo by Nicolas Sage photography

When I was in sixth grade (in the early nineties), me and my mom bought a book called Weetzie Bat about a teenaged punk girl growing up in L.A., and I read it straight through, crying when I finished it, from exhilaration and the relief at having found such a blueprint for the person I wanted to become.  It really did change my life, both by helping me define a sense of aesthetics (I LOVED the title character’s punk-whimsical fashion) and by giving me a more positive outlook and the idea that I could and would lead a charmed life.  I did end up leading a charmed life after reading that book, and a lot of it was thanks to the author Francesca Lia Block, who graced my fan letters with prompt and engaged responses, and who, when I ended up being friends with her through a mutual friend a couple years later, would invite me to the readings and events that would make my month, or sometimes my year.  Over the years we lost touch, as happens, but I have of course remained a fan, making anyone I decided to really get close to read Weetzie Bat so they’ll know what informs my nostalgia when I miss some building or vibe that is gone from my hometown of Los Angeles, or when I miss some old sense of magic I grew out of due to some horrible practicality.  Prolific and adored by an enthusiastic fan base, Francesca remains approachable and kind.  Here is the interview she so sweetly granted me:

What inspired you to recently write the Weetzie Bat prequel Pink Smog, when the novel that introduced the character was written over 20 years ago? 

 I live with those characters almost every day because I've been writing and re-writing a WEETZIE screenplay for years and because my readers often send me Weetzie inspired images and stories. It felt natural to return to the characters and I always wanted to write about the 1970's, since most of my work takes place in the 80's, 90's and 2000's.

Over the years I’ve seen a lot of references to your work, often in the form of people using the slang your characters use in the Dangerous Angels series; if you google “Witch Baby, “Secret Agent Lover Man” or “Slinkster,” for instance, the search yields jewelry collections, blogs, photos of people dressed up like your characters for Halloween and a garage rock band.  What is the weirdest Weetzie reference you’ve ever come across, like have you ever seen a hotdog named after Slinkster Dog or met a couple who legally changed their names to Duck and Dirk?  Have you ever heard of any one naming a child after one of your characters?  

 Wow, I'd love to meet a hotdog named Slinkster or a couple named Dirk and Duck.  I haven't met a kid named Witch Baby or Weetzie which is probably a good thing.

Would you ever write another sequel to your science fiction novel Ecstasia?

No, but I always thought those novels would make interesting films. If I were to write them today I"d make them contemporary magical realism rather than straight fantasy.

I’m excited to read your most recent novel The Elementals; is your next book another adult novel or a return to Young Adult literature, and is it hard to draw the line between the two?  How do you draw that line?  What do you consider inappropriate for young adults that you enjoy writing about in novels intended for adults? 

It's an adult book. I don't think much about the differences as I'm writing. THE ELEMENTALS is a darker book with fairly graphic sexuality and an ambiguous ending so  it might not work for some younger readers but some of my more mature teen readers would like it, I think.  I try not to worry about what is appropriate or not and just write a strong story, then let others decide how to publish and distribute it.

Has there been a resolution to your Bank of America mortgage woes yet, and if not, is there anything that your fans can do to help?  Is there any petition people can sign online or anything like that?

Thank you! Thanks to my readers and friends and the power of the internet, I got my first loan modified and am now working on the second. For anyone in the same position, let me just say this:  Twitter is your friend!  

I’ve often heard people theorize that artistic talent is something that a person is born with and can’t  be taught.  As a writing teacher, do you find that to be true? 

 It can be taught! If you have the burning desire to create you can learn the tools to make something beautiful and powerful.  The key here is the burning desire.  That can't be taught.

If you hadn’t become a writer, what do you think you’d be doing professionally right now?  

I always wanted to be a therapist. I also love fashion design.  My latest interest is publishing so that I can get my students' work out there after I've helped them hone it.

Do you have a favorite character of yours?  If so, who?  I think all of your fans that I’ve known over the years have loved Witch Baby best, by the way. 

I love Witch Baby and I'm grateful to Weetzie for opening the door that let me in to the world of publishing.  Currently I'm kind of loving Pen from my upcoming novel LOVE IN THE TIME OF GLOBAL WARMING.

When do you know that a novel you’ve written is done?

When my editor tells me?

Years ago when I interviewed you when I was a teenager (in 1993 I think) I asked you if there was ever going to be a Weetzie Bat movie, and it was a maybe.  Do think there ever will be one, and if so, who would you cast as the main characters?  

My screenplay has been optioned so we'll see.  My dream cast keeps changing, getting too old. I used to want Joseph Gordon Levitt for My Secret Agent Lover Man. In the 80's I wanted Winona Ryder or Patricia Arquette for Weetzie.  I like Elle Fanning and Chloe Moretz now. They are young but by the time it gets made...? 

What is your least favorite thing about Los Angeles?  

Freeways, but I don't drive them very often, and almost never at rush hour.  Air quality, but it's better than when I grew up here.  The fact that it's difficult to meet people sometimes, especially if you work at home but I've started meeting some kindreds through my teaching at UCLA extension, Antioch and privately.

Yesteryou Chapter 25

25.

When Tess called Molly and told her about the homeless woman whose description in some ways resembled Beth, the first emotion to wash over her, before hopefulness that her mom was locatable, way joy that a girl her age was calling her.  Then they made plans to meet in the hotel lobby in half an hour.  Together, they would find Rosie, and Molly would identify her as Beth. 

***

"Where did it go?  That yester glow?

When we could feel

The wheels of life turn our way?

Yesterme Yesterou Yesterday."

George could imagine Beth living on the street, under a bridge, two different ways.  He could imagine her starving to death, growing dizzy in the heat, in -- what outfit would she have chosen?  But he could imagine a converse scenario that involved her experiencing her surroundings the intense way children usually do, fully interested in the sensory experience of a thing; she could be sitting blocks away from him, keeping track of the nuanced blues and purples of the changing sky.  Really, he was afraid she was dead.  He'd seen her with her heart beating way too fast and also, other times, way too slow, from pills.  He'd put her to bed, many times, and stayed up to wait for her breathing to stabilize.  And now she might be dead, which is when someone is literally impossible to get in touch with, forever, and more than anything, he wanted to get in touch with her.  

***

"Why do I do the things I do?  I truly don't understand the motivation of so many of my actions.  I'm a generous, smart, even a patient woman, really, but whenever I open my mouth (not counting when I'm talking to myself, to my kitties or to God), it's always greed, immaterial material desires, and bumbling.  Shopping, shopping and more shopping.  Avoiding Molly's calls because I know how much she hates me.  Eating nothing but candy and beef jerky.  I hate myself.  I wish I were dead so many days.  Why did mother have to raise me so awfully?" 

That is an excerpt from Beth's diary.  See, she meant well. She was always meaning to behave better than she did, but her self-awareness of the shortcomings of her outward behavior somehow never enabled her to change.