Thursday, October 30, 2008

From Doriandra

Doriandra sent the following.
"a self portrait that Peter sent me right before his death:"

Photo by Peter Haskell.

A LONG WAY HOME, Doriandra
"The first time I met Peter, I was in a drug induced fragile haze brought on by several days of recording discordant music in a studio in the middle of my cramped hovel house which was filled to capacity with beautiful broken machinery, plastic baby parts, horror imagery, way too many pets and an ill begotten collection of broken and mutated music instruments. Peter walked right in, gave me a hug that startled me from the morbid thoughts so akin to my everyday isolation and proceeded with great reverence, to film various pieces of my art, my mess - "it's all beauty" he said while calmly straddling the bathtub filled with broken glass.
"So time passed, 10 years or so..we grew up, fragments of time were created and discarded as it became apparent that the accidental grace and beauty of youth was soon to slip away. and it did. In 2008, Peter and I found ourselves individually isolated in different states, both rather heart sick from various decisions we had made. We began to vigorously communicate, attempting to make sense of the sad events that had occurred in the life of our dearest mutual friend, Thomas who was far away in Germany. As it soon became apparent that we could only save ourselves, we began to plot the progress back to where we knew there was both the maddening inspiration that only Los Angeles, the city of our collective artistic origins, could harbor. Peter embarked across the country late last summer in the trusty Saab, shortly before I packed up my fragments and left my safe little house in the middle of nowhere, sadly feeding the ravens one last time.
"I am grateful for the few shared sunset views from the last place he lived - laughing in the dirty hallway when the trains roared by, having to shout to be heard. Writing his name in used matchsticks on the floor and greeting the LA River homeless men with kindness, waving from the grimy window. Going downtown for fabric..I wish I could see the last pictures he took before he died, decaying mannequins on Broadway, dignified southern black men selling fancy suits, little immigrant women clutching children to their breasts, me threatening the miserable meter maid.
"All lost, like a life taken erroneously. You just have to wonder sometimes about the beauty in the world. And mostly about those people like Peter that can harness it, spin it with their own bruised fingers and hand it back to you as a fragile mirror to view your own greatness in. I'm hoping that the brightness you brought to those around you will be a light to guide you to wherever your new home may be."

Sunday, October 19, 2008

Luna Paris Video

Zuade forwarded the URL for this video Peter did for a friend of hers; I hadn't seen it before.
Luna Paris, "One More Night":

Friday, October 10, 2008

From Heather's Blog

Heather has a bunch of good stuff on her blog. I like this story she told at the LA memorial (please note the food motif):
"I related how Peter and I met, in San Francisco, how I used to see him at punk rock shows. I think it was at a Dead Kennedy gig that he came over and started talking to me. He wanted us to play music together, kept bugging me for my phone number. I resisted. I was very alienated, depressed, wanted nothing to do with anyone, especially men. One night after a party we shared a cab back to my place and against what I thought was my better judgement, I invited him in and that was when it all started between us. A few weeks later, around Christmas, I was ruminating in my tiny, rented room when he called, again, and wanted to come over. I hate Christmas, was trying to pretend it wasn’t Christmas but I said, “Okay, come over.” I was miserable. He was working in a restaurant and when he walked in, sat down and dumped out a backpack of goodies that he’d swiped-chocolate cake (oh yeah, he zeroed in on my weaknesses) oranges, nuts, turkey breasts and then he pulled out a tiny, potted Christmas tree replete with decorations!"
- Heather Haley,


There have two times in my life when I've had horrible nightmares that I was unable to speak to someone I loved - both in instances when I was estranged from someone with a life-threatening illness. And two people very close to Peter have recently told me that they have had awful dreams where they couldn't hear what he was trying to tell them or he couldn't hear them.
Peter and I hadn't figured out how to talk comprehensibly to each other; we had just been starting to try. I wish there had been more time.

(To the people I'm referring to above: if I am being a jerk and this is too personal to be mentioning in semi-public, tell me and I'll delete it.)

Friday, October 3, 2008

Flipper, James Dean

Bruce Loose, Peter and Heather's roommate and singer for Flipper, with dead whale on San Francisco Bay Beach.

Photo by Peter Haskell.


Photo by Heather Haley.

Wednesday, October 1, 2008

Video of LA Memorial Saturday, September 20

Organized by Tyler and Bob and hosted by Amanda. A lot of lovely stories, and some really funny ones:

Movie and Movie Soundtracks

Gang of 25 by Michael Gentile, B&W. Baltimore, MD, 1978.
With Peter Haskell, John Ellsberry and Alan Payne.