Bassel. Who is Bassel? I ask myself as I pull out my text machine to get a snapshot of this.
This guy is wheatpasted on a utility box on Laurel Canyon Boulevard in Studio City. I don’t see a street artist’s signature – nothing that I recognize – nothing I can find, anyway. Was it, in fact, put up by an artist? or some political group? The image looks fresh, I think to myself. This is pretty recent. Later, as I walk back from where I had come from, I notice the same image on the other side; although, it looks a bit ragged. The eyes are scratched out. Who is this guy? I wonder again.
Continue reading “#MISSINGBASSEL IN THE STREETS OF L.A.”
My friend and I, we have one thing in common. We both like skulls, skeletons and anything with bones that rattle about. She’s a nurse. I have no excuse.
So a couple of years ago she asked if I wanted to go to the Museum of Death here in Los Angeles on Hollywood Boulevard – the sketchy part of the Boulevard, of course.
What was in store for us, though, would be much more than what we expected. Except for our giggles, “icks,” and “oh my Gods,” I barely remember any of it because we got out of there so fast.
But now I’m two years older so I thought I’d give the Museum another try. A solo visit this time. And that’s what I did.
Continue reading “GOOD TIMES AT THE MUSEUM OF DEATH”