A Bukowski tour doubles as a tour of 20th century Los Angeles, through every kind of social landscape. “Buk” (a nickname among his fans, and also how he signed his drawings and sketches) would have appreciated a literary tour as he was a literary tourist himself. “Fante was my god,” he wrote on the introduction to a reissue of Ask the Dust, “…and I knew that the gods should be left alone, one didn’t bang at their door. Yet I liked to guess about where he had lived on Angels Flight and I imagined it possible that he still lived there. Almost every day I walked by and I thought, is that the window Camilla crawled through? And, is that the hotel door? Is that the lobby? I never knew.”
You open your eyes and observe your clothes (Rick Owens or thereabouts) all over the floor. Oops! Vague memories of conversations about the medicinal properties of cucumbers with Devendra Banhart—or was it Father John Misty?—on a waterbed cabana by the heated rooftop pool last night. Maybe you’ll remember later. Maybe you won’t. Doesn’t matter. As your soul sister Tara Reid once wondered, “Why is partying and having a good time bad?”
Discover Los Angeles
On Friday night, rub shoulders with rollerskaters Indy Jamma Jones, Kim Manning and Estro Jen as they transform the lobby into a roller disco set to a mixtape by dublab’s Daniel T blasting from an original Lasonic boombox.