Where Seldom Is Heard

In reality, where nothing is heard.

I was out on the range last weekend visiting my friend Dan just this side of 29 Palms. Which is basically nowhere. Nearest neighbors, as well as asphalt roads, are measured in miles. I had to leave my car in town because he said I’d never make it without four wheel drive.

It was odd feeling so remote. Emotionally it happens everyday. But when you experience it physically you wonder if it will ever happen again. Especially in this day and age.

Dan owns the boutique in 29 P’s, Ranch and Camp, where I recently acquired new art. I’ve known him since the 70’s when he had Chicken Little’s Emporium on Polk Street. He was instrumental in getting Brian and me into that Halloween tribute book, Forbidden Fantasies.

He tells me the 29s is being bought up by LA hipsters and Europeans. It’s one of the best kept secrets in real estate. (And there I go blogging about it, dag-nab-it!)

Contrast in curves: Atomic v. Antebellum

We’re thinking of putting a few of my collectibles in his shop. It might work. Look at this picture of his Jayne Mansfield and my Grandmother’s Victorian side chair. His Zombie Movie Star art juxtaposed with my duck’s egg, faux croc velvet. How could it not?

29 Palms Weekend

Mauve sunset.

Through the chicken wire, at sunrise.

What price serenity? How could anything that looks so wrong feel so right.

The potential is there.

Indigenous flora known to the locals as Gran’s (or, depending on the company, Gramp’s) pubes.

When lonely beaver tails cry.

Good neighbor policy: keeping the fridge on the other side of the fence plugged in and stocked in case a passer-by might need a cold one. Which can happen every 10 or 12 years.

You’ve got to climb Mount Everest to reach the Valley of the Dolls. It’s a brutal climb to reach that peak. You stand there, waiting for the rush of exhilaration, but it doesn’t come. You’re alone. And the feeling of loneliness is overpowering.

Monday mornings at the nearby base, Marines are expected to show up with a fresh haircut. Sunday afternoons this place is packed. 30 chairs, no waiting.

The Palms in Wonder Valley. At Sunday morning brunch we ate like pigs and paid 5.80 each. It’s not about profits, it’s about community. Andrea Zittel was there with her crew.

Like sands through the Prada moccasins, another pair ruined.

The Commons at the 29 Palms Motel.

The Cove, 29 Palms Motel. Supposedly Mick and Madonna have signed the guest book here.

Cinderella’s coach at the 29 Palms Motel. Just blocks away from Stud City, the Marine’s barber shop. So many unsupportable fantasies in such a small town.