The Mob, Vegas, and Tea

Our Communities, Ourselves

Student essay called Since August, I’ve been teaching a creative writing course in a homeless shelter. Every Wednesday night, I’ve gathered together with a group at a Los Angeles County emergency facility.

When I decided to do this, I wanted to bring the same course I have taught at the university level to the homeless population. I wanted to see if there would be interest in various forms of literature (poetry, plays, novels, short stories, and essays). Most of all I wanted to see if there was interest in writing and creative expression at a shelter.

What I found has been pretty incredible. I’ve been touched by every student’s willingness to learn and their sheer reverence for the texts I’ve brought into our classroom.

From Jack Kerouac to Jack Gilbert, from Shakespeare’s plays to Lincoln’s speeches, we covered wide swaths of history. Someone performed Langston Hughes poems aloud. We read Noir, sections of war novels, and old essays from The New Yorker. One student even participated in National Novel Writing Month.What strikes me the most is that people of all ages were drawn to this chance to create. From 4-year-olds to the near-elderly, the class drew interest from every demographic in the shelter. Some were ready to use flash drives to save their work, while others did not yet have an email address and preferred to write by hand.

There were moments of whimsy — some nights we picked a word of the day; once it was “somersault,” one night it was “retorted.” We ate candy and we laughed.

As the government fumbles to fix all of the nation’s current challenges (not the least of which is homelessness itself), and in a time when we are never wanting for more daily stories that make us question what the First Amendment means, it has been effervescent to see the spirit of the creative arts live in people who are struggling to get on their feet again. It’s been fantastic to watch them express themselves, write about their lives and the lives of others around them.

Creative expression can help us make sense of current events. In the course of the class, I’ve talked with the students about their thoughts on the Occupy movement, American anxiety, and the economy. We’ve talked about housing. We’ve talked about jobs.

They’ve written about their experiences living in a homeless shelter, they’ve written dark metaphors for life, they wrote about clowns, fairies, dragons, and rappers. They dug into their imaginations to make others laugh, think twice, and most of all feel something.

Thank you to the committed and brave students who blossomed from mostly shy, inward strangers to writerly comrades who were excited to share their work and give feedback to their classmates.

As our “semester” comes to close, I want to thank each person for putting themselves out there and entrusting me with their writing. It’s been an honor to teach the class and to learn from you.

Photo: This is an up-close shot I took of one of the student’s essays called “Be the Clown.” My favorite sentence is underlined.

How Jellyfish Make Love

In the spirit of the first day of autumn, and because I am teaching a creative writing course, I thought I’d post a little story I wrote recently.

Fun fact? Jellyfish don’t touch when they procreate.

I love jellyfish and when I learned this factoid, this is the story that came to mind…

How Jellyfish Make Love

by Lori Kozlowski

It was 1986 when I met you. We both lived on Decatur Avenue in a tank that had enough room for you, me, and all our fake plastic accoutrement.

 I was 30 years old—really old for a jellyfish. Some people thought I’d die sooner. But I knew better. I was waiting for you.

They added you to the tank on a Thursday when all the businessmen came in for long lunches. I saw White Hat lift you up and plop you down that day. The first time I saw you, I thought: she’s beautiful. 

Your arms were so long and lovely. You floated in a way that I did not. With a grace that I aspired to, but I was always more of a hard-edged guy. My movements could almost be shark- like. Very unlike a jellyfish. But it was my one trait I was sort of proud of.

But you—you were billowy and see-through. I loved your color—a clear pink that blended into a purple red on the tips of your lower body. I wanted to touch you.

 _____ 

Recently, I found the Big Confession I made to you before we were really truly together. Here’s how it went:

I know we’ve been flirting for a while and been out a couple of times. But let me just get some thoughts out in the open. I’m not one for games, so here goes nothing.

There are thirteen things I have to say to you. And I want you to know them now.

1) The first is that when we make love for the first time, I want to touch. I want our arms to be intertwined around each other and for us to be in the tightest embrace. I want to feel as if I am you. And you are me. Is that okay? I mean, is that asking too much?

2) Another thing. I like modern furniture. There is something about it that just speaks to my general aesthetic. There’s something about it that’s the opposite of who we are—simple, uncomplicated, all clean lines, and geometric measurements.

I think I am drawn to Eames because it offers something that’s solid and straight-forward. I just wanted you to know that up front, in case this goes any further.

3) Also something for you to note: I do not like Barry Manilow. I know, this being Vegas and all, that’s pretty controversial. But he’s not something I can get into. That voice and the hair. I don’t know. They play that shit in here all the time, and I wish they would shut it off. Let’s just say I’m glad your name’s not Mandy.

4) I want you to know that I’m not greedy. I like my share of food and sex. But I’m a giver. Deep down. Really. I mean, you say you want it, and I’ll give it.

5) Small confession: I’ve tried speed dating. I know. It’s not my proudest moment, but you know, I was at a low-point. I had just gotten moved into captivity, and I was really missing the open waters. Just wanted some companionship. I ended up messing around with this jellie with no tentacles. She was hella weird. Got all psycho on me. Hope you don’t go that route.

6) My mom was a bitch. I’ll just get that out there right away. I mean, I know I have issues because of it and everything. But you know, I grew up on my own pretty much, and I think I turned out okay.

7) Sometimes I wish I could use these damn tentacles for something more useful than swimming. Like writing a beautiful poem about you. I could go on for paragraphs. Lots of sentences like this:

There is nothing in the world but you and me. As you swish your sexy purple tentacles near my face, I think, wow, she is something that I crave. Something that I have never seen before, or will again. Something that becomes me. Something that I want to be. My desire for you is beyond longing. Every time you sail past, I think: I want to have her, hold her, and be inside of you. Know you from the inside out.

8) You know I have no blood or brain. You don’t either. So we’re pretty even in that regard.

9) One day you came near my plastic tree, and you were glowing a little differently than before. I thought it was cute. Almost like you were blushing. I knew I made you feel something. And I delighted in that.

10) But one time you whispered in my direction: “You are the best. I love every part of you. But I never want to touch you. Touching is just…well, frankly, it’s gross.” You thought I couldn’t hear you. But I could. And you thought I didn’t already know, but I did.

11) I knew you had already had babies with someone else. That pretty much crushed me. I mean, I only wanted you to be a mom with me and my sperm. Not with some other freak. It really hurt my feelings. Seriously.

12) It should be pretty obvious from this list, but I’m not a game-player. Never have been. So, you know, if you have something to say, just say it. I don’t like the quiet types.

13) Lastly, I’m kind of old-fashioned, and I like kissing, okay? So, none of that “just friends with benefits” stuff. That’s bullshit, if you ask me. I mean, if I’m gonna make love, it better be with some tenderness on the other side. You know what I’m sayin’?

 _____ 

Let’s face it: Size matters. I know your former guy was bigger than me. But he can’t do what I can do with my tentacles. Just sayin’.

Age matters, too. I mean, our kind has been around 650 million years, so I’m pretty sure our kids are safe in this world to live on. So, when you’re ready to procreate, say the word. When we finally make some kids, I want them to have everything. I want them to be excited about life.

Do you even like this tank? ‘Cause I don’t. I think it sucks pretty much. They don’t clean it out enough. White Hat only comes around every couple weeks, and when he does he’s really sloppy about it. Usually handing off the job to some other dudes with nets. I guess I’m just complaining because I want you to know that you deserve better. You are beautiful and I want you to be my wife. I want us to live in our own private tank without stupid angel fish watching us all the time. I won’t put hokey shit in the tank either — no fake plastic anything. Only real coral and rocks. I want our friends to be impressed.

We will look out through our tank windows and see just open road. Maybe I could swing a tank in a sweet lobby of a hotel, though the mortgage on a tank like that must be — God, I don’t know. It must be a lot. But whatever it takes, baby. I will make it happen for you.

For now, you’re over there. And I’m here. And I just wish that we could be closer.

I just wish through all of this that you would let me touch you.

 _____ 

I was zipping around the tank that fateful day that you reached out a single tentacle. A small gesture, and yet something that I would never forget.

I looked at you and wished so much that we could get lost in a kelp forest together. So far away. Alone.

Once we were alone, I’d look at you and see if it was okay to kiss you. It’s a hard thing to gauge — a first kiss. You are so looking for all the signals that say: Yes, please, enter my personal space and put parts of your body on my body. You are seeking some sort of validation. And since, truth be told, I have pretty low self-esteem, it is hard for me to tell usually.

The thing is, with you, I didn’t care. That’s not to say I didn’t care about you. It is really to say that — come hell or high water — I was going to touch you. And somewhere in the process, I hoped that you would like it.

I know that our species has this weird aversion to touching. But it’s just down right wrong. Anyway, you know how I am by now. Neurotic and exacting. I’m sorry. In advance. I am really sorry.

But here’s the thing about having sex and the touching stuff: I am really clean. I’m frickin’ immaculate, frankly. If I was one of these geisha girls that are always running through this restaurant, you could eat off my body. I’m that clean.

I wash my junk every day. And you know, I don’t get into the mud and rocks. I stay in the clean water.

It’s really you that I should be worried about. You’ve already got kids. You’ve already gone ahead and done that. But you know what — I don’t care. There’s something just perfect about you for me. And I want it. I want all ten of your arms all around my head and legs, and as we get confused about whose arms are whose, we’ll laugh. And we’ll see people in this restaurant watching us through this thick glass. And they’ll ogle us and giggle and ask each other: What are those two jellyfish doing? And you and I — we’ll laugh. And in my loudest pretend human voice I’ll yell out: We’re having sex! Why don’t you film us and put this on YouTube, you big pervs!

And then you’ll laugh, and water will be between us, but love will be there too. And in all the bliss of my arms and the spectators and the laughter, you will realize that this was worth it. I’ll get a little cocky about it, no doubt. I’ll be proud that I bedded something so pretty. And in front of others. But I won’t tell a soul. I’ll just hold that pride inside my heart, knowing that you are mine.

 _____ 

Anyhow, I guess instead of fantasizing all day long, I should just go up to you and get your number or something. Though I don’t have a phone or know how to use one, so maybe I’ll just swish some water in your face. Then you’ll notice me.

*This story is also posted at Fictionaut

Photo: Hardcover edition of Ocean: The World’s Last Wilderness Revealed.

"More The Road than The Jetsons"

Dead Neon has been reviewed in the UK.

Calling it “more ‘The Road’ than ‘The Jetsons’” (which it is), Casino Online pulls out various bits of the book and explores both the book’s references to the Atomic Age and darker places beyond.

Read the full review here.

Image: ‘Dead Neon’ book cover up close. Credit: Kimberly Glyder, book designer.

Note: Glyder also created a series of book cover art options that could have been the final book jackets of Dead Neon. She thinks the publisher picked the best option (I think so, too). But I find all of her art quite lovely. All the alternates still capture Vegas, the desert, and desolation. Check them all out here.

“Dead Neon” hits bookstores

I’m very happy to say that “Dead Neon: Tales of Near-Future Las Vegas” debuted yesterday (October 1). So exciting!

I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again — I’m partial to the cover. The art was designed by Kimberly Glyder. Stunning work. It’s not easy to make a gas mask look beautiful, but I believe Glyder did just that — creating a nuclear image out of poker chips and dice. (See below).

The book is a collection of 14 science fiction stories that all take place in Las Vegas after the apocalypse.

My story “Nuclear Wasted Love Song” takes place in the theater pictured to the left — the Huntridge. To many who grew up in Las Vegas or who spent their formative years there, the Huntridge was sort of a local icon, and still is. It’s an old movie palace, but over time turned into one of Vegas’ most popular concert venues. Punk shows, slam dancing, debut music acts, etc.

It was awesome to set a sci-fi story inside those walls.

If you can have a specific memory of the Huntridge, I’d like to hear about it. Tell me what you remember about the place. You can email me here: admin(at)lorikozlowski(dot)com.

To order the book, you can go to: Amazon, the publisher’s website, or your favorite local bookstore.

xo.

Photo (top): The Huntridge, May 2010. Credit: Lori Kozlowski.

Photo (second): Dead Neon: Tales of Near Future Las Vegas. Credit: Book cover courtesy of University of Nevada Press. Awesome art work by Kimberly Glyder.

About the design, Glyder said in a recent interview with bookdesigners.com: “Dead Neon is a very recent cover that I designed for a collection of science fiction stories. I’m not a big science fiction reader, but I was completely engrossed while reading the manuscript, and I was quite inspired by the amazing imagery that came out of the writing.”

Book Trailer for ‘Dead Neon’

If you were to create a book trailer for a post-apocalyptic science-fiction anthology of what Las Vegas looks like after the world ends, what kind of imagery and music would you use?

Maybe a fuzzy flashing screen, bright letters spelling out last nuclear warnings, and some creative heavy metal?

That’s exactly what you’ll get here:

Video credit: Jarret Keene. Book trailer for post-apocalyptic Las Vegas sci-fi story anthology. Published by University of Nevada Press. Edited by Todd James Pierce and Jarret Keene. Featuring 14 never-before published short fictions by Vegas (or Vegas-fluent) writers. Music by the band of the same name, Dead Neon.

“Dead Neon: Tales of Near-Future Las Vegas” is available in stores on October 1.

Can’t wait!

You can also pre-order the book from the publisher: University of Nevada Press Forthcoming Titles

Dead Neon: New science-fiction story collection

My latest short story comes out this fall.

I’ve written about that before, but now you can check out the book cover, and the publisher’s site.

“Dead Neon: Tales of Near-Future Las Vegas” is being published by University of Nevada Press. Editors Jarret Keene and Todd James Pierce, no doubt, did a fabulous job curating this collection. (Originally, the book name was “Doom Town,” but “Dead Neon” is that much more apocalyptic.)

My story “Nuclear Wasted Love Song” appears alongside many other sci-fi, end-of-the-world tales, penned by many other authors that I admire. I’m excited to read all of the stories together and hope you are, too.

You can pre-order the book here: University of Nevada Press Forthcoming Titles

Book cover courtesy of University of Nevada Press

Los Angeles Times Festival of Books Panels: L.A.’s past and future

I’ll be speaking on a couple of panels at the L.A. Times Festival of Books at UCLA this weekend.

Both panels are on Saturday.

Here’s the schedule:

Saturday, April 24

1:00 – 2:00 p.m.

Los Angeles Times Pavilion

Q&A with Denise Hamilton, a Noir queen

I can’t wait for this chat. Denise is the editor of Los Angeles Noir and Los Angeles Noir 2. Both books are part of the Akashic Books Noir series – a series that I also wrote for. It will be a fun chat about Noir, L.A.’s history, and crime fiction today.

Saturday, April 24

2:00 – 3:00 p.m.

Los Angeles Times Pavilion

The L.A. Times’ Favorite Literary Apps

This panel is about the future of reading. My colleagues Mark Milian, Michelle Maltais, and I will talk about what apps we use to read news, books, and other stuff. We’ll also discuss apps in general and give a preview of the new, shiny L.A. Times iPhone app.

Other links that will help you navigate the Festival of Books:

Full schedule of the Los Angeles Times Pavilion

Festival of Books General Info

Hope to see you there!

Update: Panels went very well! Lots of questions from digital readers and those who want to better understand mobile’s potential. Here’s a photo of Michelle, Mark, and I that was taken by my Times colleague and friend Tony Pierce.


Photo (top): One of my bookshelves. I took this photo with the Hipstamatic app on my iPhone. Photo (second): Digital and mobile reading panel. Credit: Tony Pierce / Los Angeles Times.

Science Fiction 2010 update

I’m excited to announce that the University of Nevada Press will be publishing my latest short story in a Science Fiction anthology put together by editors Jarret Keene and Todd James Pierce.

I mentioned this book once before here, but now we have more details. The book called “Doom Town: Tales of Near-Future Las Vegas” is slated for release in Fall 2010.

It was way back in 2008 in a bar in Vegas, when Jarret first mentioned this project. And now the idea is becoming reality. With Jarret and Todd editing, I know it will be a magical book.

xo.

Photo: A tiny part of a huge modern art installment near Champs Elysees. I recently took this photo in Paris.

The science behind ‘Avatar’

I was surprised to get such a wonderful slew of responses to this interview I did with plant physiologist Jodie Holt of UC Riverside. She advised director James Cameron and others on the set of ‘Avatar.’ The real science behind science-fiction can be truly fascinating– and extensive. In Holt’s case, she created an entire encyclopedia of plant names called a “Pandorapedia.”

Here’s the full Q&A:

“Inventing the plants of ‘Avatar’”

Q&A with Max Blumenthal about ‘Republican Gomorrah’

Recently, I met up with Max Blumenthal in Downtown L.A. to discuss his first book. ‘Republican Gomorrah: Inside the Movement that Shattered the Party’ is a culmination of his investigative reporting into the radical right wing of the G.O.P.

He is clear that the Republican Party has been taken over by extremists, calling it “the party of birthers, deathers, and Civil re-enacters.”

Blumenthal gave a great interview with much insight into why he wrote what he did, and what he saw along the 2008 campaign trail.

He’s also gained a huge following amongst the 18-25 year-old crowd, through his sometimes shocking YouTube videos.

Our full interview is here:

Q&A with Max Blumenthal, author of ‘Republican Gomorrah: Inside the Movement that Shattered the Party’