Bye Bye '07

res·o·lu·tion (rěz'ə-lōō'shən) n. a course of action determined or decided on.


- sunny

Found Part VI

-sunny

to what was once ours

Shameful

I picked up this book thinking it was in Farsi... and later realized it was in Arabic. Illiteracy isn’t cutting it these days for me.

A message to the first generationers out there: take classes, learn to read and write in your mother language, and pass it on. Your kids will hate you for it initially, and once they hit their twenties, they will thank you for it.

-sunny

Song of the Month

it's the fourth day of winter.

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Coincidence Part IV

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Adventure: Observatory

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book

Books are forever mine, and I am no one. They are objects that bespeak an immutable presence. They float above their form. Above a flame, which, upon burning them retains the outline of their image as ashes simulating the original copy. They are the most difficult to write about, precisely because their of-or-about-ness relates to the endless possibility of writing, to the metaphysics of interpretation. The text lays in the book. Yet, the book lays not in the text, but in the figureless ways the text emanates from without the contours of its cover. Therefore, the true bibliophile cannot be the one who wholly admires the book for its mode of presentation or production, but for its mode of reoccurring in the heterogeneous domain of a disjointed memory, for its phantasmagoric resonance in the collective manifold of dreams and waking life. A book is already beyond its objectivity, beyond its bookness, whether written or read. While it is deceptively turned-object-under-one-cover, and its binding works to ensure the organization of ideas in a way similar to the fascist function of the stapler (preserving an ordered aggregate of information with a decisive pounding of the fist), the book’s presentation would coincide more closely with its ontology if there were no binding. If, unhinged, it lay precariously aligned with the top of a monument along which the wind gracefully blew. So that, in revealing their impossibility as forever numbered, the pages would separately spread over the expanse and fall to the ground like the seeds of a plentiful harvest. Their flight would not follow the horizon, but recede into it, towards the orient, defying, at the same time, the horizontality of the occident. The chronology of thought as linear. The horizontality of the text. This text. To read a book is never to read across its content. It is to read into its a-historicity, while simultaneously becoming an ever-present part of it.

If Only

Los Angeles Modernism - case study #22 & #21.
-sunny

northern counterparts

San Francisco is the type of place that engages you so deeply in its charm and beauty that you forget how small of a city it is and how claustrophobic it can get. Unlike Los Angeles, it's picture perfect at a glance, and unlike New York, it's got a soft and friendly interior. A little depressing at times, yes, but what makes up for this is the amazing group of people that live there... the talented, hopeful youngins' that, in a few years, if they know what's good for them, will probably move to where their talents will get them payed.
San Francisco, you are far more gay and hippi-fied than I had remembered. A thank you to Chris for letting Laura and I house sit his superior living quarters, a kudos to Kate for a fine launch of Golden Guns Investigation Publication, and a ton of love to the people in my life that live 400 miles too far away.

Oh, and Eliasson, is a mega genius.

-- ms. sunny shokrae

Crushin'

To all of my friends (ahem, curtis mead), who reprimand me for being a "pack rat," take a look at Joseph Cornell, he was THE master pack rat - and all for the intimate pursuit of knowledge and experience. So there.

You can see it all at the SF MOMA through January.

- sunny shokrae

Attari is Scrumptious

I wasn't around pre-Iranian Revolution and grew up in Iran at a time where I was too young to understand politics & culture, but I imagine how things probably were during that time... people sitting around in cafes, smoking, eating, talking about whatever music, art and fashion was contemporary at the time, enjoying themselves freely... a more European feeling.

Attari Sandwiches in Westwood is that little haven. You walk in, the regulars are sitting around, the food is on point and you feel as though you're in a different world. It's wonderful. The thing about persian restaurants in the states is that they are still a bit contrived, they lack that feeling of comfort and ease because they are trying to represent a decadence that only exists when you don't try. This place is anything but contrived, it's home. Have the aash (soup), it's the best in the city... along with a sosees, olivieh, or kuku sandwich.

Attari Sandwich Shop - 1388 Westwood Blvd, Los Angeles CA

Another gem, is Nayeb in downtown - 326 E. Pico Blvd (don't be afraid of its exterior, or interior for that matter, the zereshk polo and koobedeh are to die for)

-ms. sunny shokrae