BUREAU OF ARTS AND CULTURE MAGAZINE
presents
THE NEW FICTION PROJECT 2015
They CALL IT The City of ANGELS
Season Three . Episode Three Chapters 45 / 46 / 47 / 48 / 49
By Author Joshua Triliegi . An Improvised Novel
The Original Fiction Series: " THEY CALL IT THE CITY OF ANGELS," began two years ago with Season One. An interesting experiment that originally introduced five fictional families, through dozens of characters that came to life before our readers eyes, when Editor Joshua Triliegi, improvised an entire novel on a daily basis and publicly published each chapter on-line. Season Two was an entire smash hit with readers in Los Angeles, where the novel is set and quickly spread to communities around the world through google translations and word of mouth. Season Three begins in August 2015 and the same rules will apply. The entire final season will be improvised and posted publicly on a weekly basis beginning, Friday, August the 7th 2015 and continuing each friday to the stories final completion of Book One. "Improvised," in this instance, means: The writer starts and finishes each section without taking any prior notes whatsoever and publishes the completed episode on all Community Sites. Season III is The Finale'.
READ A NEW EPISODE EVERY FRIDAY IN AUGUST 2015
BEGINNING ON AUGUST 7TH / 14TH / 21ST / 28TH
LA TIERRA
Chapter 45 / Episode Three / Season Three
A month had passed since the land in City of Angels had been scorched by the uprising. Although Junior was officially deceased, unofficially, he was now living like a wolf without a pack. Migrating from town to town in search of a future. He had heard stories, early on in life, of working men and women, from his parents country, who took the identities of others, so they could survive. The situation was often a mutually silent agreement between the person who owned the identity and the person who wished to utilize it. Junior gave this some thought and with the old indians early messages in mind, he decided to work the earth. He knew that thousands of people from his parents homeland tried unsuccessfully to enter this country and that many deaths went undocumented. Suffocation, dehydration, starvation and of course manipulation by all types of predators on either side of the border. Human beings, each as important as the next, were treated like something other than human beings. Because of the fact that many of these deaths went unreported, it meant that these identities still existed, unlike his, which had officially expired.There were thousands of human beings missing in action, in a war of migration, that most people had no idea even existed, let alone the reasons why such a mass exodus even occurred. Junior got his first job on a crew picking fruit. The boss looked at his hand, which was bandaged and wrapped and he simply smirked. Junior explained that, if any man on the crew could pick more fruit than him, that he himself would accept no pay for the day. Since then, he had proven himself and was referred to another crew and then another. He picked, peaches, plums and apricots. He picked lemons, limes and oranges. He picked red apples, green apples, yellow apples. If it grew on a tree, he picked it. One day, a man came to Junior with an offer to secure him a semi-permanent job on a nearby farm. Though, he would have to get some form of certification, in the event that the farm was ever raided. Junior was surprised to realize that he had been mistaken for a migrant worker, instead of the American that he was. When it came time to visit those who organized these arrangements, Junior had devised a plan. Matching identities was a highly thorough and organized art form that included body types, heights, weights, color and age. If ever one were scrutinized by authority, the identity match had to pass a quick inspection.
Farmers throughout the United States had a goal to seed, grow, distribute and profit from the craft of agriculture. Willing workers came from around the world and, if they were good at what they did, farmers needed them. Every now and then, a federal agency or a new immigration policy would enforce or make farmers practice some fine line activity that would then, attempt to make the farmer do some else's job. Most were so busy competing and operating their properties, that to also check workers documentation, became more than a hassle and opinions were varied, but for the most part, farmers wanted affordable and willing labor much more than they wanted to play a game of : Who is American and Who is Not ? Acres and acres of ripe product and ones entire yearly income depended on going to market at the proper time. Every day counted on a farm. Growing, picking, washing, packaging and distributing food that provided nutrition, sustenance and a market place that kept the American economy competitive, the food affordable for those living here, was enough of a task. There were times when abuses of power existed, healthy living conditions, clean water, raises in pay, all came into play, in the fields of agriculture across America. Junior had heard about these issues while growing up and now he was seeing it all first hand. His approach was entirely different from anyone on his crew or maybe than anyone in the entire Central Valley. He was actually enjoying the outdoor work, had been locked up for fifteen years, been forced to eat bad food and stay indoors, now he was free. Free from prison, free from the urban area, free from his former identity, free from the control of any bosses and he did exactly what the Old Indian had originally advised him to do, all those years earlier: "Work with the soil."
When he walked into the private quarters of what was known as an underground office which catered to the needs of both the American farmers and the willing workers from around the world, he was amazed at the place. It was not just an identity store, this was really an unofficial human rights organization that kept track of migration issues and persons who had died, been reported dead, been reported missing, been separated from their families, those who had been deported and those who were now working under someone else's name. Junior was impressed. There was a giant wall covered with identification cards. On the left were missing persons with i.d. cards and paper work related to that persons origin, in some cases, birth certificates, finger prints and work permits. He noticed that the people were from all around the world. The faces were so beautiful, he thought, deep eyes, rich skin, features of the indians, these were the descendants of his own tribe and related tribes around the world. How had we all become so marginalized ? Junior searched the wall for someone who resembled him, someone his age, someone he could be mistaken for and sure enough, he found one. He reached up, when no one was looking, grabbed the card, the papers and the certificate attached and folded them into his back pocket. A minute or two later, an older man with glasses, a pen holder in his shirt pocket and an unlit, half smoked cigar came into the front room and asked if Junior had brought the money. Junior feigned as if he was still saving for it and replied, in spanish, "I am still working on it." The man looked at him disapprovingly. Then he said, "If you want to stay on one farm for longer than a week, you will need to get a proper certification." Then the man noticed Juniors tattoos and asked him, did he still wish to retain those ? "What do you mean," Junior asked ? The man gruffly replied, "The ink on your skin, sometimes employers will not hire someone with those type of markings." Then he explained, "We have a man who can take off ink with a machine, but it costs money." Junior was surprised at the idea that he could actually remove what had become his personal armor, his story, his pain. It was something he had never considered. "Would you like to remove some of those," the man repeated ? Junior replied, "Si." He was given a card that had a local address. Then Junior nodded his head in agreement, as if to say, "I understand," and walked out. The man looked at the clock on the wall and adjusted his wristwatch. Then he looked up and noticed the blank space on the missing persons wall. One of his coworkers must have taken it down, he thought. Which meant, one of three things, either the person had been found alive, the person had been deported or the person had been found dead and was no longer missing. The man did not think for a moment that Junior or anyone else would ever want to take the identity of an undocumented worker. In his business, only work permitted individuals or American social security numbers were of value.
Junior studied the details of the card and memorized the birthday, the town of birth, the date of departure and the national identification numbers associated with his new persona. He found a children's mold making toy in the shape of an oven, with little pots and pans that was able to duplicate an image on a shallow etching mold. He took the finger prints and used modeling glue to test the molds and though rudimentary, it would most likely pass inspection. Junior kept the little molds and a tube of modeling glue with him at all times. He began to imagine what it must have been like for the tens of thousands of migrant workers who risk their lives everyday, to simply pick fruit for a living. He was born an American and because of his path had not entirely realized that through a simple twist of fate, he had actually become the very thing he was pondering. Junior was now, officially, a migrant working, living in America. He had not spoken english to anyone other than a few words to bosses when absolutely necessary & his spanish was improving day by day. When he had earned a few hundred dollars, he visited the man who removed tattoos. It was early evening. The man was a large fellow who was both a tattoo creator as well as a tattoo remover, finding it advantages to offer both services. Often times he had even removed a tattoo from the same customer he had given it to. College girls who had gotten drunk and decided to slap a giant cartoon character across their bodies had woken up the next day and had it removed. Husbands going through divorce would have their wives faces or names removed. Guys like Junior, who wanted to start life fresh, get work and leave their past behind them became his customers. Facial tattoos were especially disturbing to the everyday populist who had no education when it came to tribal ritual or simply fashionable adornments that went far beyond shirts, shoes and the like. The man asked Junior to remove his shirt and when he saw the style, the amount of ink, the story it told, he was taken aback. 'This is beautiful work," the man said. As if to ask Junior, "Was he sure he wanted them removed ?" Junior pulled out five hundred dollars and explained that he wanted to visit nightly, because, he worked in the day. Then he added, "Would it be possible, for me to lay flat while you work?" He did not explain that the back breaking farming had exhausted him to the point that he needed to sleep. But as soon as he laid flat, and the man began removing a giant dragon from his neck, he had fallen asleep and the man understood completely. Most people found tattooing too painful to deal with, let alone to sleep through. For Junior, there was so much self liberation happening in his life, that existence itself and the pain it offered, was simply another facet to endure, and endure it he did.
One day, Junior had been asked to help package and ship out cases of peaches to both the local and national distributors. There were three levels concerning amounts: truckloads for major distributors, pallets for supermarkets and cases for local markets. Because Junior had once worked in shipping and receiving, he knew the lingo, had the know-how and was able to assist with, not just the packing, but also the shipping. The manager got a personal call from home and asked if Junior was able to handle the last few shipment orders before closing up, he said, "Si, no problema." After completing the work on the list, he noticed several cases of peaches, sitting in the corner. Junior had been thinking about some of the guys he knew who were lifers back in prison. The guys who taught him how to survive. He knew a prisoner who had been given special treatment by the prison medical facility for a symptom which was commonly described as low blood sugar levels. Which gave the prisoner access to natural foods and deliveries from his family regularly. This included shipments from outside sources, so long as they were delivered directly from the distributor, so that no tampering or smuggling could be exploited. Because it was a friday, there would be no record of the most recent deliveries, as all files were completed over the weekend. Monday's clip board would start anew, so Junior had no worries about anyone noticing the renegade shipment. On the formal shipping order, he wrote down the name, serial number and cellblock as well as the address of the prison where he had spent half of his life. On the outside of each case, he wrote: Compliments of Dr. Wolf / Family Physician. Then he wrapped all three cases of fresh peaches in cellophane, before the final truck arrived for pick up. Within a day, the addressee had received the cases of peaches and everyone in his entire cell block were trading cigarettes, sodas and tooth brushes for the sweet, ripe, juicy peaches. When the prisoner called home to thank the family, his little sister explained that nobody had actually sent any peaches. That's when he went back, and looked at the cases, saw the word WOLF, written on the side of the card board boxes, he laughed so loud, it scared his cellmate. He howled until tears came to his eyes. He screamed so loud that a guard came by to check on him. He now knew that Junior, who had often been called Wolf, one of his students, one of his compadre's, someone he looked out for, had not been killed after all. Somewhere, out there, a friend, a brother in arms, a fellow inmate was free. Freshly picked fruit had never tasted so sweet.
FROM THE TREE
Chapter 46 / Season Three / Episode Two
Two months had passed since the citizens of the City of Angels had rose up in defiance. Mickey had built a new motorcycle for Charles and together, they rode up the coast. Just before they reached the Malibu pier, Charles pointed to the spot where he and Jordan's bus made contact. After tens years of missing in action, so to speak, which included some form of amnesia-like symptoms, Charles had made it safely home and his transition went rather smoothly. The ripped up the coastline, around the bend and up into the farmlands. For several hours, open fields and small farms peppered the landscape. Miles and miles of cultivated soil. A group of workers jumped from the back of a truck and watched as father and son passed by on two machines that could hardly be called, 'means of transportation,' anybody could clearly see that, whatever they were operating, was highly original, painstakingly manufactured and had the unmistakable sound, that was part hum, part purr and part roar, that can be clearly recognized, from a mile away as: a Harley. Charles' bike was painted deep green with highlights in shades of turquoise, jade and lime. Mickey was riding a deep ruby tank with gradations of burgundy, red and pink. There was so much chrome between the two bikes that as they roared up the highway, one of the workers thought he saw the colors of the mexican flag waving across the asphalt, he could have sworn he actually saw the image of an eagle with a snake in its mouth flash between the bikes. When they passed by, he waved and thought to himself that maybe, sometime soon, he would like to return home. The worker then sat in the shade of the flatbed truck and ate his lunch. He was the man formally known as Louis Junior of the LA Harbor, also known as Wolf, to some of his former friends and associates. He had a new name now. A basic name, generic, regular, as common as the day is long, as anonymous as it gets, he was simply known as Juan. There were millions of Juan's and John's in the world and now he was one in a million. Happy to simply be alive, even if it meant that his former self had to die.
The man formerly known as Junior, had once heard stories of men in the East whom had changed their names and their crafts every ten years and had lived beyond a hundred. The liberation from identity was meant to keep the mind fresh and as he sat among the workers, he could feel there was some truth in those stories. His current crew consisted of guys from his own country, from South America, from below the Panama Canal, it looked like a league of nations. He looked at them and wondered if they would ever get organized. Then, he asked himself, did he possess the skills, the language, the leadership to teach these people something about solidarity, about teamwork, about unification, about how they might get the companies, the managers and the property owners to respect their rights. The man formerly known as Junior, now known as Juan, began to look at the men differently. He looked at their hands, calloused, chaffed and stubbed. He looked at their backs, hunched, steady and muscular. He looked at their eyes, distant, focused, resolved. He saw a sleeping army of power that, if awakened, if realized, if educated, if inspired or liberated, could change the course of destiny for themselves and for the world. Then someone shouted that lunch was over and the man formerly known as Louis Junior of the LA Harbor snapped out of his vision, walked back out into the fields and began to pull food from the ground, so that men, women and children all across America could sustain themselves another day, with a quality product made of earth, air, fire and water. He could only hope that they might appreciate the effort. Then, one of his fellows workers mentioned that a man running for president was saying that immigrants had no place in America. They all laughed. Everybody knew that the man was a fool. "Without us," he said in broken english, "trash would pile up, children would sit in their diapers, gardens would overgrow, food would not be cooked, picked or even delivered." Then another added, "Maybe he is correct. Maybe it is time for the white man to learn to wipe his child's ass, tend his own garden, grow, pick and cook his own food without our help." The man formerly known as Junior heard them speaking and soon realized that they were not asleep after all. Then he remembered the pilgrims and the so called, 'Indians'. Columbus had thought he landed in India, so they were called Indians. Ever since then, even he had called indigenous people, Indians. That is what they had taught him in school. The man formerly known as Junior was now open to a reeducation. This phase was clearly part one of a class he had been told about by the man formerly known as, "The Old Indian," now known as, "The Original Native." Juan had to rethink everything and rethink it, he did.
By nightfall, Mickey and Charles entered Oakland proper. They pulled up to a craftsman style home that dated back to 1900. It had a front yard, trees surrounding the entire property and a giant backyard that harkened back to another time in America. The place had been kept up. Charles and Mickey dismounted their bikes and did as Jordan had directed. They walked to the backyard, turned on the power from a fuse box mounted on the side of the garage and suddenly the porch lights and rear lights lit up. Mickey pulled out the keys to the place and they opened the wide wooden door with etched and engraved stained glass inlayed. All wood floors, two stories, natural wood cabinets built into the architecture, just as Jordan had described. Mickey pulled out a joint and passed it to Charles who took a long drag and said, as he exhaled, "So, What's this all about ?" Mickey explained in detail, what had happened to Jordan's dad, Mac. A jail house snitch had set Mac up after five years of incarceration, just before he was to be released. The entire incident had grown from a small time squabble into a full on war between factions in the prison. Recently, the snitch had stabbed a guard, who died and he was now doing life. Mac was offering this house to Charles or Mickey or anyone associated with them as a symbol of gratitude, if they would send a message to the original witness, asking him to recant his testimony. All he had to do was simply say he had lied. The witness was now already in for life, he had nothing to lose. Charles looked at Mickey and asked, "Do you like this house?" Mickey looked around and said, "What's not to like?" Charles knew how things worked and had no problem sending a message, but as for the property, he had enough on his hands with his recent reentry into society, "Okay, then. You handle this. Scratch together a fair amount to donate to the guys family. You deal with the details, you do the work, you keep the house." Then Charles took another drag, walked out onto the front porch and Mickey followed him. "Ya know something," he paused, as he looked around the street, then sat down, adding, "I was born in a house just like this."
Maggie had put together a line up of bands that was multi cultural and multi faceted in style, genre and age. When Alex showed her the contract, which had an option for him to co-produce, she accepted the terms. Normally, she wouldn't have touched a contract with any pre existing partnerships unless they were with well known or already represented producers with a solid track recorder, but based on the single, she could hear that Alex had taken all the best musical aspects of He Said / She Said and turned them into something much more than what she had seen them do live. It had been years since Maggie had discovered a young act that had immediate current radio play appeal, she could practically taste gold. When Alex found out who the other acts were, which included headliners such as: Isaac Hayes, The guys from WAR, Fishbone and Tom Waits. He remixed the single into four different versions of each band that was to play the fundraiser for inner city youth. He took famous hooks and riffs from an early Isaac Hayes tune and mashed up a version of the single, which was appropriately titled, "We all Get Along," and labeled it as The Black Moses remix. Then he took a vocal line from WAR'S classic tune, "Why Cant we be Friends?" and resampled that into a second version. The third version took lines from Fishbones original song, "Party at Ground Zero," and called that the Fishbone remix. The fourth version had Tom Waits singing, "Your innocent when you dream, when you dream, your innocent when you dreeeeeeam..." Each version was original and gave the song a vibe that seemed to fit perfectly with a different audience. LA radio stations from across the spectrum could all find a reason to play the single: soul stations, oldies stations, classic rock and new music, too. Alex duplicated the different versions and waited for the right moment. Meanwhile, Maggie began calling some of her old connections in the industry exclaiming that He Said / She Said, was about to bust wide open. The event was now being hyped as The Peace Concert that was going to bring the community back together, raise money for the inner city youth and create a symbol of unity throughout Los Angeles. When word got out who the headliners were, another ten bands joined in and it became a major three day event and was moved to a larger outdoor venue. Maggie was ecstatic. It felt like the old days, but in a new way. Maggie was back on top and back in form. She knew that if anything could soothe the savage beast, it was music. When someone had mentioned that Richard Pryor, who had originally appeared in the concert film that had been an attempt to rectify the original LA Riots of 1965, wanted to appear, Maggie agreed. Jordan got two pairs of tickets to the concert and gave them to Cliff.
A PHOENIX
Chapter 47 / Episode Three / Season Three
Ninety days had passed since the shop owners in the City of Angels had lost tens of millions of dollars of their hard earned money that went up in ashes. Fred called Chuck's wife Celia, to see if she and the girls were o.k. He explained that he would be glad to stand as a character witness on behalf of a man he knew was honest and had known for over fifteen years. Celia said that Chuck would be glad to know that, and they were grateful for his support, "Yes, the girls and I are fine," she added, "obviously, this whole thing has been a huge mistake and a challenge to our family, but we know Chuck's a good man and he's held up well, considering the situation. I will tell him you called. By the way, Fred, can we count on your community for the same support that you have pledged ?" Fred said, honestly speaking, that he was not sure. Everyone in his community was still recovering from the shock and loss of their property, but he would ask around. "Thank You," Celia replied. Fred was hesitant to tell Ta, whose business had been unscathed by the riots, that all his money and life savings were now in jeopardy. So, when it came time to visit South Korea and check on Ta's father, he did not mention issues of money. Though, after much conjecture and conversation, Fred convinced Ta that he should be the one to make the first trip, alone. Ta was overwhelmed by the very fact that her father was still alive, let alone the idea of having a reunion in Seoul. She gratefully conceded his advise and handed him full responsibility to help her father find an apartment and settle into some semblance of a regular life. When Fred had arrived in Seoul, he was surprised to find the man who had wandered through mainland China, as a non citizen, for over a decade, still retained a spry resilience and a solid character that went unbroken. He was honest about his past and at the same time happy to have left North Korea, even if it had taken all those years to make it to the South. The big surprise, in all of this, was the fact that he had fathered a surprising number of children, with more than one woman. Soon Ta was to learn that she had a large number of brothers and sisters living in three different regions of the world.
Another other peculiar characteristic, that did not go unnoticed, was the man's unexplainable utterances of phrases and words that everyday people might find offensive. During his three years in the work camps of the North, he had endured some harsh realities, and in defense of those abuses, Ta's father had gotten in the habit of calling his oppressors names that only made his punishments harsher and yet, verbal expression, was his only defense. Since that time, he had, every now and then, out of nowhere, simply shouted out statements such as, "Go F*ck Yourself," or "Go to Hell You Bastards." Fred sat quietly, eating dinner with the man, the first time this happened, and he became startled. They were sitting in a simple cafe, with about a half a dozen people throughout the place. Out of nowhere, Ta's father shouted, "Stop All the Goddamned Bullshit." Everyone turned and looked, Fred had been surprised, but then, he looked around, looked back at Ta's father, who had simply continued eating his meal and Fred shrugged. If there had been any bullshit happening, you can be sure that it indeed stopped. Another time, while Fred was helping the man move into a small apartment, he had shouted "You F*cking Fascists," and all the movers turned to see who had spoke. Fred was ready this time, he simply walked over to the movers and explained that this man had endured several years in a concentration camp to the North and, "Look how good he still looks ?" The men all agreed and all was forgotten. Within an hour of Fred's return to Los Angeles, he explained all of this to Ta, who was simply flabbergasted. After the initial shock, she turned to Fred and said, "That's enough for now." Then she led him down the hallway, turned off the lights and once again, they found solace in one another. Fred could never explain to himself, or to anyone, how it was that he and Ta simply belonged to one another, why they fit, how they had found one another. He had never, in his entire life, felt anything as familiar as he did with Ta.
The next day, he opened up his mail to find out that his lawyer had been correct and that he, and most of his fellow shop owners, had been abandoned by their insurance policy providers. The riots were not a by product, nor a direct result of, "An act of god," as it stated in their insurance claims. Fred wondered why a legal contractual agreement was even reliant on a theological phrase and a belief system which could vary from person to person, culture to culture, religion to religion ? And what of those who did not believe in a god at all ? An Act of God ? Fred was now in deep trouble. He had spent almost everything he had on the new equipment and if those new businesses didn't turn a buck quickly, he was going to have to sell his home. For those in his community, who did not immediately turn to a new trade, another financial hit was about to take place. The Governor had held back a request to allow the re-certification of any business that had provided alcohol in the southern central area of Los Angeles. The backlash from the beating of a man by police, had spread into a culture war, that then pitted one race against another and in the aftermath. Convenience stores that also happened to sell alcohol, were now called, 'liquor stores,' and the organization that handled those licenses conspired with the city council and the mayor and the governor and most likely, the president. The final result ? Those stores were now, quite simply, closed forever. Millions of dollars were now lost by Fred's community, by his friends and by him. If he didn't do something quick, the creditor's would soon be at his door. He tried to tell Ta what was going on, but found it impossible to admit his reinvestment blunder. When everyone else he knew hesitated, Fred had, within days, relocated, reinvested and reinvented himself with two new businesses. That maneuver now appeared as if it was a foolish move of, 'too much, too soon'. He looked at the picture of Sam and himself that now hung on his living room wall. He and his long dead partner had always felt that one had to work hard, one had to act decisively and one had to gamble the odds to make it to a final goal. Sam would often say, while working in the warehouses, "What do we have to lose ?" Back then, each man had been educated enough to run their own companies and here they were, working in a warehouse. He wondered what Sam might say if he were here now?
Fred was distraught with worry, he had not slept well in the past few days and it showed. He looked at the books, tried to make sense of it all, attempted to count the losses. Which business would have to close immediately ? How long he could hold out before having to sell his house ? The yogurt shop was turning a decent dollar. The water infiltration system had been a big investment, maybe the two businesses could be combined ? He knew that in a few months, something had to change or he would be flat broke. He had not shared any of these problems with Alex, Sam's son and his new partner. Nor did he wish to alarm any of Sam's immediate family. But, there was only so long he could wait and now he decided to call on his young partner to deliver the bad news. It was early evening on what was a normal and quiet day in the late summer of the City of Angels. Fred drove up to the original house that Sam had owned all those years. They had chosen their houses on the advice of one another. Sam had always suggested that a tree lined street was essential. Fred had stressed the importance of an expansive backyard. Each had taken the others advice. Of course, there was much more to it than that. They discussed the direction the home faced, the arrangements of the windows, everything came into play and each had assisted one another gratefully. He knocked on the door and asked for Alex, who appeared from the kitchen with a giant smile on his face. By now, his girlfriend had given birth and Alex had named the boy after his father. Fred walked in and apologized for dropping in unannounced. Alex, who did not adhere to formalities, lifted his son and handed him to Fred ceremoniously. Fred was distracted by what was on his mind as he held the child. When Alex noticed that something was wrong, he handed the baby back to his girlfriend and asked everyone to leave the room so that he and Fred could discuss business. "He's healthy," Fred said. Alex replied, "He's fat, you mean?" Then he added, "My father always said that a fat baby is a healthy baby." Fred went onto say, "You father was right about a lot of things. I wonder what he would tell us to do now ?" Fred explained everything, the insurance problems, the equipment investment, the entire situation. Alex told Fred not to worry. Then he divulged something that he had concealed. "Do you remember Ryan's little brothers band ?" He asked Fred, who nodded in the affirmative. "Well, the day we hired them to play for the opening of the shop, we also invested in their future," Fred look at the young man quizzically and Alex asserted, "and their future, is now, looking very good." The young man flashed an unexpected and enigmatic smiled and for the very first time, it appeared to him, that his budding partner was not at all unlike his father.
Alex showed up at the big concert at nine in the morning, the actual event was not slated until late afternoon. He brought the single musical tracks he had mixed down and hung around everyones trailer's, to get a general vibe on each headliners camp. When the time was right, he approached each one individually. Explaining that he was the music producer of the opening act, 'He Said / She Said,' the new duo that was promising to make a splash. If they responded uninterestedly, he then dropped Maggie's name, which had a legendary level of notoriety that usually opened doors immediately. Alex described that he had taken the opportunity to mix down a special track featuring the band of whomever the manager or tour guide was representing. By that afternoon, word got back to Alex that when the legendary singer Isaac Hayes heard the single on his tour bus, he liked it. The track had utilized his original vocal lyric without abusing the original meaning of the tune. He also thought that the message of what, 'He Said / She Said,' was putting out, was appropriate for the event, then he suggested that Maggie call his label to work out a deal for the use of the sample. As for the rest of the headliners, Alex did not hear back. So far, nobody had objected to his special remixes and everyone was now well aware of a duo that had, as of yet, never even played a venue larger than a hundred capacity. Because Alex had worked on setting up sound systems for venues in the past, by the time the late afternoon rolled around, he was well aware of the mixers, the techies and the local disc jockey responsible for playing music in-between acts. He introduced himself, mentioned Maggie, mentioned He Said / She Said, mentioned the fact that Isaac Hayes was, "...A Fan of the opening act." In this business, stretching the truth was the difference between getting a record played and or not getting a record played. Alex handed the disc jockey the single, suggesting that everyone get to hear it sometime today. He placed it out of the way, but just in reach of the console and then, he simply walked away. By the time that He Said / She Said took the stage, each and every band, their managers, their roadies, their techies and even some of the fans, had been given singles and or told by Alex, that this band was going to be the next big thing, and sure enough, when the duo took the stage, Alex's hard work had paid off big.
THE POWER
Chapter 48 / Episode Three / Season Three
Four months had passed since a helicopter circling an intersection in South Los Angeles, reported the early moments of an uprising of startling magnitude. Jordan was more than overwhelmed by the past few months. He found driving a bus again, almost meditative, compared to his first year as the youngest driver in the city. His notoriety, due to the original flash point incident of retrieving a family heirloom, from the pawn shop, while on duty, and televised nationally, had almost broke the man. Now that some time had passed, he and Wanda were preparing for their child and trying to bring some normalcy to a season of family reunions that challenged their relationship. The return of both Jordan's parents, after years of scattered communication and disjointed relations had been an eye-opener to both of them. Wanda had relatives all over Los Angeles, she was as cogent as they come, when it came to community. Compared to Jordan, her life was more than normal. Maybe that was why they had found one another. He had enough spice for her stock to create a little something that might otherwise be unimaginable to cook up. Now, they had a child on the way. As Jordan drove down Western, up Vermont and across Crenshaw, he glimpsed buildings in devastation, burnt materials scattered across the landscape and piles of debris that appeared as if a giant had swept the floor and left the remains for some else to put in a dust pan and drop into the wastebasket. How long would it take before he would detect some official support to rebuild the city ? Everybody was talking about the presidential election. Discussing how the riot was a sign of urban dissatisfaction. What the hell did that mean, he thought to himself ? Surely somewhere out there in the suburbs and in the towns and in the country and in the mountains and in the deserts and in the oceans and possibly even out in space, someone, was thinking about dissatisfaction. Why was the urban-thing always described, interpreted and clarified so deeply and detailed as the, 'Urban Thing?' He pondered the question to himself, and yet, he knew the answer all along. Urban, was a way of saying, 'Black', a way of saying African, a way of saying: Less Than. "Ain't nobody 'Less - Than,' driving this here bus," he whispered, under his breath, to himself.
Jordan had been turned onto books by Mickey's girlfriend Moon, long before he had gotten embroiled in the mess with which he had recently been untangled. One of the books theorized clearly and intelligently how the entire story of Jesus was also a paralleled parable based on the earliest known symbols and stories related to his african ancestors. The black madonna, the pyramids, Ethiopia, Egypt, Isis, the hieroglyphs and even the symbols of modern day builders, architects and masons: the entire shebang had been inspired by and or related to the most basic of stories that had an origin in blackness. Now he drove through the streets of the city, having seen an uprising, having experienced first hand a revolution. Jordan watched as the levels of anger, excitement and defiance had turned to smoke, fire and ash and wondered: where was the power in all of this ? Where was the power ? Who had the power ? How to find the power ? An image of him, in uniform, carrying a red fender bass, that had been given to him by an uncle, from a burning pawn shop, had been blasted across the national television networks and printed on the cover of a news magazine that had, some thirty years earlier, printed the image of a brother with a bandanna and a missing tooth, that had meant to scare the living daylights out of the white populist, and indeed it worked. Wanda, who had been a young girl during the riots of nineteen sixty-five shared her stories with Jordan, on more than one occasion, and here he was, here his people were, right back in the middle of a situation which was being defined by Ted Koppel and, he hated to say it, but under his breath, he had no problem being truthful, he mutterd, to none one in particular, "A bunch of cracker ass punks who don't know shit about us." Then Jordan pulled the bus to the curb, and stated, "We're ahead of schedule, hold tight." He stepped out of the bus, dropped a dime in the phone booth, dialed the home number, Wanda answered. "You know how much I love you," he asked ? Before she could even answer, within that split millisecond of time, a ray of multi colored flash shined from within his very essence, he breathed and oozed and radiated and inner light, a private happenstance, a personal and actual kingdom of power, and suddenly, he came upon the answer to the question, he was asking himself : This is where the power is.
That night, Jordan put in a call to Mickey, who put in a call to Daniel, who put in a call to Dora, who drafted and mailed a letter that she knew would be read by the authorities at the prison stating that, although they had tried every possible avenue, Mac's situation looked hopeless and they had no new evidence to present to the parole board at his upcoming review. Nothing could have been further from the truth. Meanwhile, affidavits were created, statements were documented, notarized and accurate confessions were created in great detail, by a series of individuals connected with the original incident, that had prolonged the sentence being endured by Jordan's father, Mac. Mickey worked out the details, which ensured that the original witness, who was now sentenced to life, and his family, received a stipend of noticeable size. Daniel, with the assistance of Dora, had put together a presentation for Mac that was exemplary and simple to understand. It may not work immediately, but it was bound to reintroduce and possibly reopen or reverse a decision that had kept Mac behind bars, longer than his original sentence. Jordan's mother, 'Baby,' observed what he was doing for Mac and beamed with respect. She had taken the cover of TIME magazine, had it enlarged, framed and displayed proudly. The perplexing alliance between Jordan and Mickey, black and white, was no so odd, upon deeper inspection. Mickey's parents had been on the front lines of the cultural revolution for decades. In recent years, due to a political malaise, which pervaded mainstream culture, and a split that occurred in the seventies, which only widened the gap in the eighties, this friendship, may have seemed somewhat peculiar. But because of music, which Mickey had always been on the forefront, due to his mother Maggie, and her position in the industry, Jordan's world was a very familiar one. Mickey could rattle off the lyrics, verbatim, to any so-called 'black band,' that ever existed. From Howlin' Wolf to Public Enemy, he knew exactly what was going on, through the music. As he and Jordan sat in the park, a dude rolled up behind the bench they were sitting on, blasting a Jimi Hendrix tune, called Stonefree. They listened to the lyrics. " Every day of The Week, I'm in the Pit of the City, If I stay too long, People try to pull me down ... That's Why, You can't hold me down… Cause I'm Stone Free, to do what I Please, Stone Free, to ride the Breeze, Stone Free ... Stone Free... Stone Free..." The tune said something directly about what the two men had both experienced, they heard it and laughed. Neither man said directly, to the other, just exactly, why, it was funny. But as each listened to the story, they recognized that music would get the final word. Where stubborn silence and the shallow thoughts of lesser men, would simply fall to the wayside. Jimi Hendrix would have the final word today. Jordan envisioned a day when Mac would be singing that tune.
THE VERDICT
Chapter 49 / Episode Three / Season Three
Five Months had passed since Stan had presided over a case in which four police officers were tried and found innocent of the brutal beating of an individual. Since that time, his son, who had been challenged since birth, was suddenly choosing his own clothes, making his lunches and expounding upon theories that challenged even his teachers. This little progression was perceived with the slightest bit of apprehension by both his parents. They would have welcomed and even preferred, a slow and steady type of improvement, rather than the rapid and often discordant developments that had taken Cliff by storm. Because of Cliffs condition, both had heard of cases where, persons quite suddenly showed great improvements over small periods of time, that soon escalated into more dire situations regarding everyday functions, the deterioration of basic mental abilities and even, although they shrank from considering the possibilities, death. Cliff had been obsessing on the presidential election. He would watch a debate, or a candidate, or an interview and call out loud, whenever he detected a false statement, an avoidance of the actual question, or an out an out lie. The original skills he had possessed, in terms of drawing and painting events that had, at a later date, somehow come to pass, which included exacting details involving his fathers workplace, the riots and other personal and significant situations that effected his parents lives, had now been turned toward the search for authenticity, or is this case, the search for inauthenticity. Cliff could watch a person and simply, 'know' what they were really thinking. "He's lying mom," became an often spoken phrase, and even more often, shouted out from another room. Stan, who was a judge, and Dora, who was a lawyer, utilized these same observations, but with restraint and sometimes regrettably so. Question: How many times had they wished they could simply shout out, "He's Lying" ? Answer: Too many to count. Cliff had been watching satellite feeds that allowed the viewers to see entire political events that included backstage pre production aspects of speeches by candidates, that went uninterrupted, from having make up applied, to on camera statements, to post production, after the fact comments. Many of the candidates had no idea that everything they said and did, before, during and after, was actually being transmitted. For a kid who was supposed to be slow, Cliff was now acutely aware of what could commonly be perceived as trickery, as deception, as duplicity, as fraudulent. They had a lot of names for these things in the world today. Cliff simply called deceit, guile and craftiness, what it really was: A Lie.
Jordan and Cliff had become acquainted during the time that Dora had assisted with his debacle at the transit authority and the subsequent trial period following the riots. The two had somehow connected and Cliff's obsession with Richard Pryor had sealed the deal. When Jordan showed up with backstage passes to a rare appearance by Pryor at the post riot Peace Concert being promoted by Mickey's mother Maggie, Cliff was ecstatic. Stan, who had resided over the case, which actually had caused the quote-unquote 'unrest,' was less than eager to attend. But when Cliff pleaded, he obliged the lad, and it became a family venture. Stan was under the assumption that they had been given general admission seating. When they flashed the tickets to the parking lot attendant, an entree into a special section, led to an exclusive and swift entry with wristbands that told security that these people were backstage guests, friends of the top promoter, full access, carte blanche. Dora looked at Stan, who looked at Cliff and away they were swept into the excitement of a major cultural event, that included speeches by organizers, political activists, civil rights leaders, famous persons of all variety and a welcoming healing process that Stan had no idea would begin to help redefine his immediate future forever. For every act, there was an introduction by a well known and well versed personality. People made their speeches and recognized the wrongs within the system. Some of the preludes were light hearted, others were soaked with pain and loss and struggle. Scholars told stories about heroic acts that had been made by firefighters and everyday citizens. Others chastised the legal system, the cops and the governor. While more centric leaning individuals attempted to commended and heal those statements. Overall, it had been an interesting few hours and then someone said that Richard Pryor was about to go onstage. When Cliff heard the words, 'Richard Pryor,' he was startled into a kind of excitement level that made him attentive to everything and everyone backstage.
Unexpectedly, Jordan showed up with Wanda and asked Cliff if he wanted to meet Pryor ? "What do you mean," Cliff asked back ? Then Jordan just smiled and shook his head as he was want to do whenever Cliff was buying time to think, "I mean, would you like to say hello to Richard Pryor ? " Then he looked at both Dora and Stan, who silently agreed that this was all right by them, he took Cliff's hand and led him over to a man in a wheelchair, who had been ailing recently. Maggie and a group of people had gathered around Pryor, he was entertaining the congregation, so to speak. "Mr. Pryor," Jordan stated, "this is the young dude I was telling you about." Cliff looked up at Jordan with his eyes wide, baffled by the preplanned aspects of this meeting. "Mr Pryor," he said, "this little dude is one of the best new impersonators of your work. He's a natural. knows it up and down." Pryor looked at the kid and said, "Well goddamn, I'm not feeling so well today anyway, maybe we can send his ass out there to do my thing." Everyone laughed, and then Pryor looked at the kid, as if he wasn't joking. Cliff was awestruck and the man in the wheelchair asked him, "Would you do me a favor ? Would you introduce me today?" Pryor knew that on a day like today, nothing would be funnier and more healing than to have a little, white, freckled face kid, who knew his shit, to make the introduction. Maggie had already asked a famous poet to write a preamble, it had been rehearsed and planned. There was an awkward moment, then Pryor said, "All right, have Maya do the intro," then he grabbed Cliff's arm and said, "you be ready to join my ass out there, okay ?" Cliff again turned wide eyed and look at his parents, who looked back at Pryor, who looked at Cliff, waiting for an answer. He glanced out at the audience, which was thousands of people and looked alarmed. Jordan stepped in, "Just be ready to do what you've been doing for us all along." Cliff looked at the man whom he had worshipped since first hearing his album and said, "O.K." and that was that. The lady poet got up and talked about humor having the healing aspects for a humanity that was in dire need of understanding. She talked about poverty, she talked about struggle, she talked about the power of laughter to help overcome the odds, then she introduced Richard Pryor and the crowd went wild. He stood up from the wheel chair and slowly walked to the center of the stage, grabbed the microphone and said, "They done burnt down the entire f*cking city and believe me, I know exactly how that shit feels." People roared. "As you all know, I have had my own battles with the cops, with television and with being on M*ther - F%!#ing Fire !" Again, the crowd went wild. The routine continued to a crescendo and then, he said, "I brought a friend of mine with me here tonight, a new comic that you may not have heard of... Yet." Then he looked back to see Cliff nervously standing at the side of the proscenium, wearing a pair of tennis shoes, jeans rolled up high, a collared dress shirt un-tucked, hair slicked to the side, looked like a little pro. "Ladies and Gentlemen, please welcome Cliff to the stage." The crowd applauded, Pryor handed the microphone to the little dude and sat down on a barstool. "Hi, my name is Cliff," he said, as if he were speaking in front of a fourth grade class on the first day of school. Then he continued, "Mister Richard Pryor is my favorite comedian ... because," and he looked back toward Pryor, "because ... he tells the truth... in a world full of liars." The crowd was with him, they applauded, then he opened it up, "Are you all familiar with an album called, Richard Pryor: Wanted ?" The audience applauded again, this time louder. Then Cliff instantaneously and quite seamlessly transformed himself from a small, white, suburban, kid, into a younger version of a very wild and ruthless comedian named Richard Pryor. "Good, Cause All you M*ther F*&#@ers are Now in for a Hell of a Show," and he ripped into a well known routine that had the entire stadium and Pryor in stitches. Cliff's parents and Jordan and Wanda and Mickey and Maggie and everyone watched, as a the supposedly slow witted child, took the entire stage of Los Angeles and made it his own.
INTERVIEW: BUREAU OF ARTS AND CULTURE MAGAZINE EDITOR: JOSHUA TRILIEGI
Writer Joshua Triliegi discusses his most recent Fiction Project, "They Call It The City of ANGELS," creating beliEvable characters and the challenges therein. Season One & Season Two are available on line at most of the 10 various BUREAU of Arts and Culture Websites & translatable around the world.
Discuss the process of writing your recent fiction project, " They Call It The City of Angels ."
Joshua Triliegi: I had lived through the riots of 1992, actually had a home not far from the epicenter and experienced the event first hand, I noticed how the riot was being perceived by those outside our community, people began to call me from around the world, my friends in Paris, my relatives in the mid west, childhood pals, school mates, etc... Each person had a different take on why and what was happening, I still have those recordings, this was back in the day of home message recorders with cassettes. So, after 20 years, I began to re listen to the voices and felt like something was missing in the dialogue.
" I noticed how the riot was being perceived by those outside our community ..."
Some of my friends and fellow theater contemporaries such as Anna Deveare Smith and Roger Guenvere Smith had been making bold statements in relation to the riots with their own works and I realized that there was a version of original origin inside of me. I felt the need to represent the community in detail, but with the event in the background. Because, I can tell you from first hand experience that when these events happen, people are still people, and they deal with these types of historical emergencies differently based on their own culture, their own codes, their own needs and everyday happenstances.
You originally published each chapter on a daily basis, explain how and why ?
Joshua Triliegi: I had been editing The BUREAU of Arts and Culture Magazine for a few years, we printed thousands of magazines that were widely distributed throughout Los Angeles and San Francisco and had created an on-line readership.The part of me that had dabbled in fiction through the years with screenplays and short stories had been ignored for those few years. On the one hand, it was simply a challenge to create a novel without notes, improvising on a daily basis, on the other hand, it gave the project a freedom and an urgency that had some connection with the philosophy of Jack Kerouac and his Spontaneous Prose theories. One thing it did, was forced me, as a creator, to make the decisions quickly and it also, at the time, created a daily on line readership, at least with our core readers, that to this day has strengthened our community sites and followers on line. Season One was a series of introductions to each character. Season Two, which happened the following year, was a completely different experience all together.
Describe Season Two of They Call It The City of Angels and those challenges.
Joshua Triliegi: Well first of all, the opening line of Season One is, " Los Angeles is a funny place to live, but those laughing were usually from out of town, " That opener immediately set up an insiders viewpoint that expresses a certain struggle and angst as well as an outsider — looking — in — perception that may be skewed. In introducing characters throughout season one, I was simply creating a cast of characters that I knew somehow would be important to set the tone surrounding the riots of 1992 in Los Angeles. With Season Two, and an entire year of gestation, which was extremely helpful, even if it was entirely on a subconscious level, I had a very real responsibility to be true to my characters and each persons culture. I had chosen an extremely diverse group of people, but had not actually mentioned their nationality, or color in Season One. By the time season Two rolled around, I found it impossible not to mention their differences and went several steps further to actually define those differences and describe how each character was effected by the perception of the events in their life. This is a novel that happens to take place before, during and after the riot. The characters themselves all have lives that are so complete and full and challenged, as real life actually is, that the riot as a backdrop is entirely secondary to the story. I was surprised at how much backstory there actually was. I also think my background in theater, gave me a sense of character development that really kicked my characters lives into extreme detail and gave them a fully realized life.
How do you go about creating a character ?
Joshua Triliegi: Well, there is usually a combination of very real respect and curiosity involved. Sometimes, I may have seen that person somewhere in the world and something about them attracted my attention in some way. In the case of They Call It The City of Angels, I knew the people of Los Angeles had all been hurt badly by the riots of 1992, because I am one of those people and it hurt. One minute we were relating between cultures, colors, incomes, the next we were pitted up against one another because some people in power had gotten away with a clear injustice. So with season two, I personally had to delve deeper into each persons life and present a fully realized set of circumstances that would pay off the reader, in terms of entertainment and at the same time be true to the code of each character. Once they were fully realized, the characters themselves would do things that surprised me and that is when something really interesting began to happen.
Could you tell us a bit more about the characters and give us some examples of how they would surprise you as a writer ?
Joshua Triliegi: Well, Jordan, who is an African American bus driver and happens to be a Muslim, began to find himself in extremely humorous situations where he is somehow judged by events and circumstances beyond his control. I thought that was interesting because the average person most likely perceives the people of that particular faith as very serious. Jordan has a girlfriend who is not Muslim and when he is confronted by temptation, he is equally as human as any of my readers and so, he gets himself into situations that complicate his experience and a certain amount of folly ensues. Fred, who is an asian shop owner and a Buddhist, has overcome a series of tragedies, yet has somehow retained his dignity with a stoicism that is practically heroic. At one point, in the middle of a living nightmare, he simply goes golfing, alone and gets a hole in one. Junior, who is a Mexican American young man recently released from prison really drives the story as much of his backstory connects us to Fred and his tragedies as well as legal decisions such as the one that caused the city to erupt as it does in the riot.
You talk a lot about Responsibility to Character, what do you mean and how do you conduct research ?
Joshua Triliegi: Well, if I make a decision that a character is a Muslim or Asian or Mexican or what have you, if I want the respect of my readers and of those who may actually be Muslim, Asian or Mexican, it behooves me to learn something about that character. As a middle aged man who lives in Los Angeles and has done an extensive amount of travel throughout my life, there is a certain amount of familiarity with certain people. But for instance, with Fred, I watched films on the history of the Korean War and had already respected the Korean Community here in Los Angeles for standing up for themselves the way they did. I witnessed full on attacks and gun fights between some of the toughest gangsters in LA and I think even they gained respect for this community in that regard. Fred is simply one of those shop owners, he is a very humble and unassuming man, in season two, he finds himself entering a whole new life and for me as a writer, that is very gratifying and to be totally honest, writing for Fred was the most bitter sweet experience ever. Here is a man who has lost a daughter, a wife, a business partner and he is about to lose all he has, his shop. Regarding Junior and Jordan, I grew up with these guys, I have met them again and again, on buses, in neighborhoods at school. Jordan has a resilience and a casual humor that has been passed down from generations, a survival skill that includes an ironic outlook at life. He also has that accidental Buster Keaton sort of ability to walk through traffic and come out unscathed. Junior on the other hand is a real heavy, like any number of classic characters in familiar cinema history confronted with the challenges of poverty and tragedy. He is the character that paid the biggest price and in return, we feel that experience. There is a certain amount of mystery and even a pent up sexuality and sometimes a violence that erupts due to his circumstances. In season two, within a single episode, Junior takes his father, who is a busboy at a cafe and repositions him as the Don or boss of their original ranch in Mexico.
There seems to be a lot of religion in They Call it the City of Angels, how did that occur and do you attend church or prescribe to any particular faith ?
I never intended for there to be so much religion in this book. But, if you know Los Angeles like I do, you will realize how important faith is to a good many people and particularly to the characters I chose to represent. With Jordan being Muslim, it allowed me to delve into the challenges a person might have pertaining to that particular faith. Fred's life is so full of tragedy that even a devout buddhist would have trouble accepting and letting go of the events that occur in his life. Junior found god in prison as many people do, upon his release back into the real world, he is forced to make decisions which challenge that belief system and sometimes go against his faith, at the same time, he finds himself physically closer to real life events and objects of religious historical significance than the average believer which brings us into a heightened reality and raises questions in a new way. As for my own belief system, I dabble in a series of exercises and rituals that spring from a wide variety of faiths and practices.
You discussed Jordan, Fred and Junior. Tell us about Cliff and Charles and Chuck.
Joshua Triliegi: I don't really believe in secondary characters, but in writing fiction, certain characters simply emerge more pronounced than others. As this project was a daily serial for the magazine, I did try my best to keep a balance, giving each character a fully realized set of circumstances and history. That said, some characters were related to another through family, incident or history and later, I felt compelled to know more about them and see how they would emerge.
Charles is one of those legendary rock and roll guys who was on tour with music royalty and simply disappeared. He's the missing father we all hear about and wonder what would happen if he were to suddenly return into our lives ? His son Mickey, his wife Maggie, his daughter Cally have all gone on with their lives, when Jordan, accidentally runs him over while driving his bus, Charles returns home and a new chapter in their lives begins again.
Chuck is a cop who just happened to marry Juniors sister and they have several daughters. When Junior returns from prison, he and Chuck clash simply because of their careers and history. I felt it was important to include authority in this story and once I decided to represent a police officer, I wanted him to be as fully realized and interesting as any other character, though, clearly Junior drives much of this section of the novel and Chuck is simply another person that complicates Juniors arrival. I should also explain that the arrival of Junior from years in prison is really the beginning of events that lead up to the basic thrust of the story and somehow almost everyone in the novel has a backstory that connects in some way.
Cliff is absolutely one of my all time favorites. He is a mentally challenged boy whose father happens to be the judge on the case that develops into the unjust legal decision and eventually the actual 1992 riots. I have always felt that challenged individuals deserve much more than the marginalized lifestyles that we as a contemporary society provide. Many ancient societies have relegated what we dismiss as something very special. Cliff is challenged, but also happens to be a very intuitively gifted human being whose drawings portend actual future events. Even though his parents are extremely pragmatic, they are forced to consider his gifts.
Cliff is a young upper middle class white boy who is entirely obsessed with the late great comedian Richard Pryor and at very inopportune times, Cliff will perform entire Richard Pryor comedic routines, including much of the original risqué language. Cliff is an innocent who pushes the societal mores to the edge. I have found through fiction the ability to discuss, develop and delve into ideas that no other medium provided me. And as you may know, I am a painter, film maker, photographer, sculptor, designer, who also edits a magazine reviewing art, film and culture.
As a man, do you find it challenging to write female characters ?
Joshua Triliegi: To some extent, yes. That said, I have spent a good many years with women and have had very close relationships with the female gender, both personally and professionally, so on average, I would say that I am not a total buffoon. In They Call It City of Angels, Jordan's girlfriend Wanda and his mom both appeared and bloomed as fully realized characters that I really enjoyed writing for. Cliffs mother Dora is also a very strong female character that I am very proud to have created. Season two presented a special challenge with dialogue between characters that was new territory for me. I have written screenplays in the past, sometimes with collaborators, once with my brother and more recently with my nephew and in Angels, I found it, for the first time, very easy to imagine the conversations and action in a way that was totally new to my process. I would most likely credit that to my own relationships and possibly to the several recent years of interviewing and writing for the magazine in general.
When will we see another season of They Call It The City of Angels ?
We have set a tradition of it being the Summer Fiction Project at the Magazine and since August is a relatively slow month for advertising and cultural events, we will most likely see a Season Three in the summer of 2015. As you may know, I do not take any written notes at all prior to the day that I actually write the chapter, so the characters simply develop on a subconscious level and then during the one month or two week process, I pretty much do nothing at all, but ponder their existence, day to day. This can sometimes be nerve racking as I do plot things out in my head and sometimes even make extreme mental notes, though even then some ideas simply don't make it on the page. During Season Two, I omitted a section of a chapter and later revealed another chapter into a different sequence of events, but besides that it has been a rather straight ahead chapter a day experience that simply pushed me to invent, develop and complete the work of fiction that might have otherwise never existed or possibly taken much more time. I am curious to see how my next project will develop.
What is your next project ?
Joshua Triliegi; I am working on a couple of things of historic importance. Though I can't say much about them. One is an actual event that I have been given permission to portray by the actual estate and I don't know yet if it will be an ' Inspired by ... ' type of Novel or if it will be creative Non Fiction. The other is a fiction piece I have been developing for sometime now.
" I have been writing consciously since I was fourteen, stories, journals, poetry, lyrics, screenplays, but as far as fiction goes, They Call It The City of Angels is probably my first successful project with a major readership and I am very thankful that it happened. Better late than never. "
After that I have a sort of family opus that is probably the most researched project I have ever undergone. I have been writing consciously since I was fourteen, stories, journals, poetry, lyrics, screenplays, but as far as fiction goes, They Call It The City of Angels is probably my first successful project with a major readership and I am very thankful that it happened.
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The BUREAU of ARTS and CULTURE'S EDITOR Joshua TRILIEGI Goes One on One with The BEST In ART . FILM . MUSIC . DESIGN . CULTURE FASHION . ARCHITECTURE . PHOTOGRAPHY . CUISINE . SURFING . DANCE . LITERATURE . BUREAU OF ARTS AND CULTURE: "QUOTE ME"
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