From the book I'll never publish. 


There was something strange about the way she was after midnight. Vulnerable and fragile, almost like a porcelain doll. Perhaps it was because the night sky knew all of her secrets. It heard her cries; it grasped her thoughts. Her eyes couldn't see the light anymore. She was lost into its dark womb; into this dark dream, this dark dream of abyss. And he was the only one who could make her feel safe again. To rescue her soul; to plunder her inner gold. So she gave him a call.
I'm scared, she said. Her charcoal sentence struck a chord in his heart.

I know. I know you are scared. But do me a favour. Go to the nearest window and look up. Look up and gaze upon the opium stars – become a part of their slow-dance.
Are you watching?

Dance, dance, dance... 
Now find the crescent moon. It may not be full but it is still beautiful and ever watching. Like you. Cast off your darkness and put on the armour of light, he said and ended the conversation. 

And she looked around. Lights were finally on; shiny blackness gone. All because of this rare soul. 
He always had the most beautiful visions. He wasn't fooled by mistakes or dark and grainy visages. He remembered her beauty when she felt ugly; her wholeness when she felt broken. He was her miracle; her light in the tunnel; her neon sign in the dark alley...


The Girl for Lovers and Drifters. 


She is a force of nature. Loud like the roar of the ocean’s cascading waves, ecstatic like the lightning that cuts through the sullen skies. She is a wild soul and you can hear her howls. And I’ll tell you now. Love her. But don’t tame her… Set her free, where she is meant to be…like a majestic lioness in her own wilderness.
The falling lilac stars, the bloodied lanterns and the poisonous flowers are not in her jungle to stop you from coming. They are there to challenge you, to break your heart open, to make you stronger.

Come…close, closer…
You know she is the source of your unspoken desires, the godlike creature you fear and admire, the lover that will move the sun, the moon and other stars in the face of your disaster. So don’t tame her… love her and run along with her…

Par The Girl; Cette scène Los Angeles California; Photographe Kourosh Erfanian


A nightclub on Sunset Boulevard is trapped in adolescence, filled with outcasts and miscreants. Cut to the stage: A garage-punk rock band whirls and whips in total spastic grace, creating a maelstrom. Cut to the bar: two handsome young men provide raucous accompaniment. Cut to the crowd: Two make-out, a girl chases the rabbit down the hole; pas de deux with boy in chucks and girl in plaid. Cut to backstage: girl drinking in dressing room. Her partner lectures her, they go on, she is so lushed she trips over her own feet, falls across the floor, runs offstage. The manager storms back and yells, “Damn those drunken delinquents!” Cut back to the stage: Young frontman puts the entire audience in a trance with an extended solo. 


They seem to have a trouble growing up. Almost like they are the lost kids from Neverland. I couldn’t help but wonder – is Los Angeles a city that halts the ageing process?
“I never want to grow up. I’m a kid who can never sit and be quiet. I’m a genuine punk and quite frankly, I want no future,” Kourosh Erfanian tells me. Kourosh is a 19-year-old LA-based photographer who immortalises gritty youth in his black and white photographic tributes. 


The scene clearly does not yield into capitalistic dynamics;  it is merely fuelled by guitar-melting and percussion-pounding sounds. Bands like The Garden Twins, SWMRS, Kim And The Created and FIDLAR have an illusion of invincibility and no mind for consequence. “These are the bands that shape up our culture and they know how to keep the crowd entertained. They wreak havoc, for hell’s sake.” And he is right. 


But the best part is the pragmatism and nonchalance in their appearance. It is honest. Not dictated by trends, or any other pompous nonsense. I ask Kourosh that burning question: why does it feel that people refuse to grow up? He looks at me and utters, “Because life shouldn’t be simple and thoughts shouldn’t be mature.”