Thanks to all who made it to the Los Angeles Lunar Society's full moon meeting in Malibu last night, and bigger thanks to all those who didn't make it, due to our exclusive admission of film directors and fine artists (and precious few of even those.)
This fine evening saw a huge spring moon hovering overhead like that mile-wide flying saucer those British pilots saw last week, a celestial satellite that peered down as Los Angeles' biggest little secret society celebrated the wigged out holiday of Beltane. Some of the more histrionic female Lunarians enacted the ritual of eating three seeds of the pomegranate for the goddess Persephone, who brings spring back to our shores. As fun as this might seem to certain Wicca-damaged Bennington undergrads overly influenced by the later career of Stevie Nicks, yours truly was indeed present, but unable to attend said communion.
Fresh from LAX, I instead hid in my Lunar Library office and listened to early Kinks albums, smoked a couple bowls of California chronic, cataloged a crate of first edition Walter Cranes in fine gilt bindings, caught up on my copious handwritten correspondence (stationery Mrs. John L. Strong) and polished off half a bottle of XO cognac. Or so.
I then spent the rest of the night sending spectres out into Los Angeles, ruling the clubhouse's ghosts, and carrying into effect the curses of Lunar members. Or something. When I awoke suddenly near dawn this morning and found myself staring into the dying embers of the library's fireplace I had only a couple finger-smudged crystal brandy snifters, a lone solid gold cufflink and my own nudity to serve as clues to the manner in which the rest of the evening transpired. And I guess I don't need a Ouija board to spell it out for you, dear reader.
And what about you? Did you sleep well last night, Los Angeles? If not, next time please remember the Lunar Society out on the wilder shores of Malibu in your nightly prayers. Or drop me a line on your best stationery and I'll see what we can do to bestow our blessings as the moon, enormous and silent, sails overhead.
Theresa L. Duncan
c/o Main Library
The Los Angeles Lunar Society
Post Office Box 1558
Venice, CA 90293