At the Astoria I took this photo of me and the beauty Olivia Lopez.

Olivia is dressed in hand made lace from Verona (Pizzo) the same as Alaïa tried to buy for his SS2010.

Now me and Black are on our way 2 some party downtown where Aloysius have promised 2 teach Will Ferrell to drink like a man.

Sittin' in the BA first class lounge @ JFK eating a "shrimp salad with thai spices" and drinkin' my third Heidsieck Blanc de Millenaires 1992 champagne tryin' to avoid the gazes from my pinstriped co-travellers. "Full international service on a domestic flight" the sign sez.

Boarding starts in 30. I bet there will be goat cheese tarts on the plane. And Champagne. I'm thinkin' of wearing my Soap Bubble dress to fit the (eight bottles of) champagne.

6h until I land in Los Angeles.

(70's Chanel blouse + Kmart skirt)

Now I'm gonna meet up with some bloggers and take their pictures. Tell you more very soon.

TODAYS OUTFIT: flightless bird.

After being greeted in the street by a grey pigeon with a broken wing and two more texts from grans attorney I switched off my phone and decided to stay @ the Astoria all day.

As Marlene Dietrich once said: it's nicer to be suicidal @ some place fancy!

I undress in my room and have tea in the bathtub, pretending I'm Marilyn Monroe. (The Astoria Was the hotel of her dreams, but she ran out of cash and had to leave. There are too many mirrors here.)

9 hours to Los Angeles

For breakfast I have two Alcoli Ginger biscuits and a triple espresso. I wear the red Olympia shoes and a sad face, read Nabokov and hope 2 match New York with a new level of dizziness.

Observation: How can society outlaws public nudity but allow people to walk around in clothes from Gap?

In 12 hours I'll be in Los Angeles, for the first time in five years.

As I exit the cab outside the Astoria the air smells sweat and candy like this city was dressed in worn out sugar (Margiela SS 2011), and suddenly I remember.

I remember how it used to smell when me, mom, dad and Viktor used to arrive @ hotels late @ nights, with the distant sounds of the city around me. Stars and my parents towering in front of me.

Back when mom was mom and dad was dad. (And not a (sometimes) recovering alcoholic and a corpse.)

While I grab a taxi I'm still fascinated: not a paparazzi in sight.
On the other hand, I don't know why I still expect them, so far they have never shown up.

I take a sip from my flask with Madeira and tell the cabbie to drive slow. He nods, and accelerates like a racecar driver. The car smells of leather and old perfume. Outside the night is dark as water.

I wonder if grannies attorney will await me @ the hotel?
Then my cell beeps.
1 new message. Grannies attorney. Poor guy. Relatives must REALLY be bothering him.

Hat - Versace. Dress - granny's wardrobe.

My name is Pneumonia White. After some lonely years in the north, me and Aloysius just landed @ JFK.

As I descend the damp stairs into the thick New Jersey night, four big black birds passes by just over us. Wings dark as italian velvet glistening in the airstrip floodlight. I turn on my phone. 3 new messages. All of them from grannys attorney.

I inhale the cool air. Something is about to happen.