Today is 1984. Late Fall, for months a white sky, occasional cold rain, a cold wind from all directions. Nothing to look forward to except Winter. There is no love in this world anymore, but Dash remembers love, I remember love.
My name is Esther, I am 19. Dash is 17. He is my day and night and he has no idea how I feel. We are two homeless kids in Suburbia. I'm sure that in a hundred years our lives will seem strange, important, and futuristic but today I am only cold and hungry and I miss Dash.
Through the mist at the corner of Robb and Lora I spy a white utility shed adorned with a bold, beautiful, black Circle-A. I say a prayer to nobody and wait. Neighbors watch from every window. My blouse is spray-painted bright orange, my Levi's are tight black, my motorcycle boots only heighten the mystery. After a minute of this fashion show, I spin around once and head three blocks over to Zig Zag. Church bells ring on and on so I sit on the sidewalk and the rain comes down colder and faster.
Now I see Dash running toward me full speed across the playground. We embrace for a minute.
We don't mind cold rain or cold walks. We start out on the endless lazy stroll into the city. Seems like it's a thousand miles away. Singing helps. I sing "Borderline" by Madonna first. Soon enough we luck out and get a ride from a punk rocker, leather jacket, spiky hair and all. He drops us off at a run down hotel. Dash and I share a room for a week. We don't even kiss the entire time! Too bad. Too sad.
Later, Dash was elected President of the United States. We both found that fact hilarious.
Its a new day At Burger King!If Double Crossaintwhch and a steaming cup of Seattles Best coffee doesn’t set you on your way, Stop at Midmorning for a some Fresh Apple Frieds or Funnel Cake Sticks!Doctor said “cool it” with the lunchtimes?Tendercrisop Garden Salad might be “the way to go” or if your hungrierTendergill Garden Salad!And for those Midafternoon two hours until “quitting time” blues, pick-up Crispy Tender New Chicken Tendersavailable in four eight or twenty pieces and “Hersheys” Sundae Pie will chase aways those blue!Don’t stop here because its Dinnertime for the Steakhouse Extreme-T-Burgerwill compete as well as theA-1 Stuffed Steakhouse, or Tripple Wopper!But remember it takes two hands to have it your way!Now and soon at Burger King!
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Welcome to The Moss Problem! What is it? Rather than laying out a mission statement, or some kind of lofty proposal of intent, I think it would be best to just let The Moss Problem define itself as time goes on. We admittedly have some ridiculously ambitious speculations for ourselves. I have, however, found that laying the groundwork for a spectacularly embarrassing failure is no way to guarantee success. Three tragic weddings have convinced me of that. No, I firmly believe that success or lack of success have more to do with the present-- the day to day battles, or crushing defeats, or comebacks, or losses, or breakthroughs-- than it does with any plans for the future (or dwellings on the past).
Back in Los Angeles, editing a new "magazine" published by my friends Randy and Kate Moss, a couple of real troublemakers who kind of picture themselves as... well, I'd better not say it. But they don't want this to be about them, not at all. I shouldn't have even mentioned them, but they did say it was okay to use their names (but no pictures) as the backers of this venture. Anyway, as far as "magazine" goes, all they told me is that they want to be wide open to what that means. It could be like a quarterly, a literary journal, a tabloid or a glossy newsstand publication, or a "zine" or a phonograph record. The only thing they are discouraging, at least at the outset, is any kind of compact disc, CD or DVD, and any comparison to Mr. Unmentionable and his Unmentionable Unmentionables. I'm sorry to be vague, but those are the rules. Other than that-- no rules. No ideas about frequency or size, content or format-- and what really excites me is the possibility of coming up with some format, technique, INVENTION that has yet to be invented, thought of, or even imagined.
If all of that sounds a little INSANE, well, you probably don't know the Moss family. This is actually fairly grounded and concrete for the Mosses. And even more so because what we are starting with, HERE, is an online journal, and that's a nice place to start. Something you can find, access, and read, for free, and something that we are able to create or destroy at a moment's notice.
The Mosses and I decided this would be a very good place to start, because it is our shared position that we are now witnessing the death of cinema, rock'n'roll, and books. And with every death comes a (re)birth-- but of what? (As far as I can tell right now, maybe only more ways to spend more on less.) I know it sounds absurd, and this is the last time I'll state it in such simplistic terms, choosing to create an ongoing body of evidence instead in these very pages-- but not just an argument, or a declaration-- hopefully, as well, a celebration, a wake, a condemnation, and a call to arms (well, maybe not arms).