I’ve had theories about many past lives. I could see myself as a Pan Am stewardess, a silent film vamp or possibly Jayne Mansfield’s pet leopard strutting down Hollywood Boulevard. The lives that make the most sense though would be two previous lives. One would write the wrongs of another. I was a Hollywood tragedy and a Hollywood groupie. I jumped from the Hollywood sign in the ’40s after one casting couch too many. As a groupie some of my former life still stalked me like a paid off cop. The clothes were far too glamorous to give up and I sure as hell would never let another man dictate my life. I would play to their jezebel-implied sneers with glamour and satire. I would create myself this time, no Max Factor torture involved.
My old haunts would still be my homes away from home in Hollywoodland. In both lives I was a runaway who lived in velvet and satin. A restless spirit can last a few lifetimes it seems. I lived for the in betweens in both my lives, the yearnings and daydreams. Long days by the pool or lost in thought in a café. At the Whisky it was much of the same, lost in fantasy, between awe and ecstasy as I danced with my fellow muses with flowers in our hair. Anyone who thinks you can’t be an artist and a muse has a limited way of thinking. I spent my second life learning this as I acted as both, learning my own artistry. I became a writer and a photographer. I captured the world I created for others and myself.
The rock ‘n roll lifestyle lead to a constant daydream, traveling the world, London, Tangier, New York City, Paris, Mars, and the south of France. I became an adventurer, writer and groupie extraordinaire. Just like many of the rock stars I spent time with, I died in a plane crash, a seat by the window while singing along to my favorite songs.
–Natalie J, Seattle, WA