VERBEUX
  • Not About Carrie Bradshaw's Closet

    Mirror the chic sophistication of Sarah Jessica Parker's bookshelf.

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  • Desperately Seeking Psychic

    Sometimes it takes a psychic in a tacky tracksuit to unlock spiritual intrigue.

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  • American Horror Story: Freak Show

    Now that the reign of bitchcraft is over, it's time for the real misfits to come out and play.

    Read More
  • Flirting With Regret

    What if you never needed to ask yourself, "what if?"

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Reading With Sarah Jessica Parker

By October 14, 2014 Books

It’s hard not to picture Sarah Jessica Parker being associated with reading, writing, typing, and other means of expressive, journalistic behavior.

Her fashionably influential role as Carrie Bradshaw, a relationship-riddened, sexpert columnist in HBO’s critically acclaimed series, Sex and the City, launched a new breed of a pioneering, intellectual female who is aware and in touch with various aspects of the human character.

Bradshaw’s narration via her weekly column in the fictional newspaper, The New York Star, depicts a socially relatable woman navigating her way through the carnal maze of life, love, and poignant musings in New York City.

Sarah Jessica Parker does not stray too far from the creatively independent essence of Carrie Bradshaw.  As an award-winning actress, UNICEF Ambassador, designer, producer and entrepreneur, she is the quintessential maven of what it means to be an artistically diverse icon.

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Desperately Seeking Psychic

By October 7, 2014 Column

A few years ago, on a former digital diary, I wrote about my anticlimactic experience with a Los Angeles psychic.

During that time in my life, I was feeling lonely, unsure, sad, and unusually vulnerable.  It was that unsettling vibe in my bones whereby I was constantly searching for answers to questions I didn’t even have.  Each time I passed the psychic shop on Melrose Avenue, I toyed with the idea of stopping in.  One day, I finally did.

However, it wasn’t until a few days ago after reading a post on Gwyneth Paltrow’s Goop, titled “Trust the Gut,” that I decided to search for my original entry buried in the archives of my laptop.  I was pleasantly surprised to read Goop’s recent enlightening feature on an LA-based medium.  The insightful and informative Q&A  illuminated the business aspect and professional culture of psychics, and how we can tap into our own intuitive power as well.

If I had read Goop‘s “Trust The Gut” three years ago, I wouldn’t have opted for a random walk-in shop on Melrose Avenue.  However, the experience solidified my open-minded approach to all aspects of spirituality.

In retrospect, sometimes it takes a psychic in a tacky tracksuit to unlock such spiritual intrigue.

Below is an original piece about my non-Goop encounter with an LA psychic.

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American Horror Story: Freak Show

By October 3, 2014 Entertainment

Double, double, toil, and poof…  American Horror Story: Coven ended the twisted spell on its viewers when the final episode premiered January 29, 2014.

Forever hidden away in the FX Networks macabre vaults, is voodoo, bad juju, potions, and the convoluted magic of haunted New Orleans.

Despite the end of the occult, I will always wear black on Wednesdays.

Blessed be, witches.

Now that the reign of bitchcraft is over, it’s time for the real misfits to come out and play.

“What you’re about to see will astound your senses and harrow your very souls,” the bearded lady warns.

Welcome the to the Freak Show.

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Reading With Frances Bean Cobain

By October 2, 2014 Books
Eddie Martinez "Nomader" Opening

Frances Bean Cobain is a bewitchingly intellectual creature.  Her ethereal beauty, brains, coveted coolness, and goth girl problems grow maddeningly enviable with each new moon.

Cobain is a visual artist who labels herself as a horror movies enthusiast and just your typical 宇宙魔女 (space witch).  Within the artistic world, she claims the top spot as the quintessential source of alluringly unchartered territory.

Mere mortals can only gain insight into her mysterious life on a tweet by tweet basis.  With each new post via Twitter, she sprinkles little gems about herself that, once combined, unveil a lustrous disco ball of information.

Within her cauldron of Twitter posts, we are granted instant access into her spellbinding brew:  Spotify playlists for winos, gore-tastic films, Courtney Love retweets, vampire-esque sleep patterns, chain-smoking, nail polish, convos with Lana Del Rey, ever-changing hair colors, supernatural favors, concerts, paintings, YouTube favorites, tattoos by Kat Von D, thought-provoking quotes, Elvira worship, and more… way, way more.

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Flirting With Regret

By September 30, 2014 Column

As I began to read Chapter 25 of  Summer House with Swimming Pool by Herman Koch, a certain excerpt deeply resonated with me.

The character confessed, “Sometimes you run your life back to see at what point it could have taken a different turn.  But sometimes there’s nothing at all to run back – you yourself don’t know it yet, but the only button that’s still working is forward.  You wish you could freeze the picture … Here, you tell yourself. If I’d said something else … done something else.”

I re-read, “You wish you could freeze the picture … Here, you tell yourself. If I’d said something elsedone something else.”

After reading the sentence for a third time, I finally understood the unnecessary commitment we have to one of the naughtiest words housed in the dictionary.

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The Rocky Shores Of My Mind

By September 25, 2014 Column

This feeling doesn’t come around very often.  It creeps up on me like a ghost; the eerie presence provides a cold rush of unwelcome company in emotional darkness.  That slow, sinking feeling tightly wraps around my heart, making each breath I take a little slower, and almost apprehensively so.  The colors of my soul start to fade into a dull depiction of what it once was as the tide of thoughts, questions, and worries begin to roll onto the rocky shores of my mind.

Only moments passed before my natural air of contentment turned into a state of deep, cloudy reflection.  Entangled within my mental web are abstract questions about life, love, and relationships.  The heaviest concern is about people and the roles they played in my life.

People will always wander in and out of our lives until the day we die.  Ironically, our complex interactions with others is a fact of raw human existence.  Either the person is here to stay or has already left, never to be seen again.

Why did I meet that person?  How come we don’t talk anymore?  Will I see her again?  Does he ever think about me?

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The Ghost Of A Saber Tooth Tiger

By September 22, 2014 Music

It is rare to discover a band with such an artistically novelistic description of their music.

The Ghost of a Saber Tooth Tiger (The GOASTT) is a singer-songwriter duo consisting of mysterious creatures: Charlotte Kemp Muhl and Sean Lennon.

Within all facets of their collaborative efforts, The GOASTT represents a coveted spot in the musical realm that illuminates true musical freedom.  Sean and Charlotte seemed to escape the inevitable genre labeling and comparisons that is often projected onto artists as they begin to develop their sound.

As told to Nylon TV, Charlotte began painting a complex verbal image when asked by Sean: “What is our music like?”

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Erotique With Dita Von Teese

By September 21, 2014 Interview

One evening in West Hollywood, electric beams of light illuminated a raven-haired goddess in a black velvet dress.

The paparazzi begged, “Dita! Over here!”  “Miss Von Teese look to your right!”  “Dita!”  “To your left!”  “Look this way, Dita!”

The burlesque beauty stood with silent confidence and glamorous poise as she faced each desperate lens with her signature seductive stare.

She continued to pose while slowly adjusting her opera-length leather gloves.  The sea of photographers continued to plead “Dita! Dita!” as they showered her with glowing sparks from their flashbulbs.

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If Brick Walls Could Talk

By September 19, 2014 Column

Inspiration. Where does it come from?

I was sitting on a wooden bar stool at a cozy espresso shop in Washington, D.C. on a Wednesday afternoon.

I escaped the heat and humidity that taunted me from outside. My untamed hair was an obvious sign of the impending summer weather.

I ordered an iced soy latte with four shots of espresso.

There was a weathered brick wall in front of me.  There was no way to avoid staring at the wall, so I began to study it.

The bricks proudly displayed an intricate map of cracks. The wall seemed to be haunted with secrets and stories from years of intimate conversations shared over cups of coffee.  I imagine the dusty brick wall witnessing flirty first dates, spying on lonely people hiding behind the Sunday paper, and peering into everything in between.  If only the wall could talk.

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