“Self-Portrait of an artist, in luv…uh~”Angel Brynner, AOLAB 25NOV2013

I got into menswear…well…i got into menswear out of a campy love of naked men…and the beautiful lines fabric could make when played with across their flesh{…}. And because men’s pants were the only ones long enough for me growing up, it became a no-brainer for me to just rock my own pants et al along the way.

But my style?

Definitively speaking, my style, if we were going ink-blot about the whole thing, It’d be a cross-current of sexed-up Ralph Lauren, punked and tarted out by old-school Vivienne Westwood when she gets all tartan’d and ripped bodices about the whole thing. I’m very proud of every aspect of my Americana blood and all the rugged individualist & melting pot motifs that go with that…but mama Loves Cut like a…you know what, & lingerie. There are snapshots in my mind’s eye when i Nailed this melange to the catwalk that IS nyc and just Worked it. Like this vintage Brodie tartan circle skirt i wore w/nude or black shapewear  sleek bustiers that have been slashed for straps & fishnets until the items fell apart. it’d be sexy 50s badgirlbarbie w/my hair wilding all over the place,taking names ridiculousness. Outside of that, the other mainlines in my style would be global-glam and monastic.

That’s what i love. I just got out of step with wearing it lol.

Good clothes are hard to come by. Ok. That’s kind of  misleading for the brunt of the population, but if you grew up skewing towards either end of the general spectrum you know where i am coming from. And even the recent lushness at the ends tends to fall under odd misconceived  idealizations that show that although Aware of the giants & midgets warbling through looking forward to not being gangly or naked all the time, they seem to think said giants and lillipuhts are fantastically sized. I know a lot of tall chicks in passing.& i know hordes of mini-grown-assed-women flitting to and fro. In Both of those extremist camps, the brunt of them are NOT size zeros. or double 00s.

So when i find something-especially something that’s been a visual cue for me for years that means something diff from what it normally would on sight 😀 , &  that hadn’t been hatched outside of my skin yet, i crow like its Christmas.

It’s about “Share my Joy.” I have on no makeup in these raw shots. But what you are seeing in my face…that shekinah is what i got into fashion for. That is a rekindled love that has been slowly building over the past few years that just bonfired like  a mug all over my happy, turned out by a coat…face.

I’m seeing it documented for the first time above. I know what it feels like. I live for what it feels like in an absent-minded way. But it’s kinda cool to see it outside/in finally.

My clothing used to be my art.Long before i even entered fashion[and then went on hiatus from it], it was my medium of choice. Of All the things God has moved the spirit of NOLA to bless me with, the best has been a quiet renaissance of why it was so.

“The way i should.” a song by Angel Brynner.EXILE. AOLAB 18NOV2013










oh i never thought i could-

could love again

the way i should

it’s cause your love is just that good

it has healed me


and i hope that you will stay

this free with me,this full of play

forever loved,come what may

us two,only.



















{various incomprehensible syllables echoing in the background then the whole thing slows like he’s in an operating room ALL SPEEDS UP then slows & all else falls away but the heartbeat & beeping noises of a faint machine…he crosses over… the lyrics go acoustic-the echoes drop & it’s pure sincerity,slow,direct}





{music seeps back in}





AND YOU…we know its due…this love,yeah…me and you~it’s me for you..i’m yours..yeah{background,boy is just testifying on it}

ends w/needle being ripped off record, him waking out of near death experience/dream

copyright Angel Brynner

soundage: In the spirit  of Lenny Kravitz’s 5 album vibe, crossed with this Zola Jesus chick and not even ironically,Lolawolf, with a little the Cure thrown in for good measure. Pulled along by a sexy heartbeat kind of bass remin’ Massive attack teardrop,but more full of life-conscious. Sung by  a boy. No…a Man. a Grown man. slow,meandering sexy. Not a traditional song set-up at all for me.

Angel Brynner 00 to AOLAB14NOV2013, or “EXODUS, in our space and time.”

This is a strangely buoyant  post.

Flipping through a Popular Science magazine i was nudged to grab this morning I came to an image that made me stop short and bust out into the sheepish, most proudest, goofy, childlike grin that has ever spread itself across my face.

i found this:

karmic wheel of nyc life.1999.2013Above is Bertha, the world’s largest tunnel-boring machine. Here’s a link to the story.

Below is an excerpt from EXODUS, book one of thegrievechronicles, by Angel Brynner[me]. Page 47 if you have it lol. I’m posting it because  What i saw as i was writing this at the start of a century has up and been made. In Japan, of course. & re-assembled here. In Seattle.

Seeing this imagery in my head a long time ago, obsessed with capturing it, changed my life. To see something built that looks Like what i was set free by in the story-where the story first became a full-on force that was going to rough-ride over anything else not as of god to me as it…built…an image that effectively launched a trilogy,as i’m researching for the second trilogy…is just a really cool way to start a day.

I hope you enjoy reading it.

(Warning:it’s a visually vivid, yet kinda dark chapter.)

chapter eight

she opened her eyes.

a glimmer appeared at the edge of a landscape of over-sized gravel dunes, the aftermath of the destruction necessary to clear out old foundations prior to building anew. a panicky heat was in the air as the glimmer moved towards the holocaust that always made up her horizon line.

wandering past the dunes under raw skies had made her teeth feel as if  she was chewing on aluminum, making the sudden flatness around her both the Light of Artyo’s blessing and her curse.

the last ember of light inside of her trembled under the cycle of chills and fever she had become used to after so long out in the desert. she was so overwhelmed by the symptoms that she didn’t notice anything ahead of her until the screams and moans snapped her out of her inner diagnostic. she stopped short of slamming into a sudden out-cropping of steel, craning her head up in bewilderment.

the Light of Artyo stared up into the karmic wheel of NYC life, an enormous Ferris wheel fashioned out of half- crushed subway cars that now creaked and clanged so loudly that she had to cover her ears. A metallic green sky bellowed out behind it, old subway cars fanned out from the center of the universal torture device. graffiti-tagged and keyed up at heights she couldn’t even focus her eyes up to, the wheel hovered above scores of discarded train compartments and dried bones. one at a time, mechanical arms descended from the clouds, ripping out rusty train cars full of screaming people from one direction, seamlessly fitting another less weathered train car in from the opposite side as the first plummeted to the rocky earth below.

all the wagons were chock full of spirits who had paid their way onto them, yelling the unintelligible things that used to shoot out from the eyes of true New Yorkers on the dreariest of days. it was a hostile pitch that was their divine right, bestowed upon surviving that first year, a pitch systematically destroyed by finding out that the races they’d spent their lives thinking they had to run had amounted to nothing but self-desecration in the end.

the sounds of the wails of despair and the rickety whirl of the machinery blended together like the music of the spheres diffusing through her bleached blond curls seeping into her sun-stroked head.

sporadically, souls with no more regrets to give to the machine crawled through broken windows and took majestic swan dives in the direction of the ground as low-flying clouds swung by. the Light of Artyo leapt with each jump a courageous spirit took, felt herself hurtling with hope to the parched gravelly ground she was already weighed down to. each attempt at escape made the air around her shake, somehow tricking her legs into feeling a little bit stronger, encouraging her to walk on a few steps more.

as she continued, “away from” being the clearest concept of direction she had, out of the corner of her eyes she saw the dry-rotted squalor of the remnants of old schoolmates and once fundamental friendships as they lay in utter waste, bleached of all life harshly for attempting to heal sores across her spirit that she’d never been able to admit she suffered from. petrified people resembled driftwood.

Her inability to make due with things that had been done had ruined many a soul’s faith in friendship and the healing powers of a god most had long since lost faith in anyway. soon she had gotten so far past the wheel that it was only a faint flower of steel on the lower horizon line. it was then that she knelt and said a small prayer of forgiveness for all that she had done to others and all that had been done to her. her knees cracked as her face turned down, eyes closed in avoidance of a swoon. her sun-burnt fingertips drew circles in the sand to steady herself.

it was the cool breeze that danced against her eyelids when she turned her face back up to the greenish gunmetal sky that made her aware of the sudden scenery change.

she woke up singing songs to herself off-key, lyrics to submerge ricocheting across her lymphatic system as the Light of Artyo found herself on the street she had grown up on. lost in specks of dirt on her skin, she headed the fifteen houses down the block from her childhood home to what had become her father’s house. to bathe.

no one was home. Tammy, the husky she had grown up with, licked her fingers as she hopped the gate and let herself in through the back. the dogs her dad used to raise bounced around, playfully nipping at her hips as she patted them on their passed-over heads and let herself in through the sliding door off the deck.

running her bath, she happily settled into the bubble-filled tub, yawning as she cleaned herself.  tired, she wrapped herself up in a white fluffy bathrobe as the water in the once pristine tub drained away, leaving an oily coating of black gunk along the sides of the tub. she shuffled into the master bedroom and fell asleep curled up near the top of her father’s bed.

she awoke to the crazed scream of the soul of her father, his finger rammed close to her face. her father was naked except for a pair of fuchsia high heels. “what the hell are you doing here?!?!” he bellowed. “what did you do with it!?!?”

“what are you talking about?!” she yelled back, confused, trying to place where she was.

“My painting- you just came here-and just shoved it in the closet!!!”

“what are you talking about?!” she yelled again, trying to peer past his accusing fingertips and flailing limbs into a walk-in closet full of clothes.

“this!!!”  he screamed, diving into the closet and yanking out his half of the family portrait they had all posed for when she was almost four years old. she heard me whisper to her to stay calm, to not get caught up in the vortex of anger. he started to scream even louder as she took a deep breath. “you had girls here! had them in my bed!! i will swear on the stand to it!!” he screamed at her, contorting up over her, possessed.

“what the fuck?!-” she screamed back, bewildered.

“you deserved it- you liked it! you had to! i didn’t have to protect you! what did you want me to do? hit my own sister? make her stop?! you’re not worth it! I told you that you weren’t worth it!!i didn’t stop your mom from kicking your ass, so why would i stop my sister from making you lick hers?!?! ” her father ranted, throwing women’s clothes around the room.

“stop it-” the Light of Artyo whispered to herself, “wake me up-” she pleaded softly. but she had already cleaned herself. the soul of her father towered over her like some crazed demon.

“why didn’t you just become a dyke?!!? trying to come back and pin this on me -you ruined my life!!! you liar- you liar-you brought girls here!! and i will swear to it too! fuck you- trying to destroy me with your TRUTH-fuck you!  you’re so selfish!! only thought of- you- how you felt- fuck you!!”

the Light of Artyo recoiled against the headboard, afraid to breathe in. the embers inside of her began to glow brighter against her will. “what do you want?!” his soul screamed at his oldest child. ” more hush money? so you’ll shut up-is that what you’re here for?! here! take it-take it all !!!”

the soul of her father yanked his wallet out from under the far end of the bed, causing a hidden stash of transvestite magazines to scatter across the floor.  the Light of Artyo scrambled to the other side of the bed and cowered at the top of it as he began to throw bloodied hundred dollar bills at her, then grabbed a pair of pants off  the floor and started ramming his hands in to the pockets, pulling out handful after handful of  golden coins, sticky with blood, tossing them at her, pelting the bed with them. the blood fell away as the coins cut through the air in slow motion, spinning off of one another as if salt through thick soup. the light from the Light of Artyo danced across the surfaces of the self-cleaning coins, making the moment too lucid to bear as what she was witnessing slammed into her bones.

“you’ve gone crazy!” she screeched. “from all your mindfuckthewomen shit-” the little embers inside of the Light of Artyo became more compact, burning even brighter in her belly as his insane ranting pulled the last of all the passive-aggressive toxins  out of her skin, seeping through the once pristine robe.

“shut up!” he screamed, attempting to lunge at her, his legs not moving.

“you sat there and drove yourself insane for not protecting me-” she panted. “each time I tried to go to anyone for help-you told them I was a liar-YOU Lied!!” she dragged her hands across herself and smeared the gunk that had risen up across the walls over his bed, where it morphed into letters, quoting his own condemnation against his kids.

“They will be DESTROYED without ME here!!” spread across the wall like it was written in tar tinged with blood.

“You fucking DYKE!” the soul of her father screamed, bewildered by being rooted to the floor by her words, by her fighting back. ” you were just a spoiled, lazy, shiftless fuck- just like your mama said you were-you thumb-sucking cunt! You know what they say about girls who suck their thumbs, right?!” he hissed then whimpered from his spot near the foot of the bed.

“Yeah I do! because your pot-headed ass decided to start telling me that little tidbit-drilling it into me when I was Five- you may as well have made me do it to you After I’d told you  what your sister was doing to me.” The Light of Artyo growled absently.

She looked around the destroyed room that had become the cellblock for her father’s soul. “i’m calling mother,” she whispered wearily. the Light of Artyo calmly told her mother all that was going on across the static-filled connection as he ranted in the background.

“yeah- call your mama- she knows you’re a- you’re a liar! LIAR!!” her father collapsed on the foot of the bed naked, flaccid penis dangling.

she slid the phone to him and inched away before breaking into a run once she passed the doorjamb of the bedroom, refusing to look back at the hell he had fashioned for himself. she could hear her mother placating her ex-husband over the phone in hopes of squeezing him for more money for shoes to feed her habit.

she slammed open the front door and pulled herself out of it, instantly hobbled as soon as the fresh air hit. tracking bloodied footprints down towards the street, trying to scream, her voice stolen from her by all that had just bled out of her at refusing to be broken again. her feet were suddenly covered with the dirty bloodied bandages of a comfort child whose feet were forcibly not allowed to grow, coated with the dried-out sores of a spirit that kept putting one foot in front of the other anyway, no matter what, having walked it out until every circle closed, until she could wash off the most corrosive taint where it truly could have been initially checked, but never was. in her own father’s tub.

“help me-” tumbled out in a hoarse whisper as the Light of Artyo crumpled to the concrete and began to die out.

her lashes danced against the rough stones she landed face-first on, their cracks overgrown with green grass that blood from her cut-off nose soaked into as this sliver of herself slept into the shock of escaping through death.

“No Solo mio~” by Angel Brynner AOLAB 1NOV2013

I’d made buckwheat pancakes[topped w/prosciutto & an organic egg] for breakfast and decided, after a good eight years of hesitation to try to make homemade pasta. I didnt even realize i was seriously living on the edge of just do it until the other day in grocers i heard myself stand firm on a past statement. “i’m not buying any more pasta until i learn how to make pasta” came out as i stared at shelves of my favorite brand[Da Vinci,natch] on sale. I rarely do pasta these days anyway, so i guess i’d had time to make it internally official or something.

But Why buckwheat?

I’m on a kick.

[Surprised its that simple?lol]

&the last good soba noodles-actually the Only good soba noodles i’ve had -were in tokyo and that was a long time ago.& all these recipes of pizzoccheri sounded frickin Amazing and right in time for fall.

But before we get it all twisted, picturing me singing o solo mio & ish splicing my buckwheat and my semolina-having some bizarre yet sexy Sophia Loren”all ofah thisa ah owe-ah to pastah y bof en culo~che cazzo tua you-ah~” moment…[durnit!i shoulda done that ish!next time!i promise myself here and now!] (Ok it was kinda Bond girl-ish with me theatrically shooing folks over to the other side of the kitchen who’d tried to take over my workspace while i checked a detail up front,demented goldfingerish sparks flashing from my territorial eyes…)using shooing loosely lolol)

Buckwheat flour alone wouldn’t make pasta worth a damn. But iii had an ace up my sleeve that came from the aforementioned tendency to splice recipes that made it much easier.

But thank God it is not as hard as one would think.

Unless you’re like me. With a tendency to shoot for the frickin Helix supernova when i’m really being me[in lieu of tha moon] so that IF i fall on my face, it will be tragic, campy & so epic to have gone for that i wont mind the…well…you know lol. I have been “getting there” more often lately.That whole really being full-on me, chips fall where they may.

i couldn’t just make pasta the first time. i choose buckwheat pasta…then decide that Heck, since i’m really DOing this i may as well make my favorite pasta in the whole world-which i hadnt admitted as such over the years until JUST that moment.

That’s right. With naan an appropriate tool on hand to facilitate this insanity…i opt to try to make frickin Ravioli.In addition to some rangey,sop up whatever imma marry you to sauce-wise rustic pappardelle…& set aside some for later for when i get some dashi to get my soba on[trying so hard not to write like donkey kong].

It got militant up in that there kitchen real quick lol.

It gets scientific lol. Chem lab-style. You have no idea how the frick its gonna work even With the gist of the recipe because YOU have never done this before-you can get kind of punchdrunk off the whole thing.& there were skirmishes,but when they saw-went”Wait-you’re doing that…from scratch?” bewildered in clouds of flour,deranged from the smell of roast making us all crazy-it was like “whoooa~whoa-i understand…good luck& godspeed!”lol.

But in regards to being ON that mountain and my having HAD a dream…

I have tasted the pappardelle…

and it is GOOD lol.

And i have tried the Ravioli-one of them,anyway.

& it was spicier than any ravioli i have ever had-in a good way-because i’m always like “why isnt it more zowie-ish Inside?” when it comes to ravioli. It’s why i’d gotten out of ordering it.

& i MAY be in love with myself now allamore due to all this…But i set the rest aside because they’re for Dinner and all this was going on during lunch making time[WILLLPOWER& that roast smelled like its name was “Delicious”].

But i had so much fun doing this that it was ridiculous. And i have pasta dough in freezer in case it hits again after all this is gone-it is about that season too.

Anyway, the ravioli got filled with lump crab and red pepper, a few with crab meat,mozzarella& romano.& they didnt pop! That was my biggest joyful-joyful. Even w/prepackaged over the years there have been popping issues lol. But i cant show you a final pic because it’s going to be so on with the sauce.

The buckwheat pasta is so good that i finally have a taste sensation for what they mean by Hearty.It’s NOTHING like wholewheat pasta taste-wise, either. which i’d always thought sucked eggs.  I now see why they say once you’ve had homemade pasta it will be hard to go back to the other kind.

but anyway, here are some lead-in pics to the finale,which will be posted post-dinner or in the morning. I hope you Enjoy them.

oh. In the end, i felt a nudge to look into what the frank IS up with this whole writing/cooking thing,to see if it really WAS as strange as i have honestly self-consciously felt about it once in a while.

Turns out I am not alone in the camp of the Writers who go buckwild cooking. But you don’t have to take my word for it. Check out the link below of a  Young Adult writer who doth knoweth the love from which thine Angel suffereth most blissfully:


i shyly admit it feels good to not only be me getting heady like this.

“Lunch, Divine~” by Angel Brynner AOLAB All Saints Day 2013


As many of you have guessed by now,what with my brazen rhapsodies about paella and baguettes and the like, i have foodisms afoot almost everyday of my life.

Whenever i am writing or researching it gets more intense.My second baby[Exist] led to me throwing dinner parties when i barely had tables[no chairs] and curtains for walls because i HAD to teach myself how to make quiche and savory bread puddings and the like. That second book also ran wild at all times except for two: When my boy Tyler Florence  or my woman Ina Garten came on Food Network TV.It was unspoken we will not hardly be doing anything during those two times of day[they used to come on back-to-back two times a weekday]/Anyone else could be over-ruled.

But this season of it has been very special for me in its specificity. I’ve learned somethings by the fourth time out in the bookquest,and have been applying those things lately. Like menu planning. I HAVE to cook.but i can’t be all over the place dithering about what i’m Going to cook. So this surge out I’ve made a 30day plan,divided by lol the grace of God and 4weeks, 5 to 6 options for lunch,the bigger meal,4-6 for dinner-lighter fare. By doing this-& it took all kinds of mess to get it finally done,my weekly grocery list is a no-brainer& i get to enjoy xyz on all levels, once i’m done with accruing the materials. i can switch weeks depending on the pull i feel on the kids being carried &what have you. And all of the weeks contain meals i’ve never tried to make before. Like today.

This week the lunch is about experimenting with beef. and today i took my first ever 2-pound hunk of beef and chopped off a filet for surf&turf down the line,a slab for steak frites on the way& handfuls to throw into a homemade bowl of pho sometime real soon.

And then…i…after much splicing of online recipes…tackled making my first roast. It was adrenaline-soaked madness with the slathering of salts and herbs and all the stuff that you don’t think goes into-i just realized that i hogtied beef today lol- but anywhoo… here she is:

She came out with just enough pink-I’ve been easing off of the whole rare bent i’d been on for years after learning more about what it does to your system- and had the house smelling lovely for hours.

So that’s how she ended up. On a pile of old-school yolk-seared kasha&mashed potato with a buttery garlic,pepper& crab reduction drizzled on her.

While she was at it I also tackled pasta. Buckwheat. Pasta.

but that’s another post.

[let the James bond music begin!]