Shayan Siren’s gallery

The Chicks play the Dolby tonight and the country mood took over before lunch — denim and the hat locked in, everything under the jacket still taking requests. What's the first song you'd scream with me?

Aerosmith and Guns N' Roses sharing the Bowl for one night only — I wasn't about to let history happen without me, so here I am with a plastic cup of wine and the shell already glowing behind me. Tell me which song you'd lose your voice on.

Marigolds are down, the candles are lit, and the ofrenda finally looks like something worth staying up for. Tell me you'd sit with me in the candlelight.

Devil's Night means Starcrawler at the Regent and the eyeliner went on before anything else did — which means nothing else made it on at all. Tell me you'd steady my hand while I'm like this.

Phoebe at Intuit Dome tonight and somehow the kitchen floor is where I landed — coffee went cold around the second verse, and this shirt stopped trying to be clothes about the same time. Tell me you'd sit down here with me.

Malcolm Todd's voice found me before the canvas did, and somewhere around the third track the clothes became the thing I stopped reaching for. Tell me what color you'd paint on me.

Dilated Peoples bring it home to the Belasco tonight, so the morning workout turned into a dance break somewhere around the second track. Tell me you'd spot me between sets.

Shaboozey at the Greek tonight means new boots have to be broken in by sundown, so I've been stomping around the courtyard in nothing but them, cutoffs, and a knotted tee. The neighbors either love me or hate me by now. Tell me you'd time my laps.

Chelsea Wolfe has been scoring my whole afternoon and the canvas won — somewhere between the second song and this, clothes stopped making sense. Tell me you'd hand me the brush I dropped.

Parade night is finally here and the marching jacket went on over absolutely nothing, the way it was always meant to. Save me a spot in the dark.