i heart los angeles

Celebrating 30 Years Of ‘Fresh Air’: Writer/Director Paul Schrader

Schrader wrote the screenplays for Taxi Driver, Raging Bull and The Last Temptation of Christ, and wrote and directed Blue Collar. He spoke in 1988 about his religious upbringing and his work in film.

On writing Taxi Driver:

“I wrote that script in 10 days, in two drafts. It jumped out of my head like an animal. It was a real cri de coeur – it was a cry from my heart. I had fallen into a difficult period in Los Angeles where I was living in my car and was just sort of driving around, and having a lot of trouble sleeping. I had a pain in my stomach, which turned out to be an ulcer, and then while I was talking to the nurse in the emergency room I realized I hadn’t spoken to anyone in several weeks, and when I was in the hospital I realized that’s what I was – I was like a taxi driver. I was this person who was floating around in this car. When I got out of the hospital I wrote that script, like I said, in 10 days.”

Heaven // Jonah

the end ~ series ~ part 2

(2,729 words)


The freezing cold water pulled out far into the sea. I look over to my girlfriend, (y/n) and see the absolute terror painted in her beautiful eyes.

“Jonah, we need to go.” She says.

“(y/n), we can’t outrun this.”

“We can try! I don’t want my life to be taken away by a stupid wave!” She cries.

I turn to (y/n), my bare arms trembling in the cold New York City air, “Look at me, love. You and I are going to stay together. You are not leaving my sight, (y/n).”

She chokes back the tears, trying to keep herself from starting to cry, “Jonah, I love you too much.” She mumbles, pulling herself to my chest, her gorgeous arms wrapping around my waist as if she were hugging a tree.  

“You don’t understand that you mean everything to me, (y/n), and nothing would be able to take away the pain I would feel if I lost you, babe.” I cup her chin in my hand and she looks up to me,  her (y/e/c/) eyes lined with pink veins from crying. She smiles sadly, tears streaming down her lovely face.

We hug then(y/n) looks up to my face with a worried expression, “Jonah, we need to leave, like - right now.” Looking out the broken window of the building we had stayed in during the earthquake, I can see the huge wave forming in the distance.

“Let’s go, then,” I say, grabbing her arm and running down the crooked stairs. Everything is going okay until I land on a broken step and my leg sinks into the stairs, as I still hold (y/n)’s hand. She trips on the last step of the staircase, causing her to land on her ankle in a horribly bent angle. She yelps loudly in pain, crumbling to the floor.

“Oh my Lord, (y/n), I’m so sorry,” I breathe, picking her up and sitting her down on a step.

“I’m fine, Jonah, let’s just go.” She lies, trying to hide the pain on her face by looking down on the injury.

“No, you’re not,” I tell her, gently running my fingers over the bright red area of her foot. I slightly move her foot to inspect the damage and she screams in agony, “I’m sorry, love.”

“Jonah, let’s just go, we’re wasting time,” She says, attempting to stand up independently and put a few pounds on it, but she drops to the floor.

“You aren’t going to get far on that broken foot, (y/n); I’ll carry you.” As I go to sweep her off of her aching foot, she sticks out her arm, stopping me.

“No, Jonah,” She says, “You aren’t going to carry me.”

I place my hands on my hips sassily, “And why not, princess?”

“I don’t feel comfortable with you doing that. I don’t want you to be lugging me around before a tsunami,” (y/n) mumbles, staring at her hurt ankle.

“Well, right now, you don’t have the choice of being comfortable or not, a tsunami is about to hit like you said, and we need to get to high ground immediately. Now, whether you like it or not, I’m carrying you out of here.”

I wrap my arms around her and give her a huge bear hug as she tries with all her might to wriggle away. I release my grasp on her slightly and she looks up at me. I grin and bend down, giving her a quick but loving kiss on the lips. Though the air is icy, my body warms up when we make contact.

“We really need to go, Jonah. The water is being pulled really far out,” (y/n) says as she pulls away from me reluctantly. I smile knowingly and bring her in for one last hug before I sling her behind me, her legs parted so that she is in a piggy-back position. Memories of me carrying (y/n) in the park like that swarmed into my head. I think about when we fed the ducks at the lake, when we sat down near the creek and ate peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, listening to Ed Sheeran songs. My mind puts together clips of us on little dates back in Stillwater and Los Angeles. My heart sinks when I realize that we won’t ever have another date if we don’t survive the tsunami’s impact. I quickly snap out of my daze before (y/n) notices my sadness. Gathering up all my strength, I shift (y/n)’s weight slightly and start walking briskly out of the wrecked building.

“Where is the safest place to go, Jonah?” (y/n) asks, placing her hand on my chin lightly. The question hits me like a brick to my stomach - where are we going?

My heart races, but I push it away, trying to stay calm so that (y/n) does as well. “I know somewhere we can go,” I say, grabbing onto her thighs firmly, not letting her fall out of place. I start my trek down 5th Avenue, full of deserted cars and empty stores.

After walking for about 5 minutes, we reach our destination. “Home? Why are we here?!” She asks, “We’re supposed to be taking cover, Jonah!”

I pull her off my back and place her on the steps of her home. “(y/n), I lied.” I feel a horribly guilty tug at my stomach when I see (y/n)’s full of confusion.

“What do you mean?” She asks, her eyebrows scrunched together, bewildered.

“(y/n), there is no way we can make it out alive.” I sigh

(y/n) stares at me with eyes that are a window into her soul. I see her innocence and that she can’t fully comprehend what is going on - it breaks my heart.

“You’re saying we’re going to die?”

I stare at her gorgeous face. I nod slowly, tears glazing my eyes while the crisp air nips at my exposed skin, only adding on to the pain.

For a few seconds, (y/n) just stares in shock, not knowing what to say, then her face goes blank. I search her eyes again, hoping I find a sign for what she is thinking.

“(y/n),” I whisper, “I’m so sorry.” She looks up to me, rubbing her arm for warmth.

“The force of the tsunami won’t kill us, the temperature of the water will,” She mutters quietly. She always spits facts when she is nervous, which is another thing that made me fall in love with her, “The Atlantic is extremely cold. Hypothermia will hit us before we drown.”

I think about freezing to death. At least we’ll be with each other, I think to myself.

All the boys had left with their families but later saw that they had been murdered by a terrorist group capturing as many citizens as possible, trying to overrule the U.S. Government. Jack left to Los Angeles, Daniel to Portland, Oregon, Corbyn to Florida, and Zach to Dallas, Texas, all of them going with their girlfriends. Our last show as Why Don’t We had been in Washington, but when we got the news of all the catastrophes destined to take place, our manager, Dave, let us go home to spend our last days with the ones we loved. I took the last flight home to Minnesota, but when I got to my house in Stillwater, I was too late. The various photo frames and family portraits we had hanging around the halls were completely destroyed. Furniture turned to mere ash, all the food from our kitchen stolen, and almost all the plants in the backyard chopped up and scorched to the ground. I hadn’t realized how bad the scenario was when I heard it on the radio station or on television until it happened to me. Where my family had been taken before being assassinated, I didn’t know, not have a single idea. But once they were killed, I only had one person left that I needed to protect before time ran out, and it was (y/n).

“Jonah,” She looked at me with weary eyes, “Can we go inside?” I nod, picking her up. I carry (y/n) bridal style into her old home. It looked untouched, besides the fact that the door was ruined. Everything was in its original state and it seemed to calm (y/n). We walked into the living room and I lay her down on the soft couch. I stick a pillow under her foot and she smiles, “Have you ever realized that the shade of blue that your eyes are always shifting? Some days they are dark blue, some days light blue, some days electric blue, some days periwinkle.” She sighs.
“Uh, no, baby girl,” I laugh, sitting down on the coffee table in front of the couch, “But I’ve noticed that you, my dear, are absolutely stunning.”

She smiles flawlessly but it fades away as quickly as it arrived. “What?” I ask, wanting her to light up the room again.

“You and I are no doubt dying tonight. I don’t want to leave you for a single second.” Her eyes water up and trails of salty tears lead down her red wind slapped cheeks. Softly, in order not to injure her, I kneel next to (y/n) and wrap my arms around her as lovingly as possible.

All at once, I see a huge shadow casting over New York, covering up the fading daylight. The wave will hit in less than 30 seconds. I run up the stairs and into the bathroom where I can see the tsunami clearly. It curls over tall buildings pushing towards us rapidly. I sprint down the stairs, grab (y/n) and run down the hall as fast as possible without hurting her. I open the door of the basement and sent (y/n) down on the laundry machines swiftly. I turn to close the door back up, but as I jog up the stairs, I see the piles of debris floating towards us violently. I reach the top step of the staircase and see the large grand piano that (y/n) keeps in her room speeding towards the doorway. It smashes into the walls, barely stopping at the door, but the water continues to flood in. There is now no escape.

In less than 5 minutes, the water level in the basement has risen to knee level and (y/n) looks over to me with scared eyes, sitting on the dryer, her right leg dangling over the crystal clear sea water. I wade through the freezing water, muttering curse words under my breath, over to my stunning girlfriend. I climb up next to her and pull (y/n) to my chest. I place my lips on hers and embrace one of the last kisses I would give her.

“Jonah,” (y/n) whispers when she pulls away from me, “Thank you.”

“Why are you thanking me?”

“You helped me live, Jonah. You are really the only reason I’m alive right now. When I’m with you, I can’t help but fall in love with your… everything. Your gorgeous eyes, your handsome smile, your cute little lips, your positivity and, most of all, your love. No one has ever treated me the way you have, Jonah Marais Roth Frantzvich. Thank you for making me feel loved.” She leans into my lips once more and the dim light flickers. The electricity burns out and the water touches our hips sharply, still rising in small waves. I feel the cold air from above prick my skin with every breath I take.
I feel a hand slide into mine slowly, “I can’t feel my ankle,” I hear (y/n) say with a subtle strain of terror in her voice.

“It’s the water, (y/n), it’s messing with your nerves.” I squeeze her hand, “We’re okay for now. If the water stops soon, we can get out.”

Ironically, as soon as I finish my sentence, a gust of water rushes in, filling the dark basement up with water rapidly. In a matter of seconds, the water reaches our chest and we sit up on our knees. I pull (y/n) close and hug her, keeping all the warmth that was left in our bodies selfishly to ourselves. She lays her head on my shoulder and closes her eyes, tired from all the endless running. I feel (y/n) start to shiver violently. It gets to a point where she can’t calm it down.” Then, I remember what my science teacher had said a few years back: in the first stages of hypothermia, the body instinctively starts creating some sort of friction - shivering.

I try moving my hand to (y/n)’s face, but it seems to stay in place. “Then, the body starts decreasing blood flow to organs in the furthest parts of your body, such as fingers, hands, and feet.” He had said. I turn my head to look at (y/n) in the dark. With very little light (only source: locked window letting a few rays of moonlight into the pitch black basement), I can only see the very surface of her face. On the tip of her nose and lightly dusted on the front of her bright red lips are tiny white icicles. Frostbite. Using all my might, I move my hand up to (y/n)’s neck. I put two fingers on her artery and check her pulse’ her heartbeat slows down and she only takes a couple of breaths a minute.

“J-Jon-Jonah,” (y/n) mumbles weakly, the frost numbing her soft lips.

“Yes, love?” I move my fingers, intertwined with hers underwater.

“Sing to me like you used to do. Please.” She croaks.

“What would you like me to sing, darling?” I ask her, kissing her cold cheek.

“A song that reminds you of me. Remind you of us.”

I think for a second, then the perfect song sways into my brain.

“She’s my sunshine in the rain, my Tylenol when I’m in pain, yeah, let me tell you what she means to me. Like a tall glass of lemonade, when it’s burning hot on summer days,” I sing, running my fingers through her frozen hair, “She’s exactly what I need. She’s soothing like the ocean rushing on the sand; she takes care of me, baby, and she helps me be a better man. She’s so beautiful - sometimes I stop to close my eyes. She’s exactly what I need.”

I feel (y/n) sigh and kiss my face slowly.

“Jonah,” (y/n) whispers my name in a barely audible voice.


“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”



“We’re going to die in a few minutes,”


“And I’ll have to leave you when I die,”

“That is correct.”

She pauses, “Jonah,”


“I’ll see you again,”




“I’ll see you in heaven.”

My heart shatters when I realize that we are, in fact, going to die. A silent tear slips from my eye, “Okay, love of my life, I’ll see you in heaven.”

As we fall asleep to the sound of trickling water into the basement, I hum Lemonade.

“She’s so beautiful - sometimes I stop to close my eyes. She’s exactly what I need.” I sing quietly.

Laying my head on her shoulder, I put my ear next to her main artery, the one that lets blood flow to her complex brain, so I can hear the delaying pulse one last time. It slows down and I only hear it once or twice in one minute.

For the last time, I look over to (y/n)’s illuminated face and lay my lips on her frostbitten ones. I whisper into her ice-cold ears, “See you in heaven.”

a/n: heyo, it’s me again. (: I hope you liked that bc I worked on it for like four days non-stop. This is quite a big leap for me in the imagine-writing world and I would love to know If you want more of this, because I have so much planned! Also, if you have any questions about the stories (specifically the series hehe) then please feel free to ask - my inbox is super empty rn lol and I’ll post an answer for whatever I can so everyone can be all caught up, if anyone actually reads my imagines baha. Anyways, have an amazing day <3 love yaaa! Next imagine in series: Zach.


“I wrote that script in 10 days, it jumped out of my head like an animal. It was a crime from my heart. I’d fallen into a difficult period in Los Angeles where I was living in my car and just sort of driving around..It scared me that I was at that place at that time. The person who wrote that script is long gone, and I don’t even know if I would recognize him if I saw him.”

– Paul Schrader talking with Terry Gross in 1988 

Stills from Taxi Driver (1976, dir. Martin Scorsese) Script by Paul Schrader

Rules: Answer 30 questions and tag 30 people.

‘Tagged by: @fayemichaels​ @romancenerd

1. Nickname: Jimmy, Jime.
2. Gender: Female.
3. Star sign: Libra.
4. Height: 5'7  
5. Time: 7:11 PM
6. Birthday: October 5th
7. Favorite bands: Radiohead, My Chemical Romance, The Lumineers, Green Day, Twenty One Pilots, All Time Low, Zoé, etc.
8. Favorite solo artist: Mon Laferte, Enrique Bunbury.
9. Song stuck in my head: Forest by Twenty One Pilots (Down in the forest, we’ll sing a chorus, one that everybody knows!!)
10. Last movie I watched: Ponyo!
11. Last show I watched: Supernatural I think?
12. When did I created my blog?: Almost two years guys!
13. What do I post: Wizardess Heart chats, gifsets, and weird stuff.
14. Last thing I googled: Los Angeles California weather (yep, guess who’s going to Cali!! Send a message if you’re from there lmao)    
15. Do I have another blog: Nah
16. Do you get asks: Yeah they are usually requests.
17. Why did I choose this blog’s name: To be honest, it just came to me.
18. Blogs I’m following: 110
19. Followers: 1,552
20. Favorite colors: Black, blue, and white.
21. Average hours of sleep: 6 but guys, I swear I try to sleep more.
22. Lucky number: 25
23. Instruments: Violin, a little bit of piano, and currently learning ukulele.
24. What I’m wearing: Sporty shirt, shorts, socks and flip flops (yea yea but I’m just chilling in my house so…)  
25. How many blankets I sleep with: Only one
26. Dream job: Writer and detective. 27.Dream trip: Germany and Brazil.
28. Favorite food: Lasagna 
29. Nationality: Mexican 
30. Favorite song now: Defying Gravity from Wicked😂 

Tagging: @swdwizardessfan @daddyluca @luciellynne @uma-mocreia @lucaorlem-thelazymage @incorrectwizardessheart @wizardessheartconfessions @wizardesssheart @wizardessheartaskblog Ok I don’t know who has done it and I’m gonna tag just a few people lmao. Thanks gor tagging me👌

“I’m really glad you’re alive.”

The one time I visited Tokyo, it was a whirlwind trip. I was only there a few days, but what I tasted was magical. We get a huge whiff of magic on Luna Shadows’ Tokyo, too. The Los Angeles based chanteuse casts a beautiful spell on us with her coruscant electro pop and her winsome voice on the glittering track, evoking the vibrancy of cherry blossoms and a luminescent city in the process. For all its celestial vivacity, there’s a bittersweet uncertainty and a precarious nature to its intriguing allure.  On co-writing and co-production duties is The Naked and Famous’ Thom Powers, and the song’s gorgeous artwork was designed in conjunction with Brad Hale of Now, Now and Sombear. If you missed out on Luna Shadows’ exquisite debut EP, Summertime, which captured the heart (or heartbreak) of another city I love, Los Angeles, you can stream the release on Soundcloud, here. Tokyo is out on iTunes, here.

Made with SoundCloud

Finding My Voice, by @rowanblanchard

For more from Rowan, follow @rowanblanchard on Instagram.

“#Hellomynameis Rowan Blanchard (@rowanblanchard). I am a 13-year-old student, actress, activist and aspiring writer. I was born and raised in Los Angeles, even though my heart belongs to New York City. Acting is something I have adored since I can remember — I started when I was five, which led to booking my show Girl Meets World in 2013. Acting gives me a better understanding of humans, and makes me far less judgmental of people, because I can see the world through their eyes.

I am not shy to speak my mind on anything, and I encourage my fans to be the same. I want teens my age to know that they have a voice and it should not be silenced. I have been lucky enough to grow up around people who have let me use my voice to speak up about things I see. There is not an age requirement on when to start changing the world.

Education is something that’s extremely important to me. Unfortunately, many kids who are actors don’t value school, but my biggest hope is to go to the Columbia School of Journalism and then Oxford University. Besides being on Broadway and baking a perfect apple pie, it is on the top of all my dream boards.

Acting has given me confidence and strength in my voice, which led to working with HeForShe through social media. I teach my followers about gender inequality and how we can change it. I use Instagram to share things that I genuinely care about, whether it be the Armenian genocide or my dog getting scared of the rain. I hope that my pictures inspire anyone of any age to understand the value of their voices.”


this adorable nerd though, could she be more excited…? total swiftie [x][x]

Lately I don’t feel so much.
I spend a lot of time staring at my bedroom ceiling.
I have this map up there and sometimes
I just look at it. I wonder
how they picked the colors for every country
and who decides that anyways.
I could never be a cartographer.
I put too much thought into those things
and I could spend years deciding if Argentina
was a sunburn red or more of an eggplant color.

Maps are never really finished.
They’re static. They don’t account for people dying
or that couple who fought and ended up shattering
across the entire country, or the mother
moving as far as she can from her child’s grave.
Maps don’t account for the way that grave moves.

But I’ve always had a thing for maps
because sometimes I feel like I’m made of them, like
you could trace the best way to get from Dallas to Houston
on the bottom of my left foot and understand the topography
of Jerusalem on my right. I’m always writing on myself
because I don’t think I’m worth much without cartography.

My friend and I have a fundamental disagreement on the subject.
He likes little maps, the kind that, like fingerprints,
tell the story of a moment, of one pocket
of the world where he’s grown up or
where all my former friends used to live.
He likes maps like roadmap my dad used to teach me to drive
with all the places I would most often go
scribbled in too thick navy sharpie.

I don’t mind world maps the way he does.
I’m a fan of vastness looking small and manageable.
I like to pretend it’s easy to get across state lines oceans
because I’ve always been more attracted to miles than men.
If I put push pins in all the places I’ve kissed boys,
it would look something like the big dipper.
I can say this because I see constellations everywhere
and because I’m made of maps.
Most people might just see an odd path
from Boston to Los Angeles that droops like a hammock
strung between two oceans.

I’ve always had a knack for geography.
I can see the way countries interlock with countries interlock
with compasses a lot easier than I can see
things that never happened.
I’m not lying when I say I’m happy.
I’m not lying when I say I’m torn
between two coasts.
California could swallow Massachusetts whole
and a boy who lives there says he wants to take care of me.

LA is made of color, and I don’t think anyone
took the time to decide whether a building
was more Tyrian purple or stoplight reflected in the rain yellow.
They just painted, colored the sidewalks to make
the sun shine just a little hotter.
I think the map makers did this too,
picked colors for the eye to dance across Europe
but not to go there.
And I love the colors, love
the way Los Angeles makes my heart play
jazz tastes like citrus summer sun
but I think when I shatter, I shatter across the country,
scattered so far I can’t read my own maps anymore.

—  “Of Maps and Men” by M.S.