Los Angeles Chronicles #1
[1] The chronicles of Los Angeles. Where is the start and where is the beggining. I first met Barry at a shack on the corner or Robertson and [X], just of the exit of Freeway 10. His wife Marilyn was not there but the present were Fong Choi, Barry, [Doug], a manequinn and a few mice. What were they there for to act. Hollywood baby! The street of Pico Boulvard was filled with Black Eyed Piece. They asked were the love was. Was it on the bus number 7 heading West to San-ta Mon-i-ca? Or was it with the driver lady taking photos of the sunset? Or a guitar man at the back sin-ing 'Education education' to a group of small brats? It was not. It was here at that shack at Robertson Boulvard. With the fish in the frame flying in the clouds. Was I d-r-e-a-m-i-n-g? No, I was the fish with a head bandana building the city. Changing the world. One frame and one mouse at the time. Welcome to L of A brother. Take a seat, enjoy the ride. The chronicles of Los Angeles are starting. Buckle up, open the roof. And change no lane cause we driiiivin'!
[2] When you cross the street you see a palm tree. A man with a guitar. Playing that late night song before the street goes to bed. Hey, get a cd. 10 dollars. My greatest hits! For-get about it. Pull out a gun, cross the street. Or don't. Put up your hand and hold them up. That's right. To the right is your white chocolate mocha. The treasure. The skarb. The left, the Thai placed you applied to. Un-sucsely. The library you wrote the begging letter so they would let you in pre-time. No, the doors are shut. You wait here. For what? For that feeling it breeze bringing the story from the far ocean. The plane taking off, the look on your face. The love. The love can't wait. Anymore. The Warszawa restaurant you are no Grata. Go back to your mama. She's got you some food, she got you some juice. TV dinner. Serial TV from the satelite dish. The Volkswagen that stands but does not drive. Anywhere. In that dark parking alley where you'll pick up the car. Your freedom. The 101. Toxic Britney. The dawn. The calm. The chill. The awakeing senses. To the love. To you!
[3] So what goes up keeps going up. Yellow trainers buy I had to by the Ross the shop. That was the dream the deviation. Hoping on the 30, jumping off the Venice. Dreaming. The balance on the account, catastrophic but Barry said all will be fine. The grove played on the radio, the screen radiated the future. And the fish kept fishing. In the dormitory, in the stories. Maybe too good too be true but we kept pushing because what other choice did we have. The dreams, changing the world with one embrace to another. And who wouldn't want to be us anyway. Sat at the library and wrote a letter. Things were not going the way that should. Was it all just the dream. Those few blocks away from what what the paradise was supposed to be?T hostel, the bus. No other place to go. Jump into the car and drive back to the desert? We just got out of that town. So the choice was one. To keep going. To take walks. To inhale the breeze. To take a photo of the sunset. To step back to the past and find the clues into the future. To live.
[4] And respect the sun on the pavement. Let's start with Barry. Doesn't pay on time then when I call he makes it as if it was my fault for bothering him. That is only if he picks up the phone. It's also my fault because I really don't want to / I really can't find another restaurant job. Amy is all right. She cooks me a dinner and she cleans up my room. She does make me carry my laundry two blocks down the street even tho she has a laundry machine in the back of the building. Plus she makes me close my blinds so no one can look into my room from the street (as if I care). Plus she smokes a lot so all my clothes smell of cigarettes but that somehow I don't really care so much about. Then there's David who yes, picks me up but sometimes not really on the weekends. And then there's that bitch at from Urban Outfitters who just threw my card away when it bounced. Just when I was shopping for my date with a guy who told me to smile. So yes, it's all nice but not perfect either.
[5] The poets always win. And the poets have the sea. And the oceans. Walking with your bear feet, holding shoes in your hands and swinging to that rhythm along with the breeze. To the sun. To the wind. And it's free. No charge required, no transfer tickets accepted. When you lay in the sun and the world goes by but you don't worry 'cause there's no moment to miss out. Bring a book, get a story of a man who got younger 'stead of older. Meet a friend and have a walk. Love the presence. Connect the senses. With the cover of the night through the mysteries of the thy. When the wave breaks in half. To the sound. You're here to love and to live it out. To the memories of the sight. Of those eyes. Run the sun through your fingers. Breathe and wonder in your dreams. Now is only here. Nowhere else is to be. Over there is Taiwan, behind the line but not for now. And when your senses calm are and when your body tenses out then respect. This moment is to be lived not to be written down. And the poet is always right.
[6] Until now. The geologist yelled from behind the closer "Am I still here?!". It was an 8 o'clock class, big exercises book with quizzes that were just too difficult to be bothered to learn and to memorise. There was also a history teacher who among other things forbade balancing checks during the class. His was the class with paper assignments and black and white videos on riots featuring violence, transvestites and the analysis of hierarchies within a gay community. There was Connan O'Brien with his late show on a small tv set at the Ocean Park apartment, to close up the day. I did not mean to be offensive and ungrateful when I threw Amy's bolognese into the trash but I just could not stand another meal featuring overcooked spaghetti with a watery tomato sauce and a suspicious pair of meatballs staring at me from the plate. What still remains a mystery to me was how the discovery had been made. I had been careful to cover the meal with layers of trash. Her eyes were upset, hurt even, when she confronted me on why I had wasted the meal. Despite that I remained her favourite student until the end.
[7] Pepsi was Barry's feature. Despite all the financial difficulties there was always money somewhere for a trip to seven eleven and a twelve pack of canned Pepsi. Cold. Sweet. Better than Coke. I enjoyed when he gave me ride back home at his Toyota's SUV. Stopping by gas station to get a few gallon of gas and a pack of American Spririts. We would be heading west into the night on the Freeway 10. Feeling free and somehow forgetful that all of that would need to pass at some point. There was no TV station, no accountants and no investors. But the mice were real and the cash somehow always showed up. So I just kept coming in and driving back enjoying the ride. Sometimes I would even ask for a raise. Maybe there was something I didn't know about. Maybe the eviction was just a phase. I didn't mind anyway coming to anywhere whether it was Robertson or Sawyer Street. It was just nice to be away somewhere where I felt I was needed and I could do whatever was fun. To smile sometimes. To be someone. Even if it was for a lost cause. Because maybe it wasn't?
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